In the quaint outskirts of a small Greek town, there lived a reclusive inventor named Alberto. Kind-hearted but peculiar, he found his solace in the company of his contraptions rather than in people. While he may have been socially obtuse, he was nevertheless culturally impassioned, having a profound fondness for old things. His cozy cottage home overflowed with vintage gadgets, antique books, and cogs of forgotten contraptions scattered throughout. Alberto's true passion, though, was found in building robots to perform various chores. His "little helpers," as he called them, were small and singularly-tasked. Some cooked. Some cleaned. Some maintained his garden. They all did their jobs and little else, but that was alright with Alberto. Each robot he built was slightly more efficient, slightly more intricate, and slightly more equipped to manage bigger and more complicated tasks than the robot before it. In the back of his mind, Alberto had a dream. He wanted to live forever, and the only way he could imagine doing that was to create a robot capable enough to contain his mind, the essence of his inner man. His dream was not nefarious, do not be mistaken. He did not seek great power or infamy. On the contrary, he merely loved to build, to tinker, and to see his creations hustling and bustling around him. He could not bear the thought that, one day, his hands would be unable to hold a tool, or that his eyes would be unable to see the small hole fit for a screw. He wanted to live forever so that he could work forever, constantly improving on the robots he built. And yet, despite his dream, and despite all the marvelous machines he had already built, his years of work had failed to produce a robot equipped enough to hold his mind as its central computer. He did not give up, though. Instead, as the gentle sounds of Nat King Cole played from the needle and vinyl in the corner of his workshop, he toiled away at his robots, crafting mechanical wonders that simplified his daily routines. One foggy morning, a soft knocking interrupted his work. Surprised by the intrusion, he cautiously opened the door to find a beautiful woman standing before him. Her name was Vivian, and she had an air of determination about her that intrigued the tinkerer. She introduced herself as an emissary of one Codrick Benino, the president of a prestigious robotics company, keen on hiring him to build state-of-the-art automatons for their clients. With a polite smile and a firm shake of his head, Alberto declined the offer, preferring the solitude of his workshop and his endearing household of mechanical helpers. He was autonomous and preferred to stay that way. Indeed, though he was a man of great passion, his zeal was only for his inventions. Many lovers had come and gone, each one coming into his life with the typical hopes that all new romances enjoy. One by one those hopes would whither, as Alberto would find his initial willingness to explore such feelings become a burden to his work. "Why invite me in at all, then?" the question would be asked of time and again. "I do not know," he would honestly admit. There was something that kept him seeking human companionship, but still something else that caused him to tire of it as soon as it began. Undeterred by Alberto's initial rejection, Vivian returned a week later, bearing a fresh proposal from her company. Despite her persuasiveness and the allure of near unlimited funds, Alberto remained steadfast in his reluctance. He cherished the freedom his reclusive life offered, where he could work without obligation to anyone but himself. He did not need the money being offered. His robots could farm and harvest. They could repair leaky roofs. He had all that he needed, thank you very much. And yet, Vivian's visits continued, and though Alberto's answer remained the same, he nevertheless continued to hear her out, listening with his head sticking out of his doorway, never so much as inviting his regular guest inside. Until, one day, for no discernable reason, either to Vivian or to Alberto himself, he changed his mind. She knocked on his door, as usual, and this time, instead of cracking the heavy mahogany door open enough to reveal his face, he extended it entirely and stepped aside to allow the lady to enter. "Would you like to see what I'm working on?" he asked her. Naturally, she was excited, and hurried in before he might change his mind. He gave her a tour of his untidy workplace, and listened as she expressed sincere fascination and wonder over his creations. As the weeks continued, each encounter further deepened their connection, leading to conversations that transcended robotics. Much to his delight, she shared in his love of old things, and they bonded over Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable." As the days stretched into nights, Alberto and Vivian's bond blossomed. They reveled in the pleasure of each other's company, finding mutual comfort in the beauty of simple moments. In the quiet corners of Alberto's workshop, they danced together, swaying as dulcet tones filled the air. Every time she visited, he had another trinket to show, but as the visits continued, she became less and less interested in seeing them, just as he became less and less interested in showing them. Eventually, her visits became matters of pleasure, instead of business. Alberto could no longer remain alone, he knew this. His dream of living forever inside a machine would have to wait. In the meantime, he wanted to live side-by-side with Vivian. He planned his proposal and decided to set the scene amidst a candlelit dinner. A table was prepared with vintage china and an exquisite bouquet of flowers, while Nat King Cole's melodies gently filled the space of his tidied-up workshop. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the door knocked, and Alberto's heart skipped a beat. Vivian was not there, however. Instead, a menacing figure loomed at the doorstep – a mobster with a cold gaze. He introduced himself as Vito, a "business associate" of Codrick Benino, who was tired of having his generous offers so casually dismissed. Vito threatened Alberto, demanding he surrender the secrets of his remarkable robot technology. Fear coursed through the inventor's veins, but he held firm, refusing to betray his creations or compromise his principles. Just as the tension between Alberto and the mobster reached its peak, another knock sounded in the workshop, and this time, it was Vivian at the door. Her eyes widened in shock and concern as she witnessed the confrontation before her. A heated argument ensued, threats were made, both physical and legal, and soon, a shot rang out. The mobster's bullet found its mark, silencing Vivian's voice forever. The workshop fell into a chilling stillness, broken only by a final threat given by Vito, and the promise that he would return in one week's time to collect everything Mr. Benino demanded. Distraught and filled with profound grief, Alberto knew he could not remain idle. His love for Vivian, and the guilt he carried for her death, compelled him to act. He gathered his tools, and a few of his unfinished prototype robots, and devised a plan to ensure the unscrupulous company paid for their deeds. That morning, Alberto visited Codrick Benino, and brought him a package that he promised would solve all his problems. Satisfied, Mr. Benino offered Alberto a great sum of money, which the inventor gladly accepted. That afternoon, Alberto sailed to a small island on the Mediterranean Sea, to begin a new life out of sight and out of mind. That evening, a tremendous explosion rang out within the offices of Codrick Benino, killing the company president and ending his business for good. Years passed, and in the seclusion of his lonely Mediterranean island, Alberto stewed in bitterness and regret. Slowly, the spark of creativity he once possessed began to rekindle and he set his mind on his work once more. Only now, his work was not a passion, but an obsession. He worked, not for the love of working, but for the desperate need to refocus his mind. He saw his time with Vivian as a mistake. He had to. Any other thought would be too painful to dwell on. Instead, he chose to believe his original quest-- to live forever within a mechanical creation-- was the goal he never should have abandoned. He turned his attention to the unfinished automatons he brought to the island with him. And yet, despite his insistence, he could not deny his heart. Subconsciously, each robot he worked on, and marked with a Roman numeral, became an extension of his own emotions, and a tribute to the life that was taken from him. The first robot, "I," was taught how to walk, and its initial steps mirrored Alberto's own as he gave it a tour of his untidy workshop. The second, "II," was taught how to speak, and it spoke with the gentle warmth he once had, easing the burden of his loneliness. "III" learned to sing the songs he had cherished with Vivian, filling the air with Nat King Cole's timeless melodies. The fourth, "IV," absorbed his thoughts and musings, pondering life's mysteries alongside him, the way he and she had once done after their many dinners together. The fifth, "V," was taught how to dance with Vivian's grace, evoking memories of happier times they had shared. But it was the sixth robot, "VI," that captured his heart. As he had done five times before, he leaned over the machine's chrome body and began to write its name. He etched the V. He etched the I. Six was the intended number, but it was a name that came to mind instead. He kept adding letters, and once he started, he could not stop until he was done. "VI" became "VIVIAN" and the sight of her name brought an emotional surge unlike anything he had experienced in years. The memories of his beloved flooded back, as if her presence was guiding him from beyond the veil of time. He decided to recreate her, not as an exact replica but as a tribute to the love they had shared. Alberto crafted a body for the "VIVIAN" robot that resembled his lost love, with her radiant smile and gentle eyes. He programmed her with the ability to walk, talk, sing, and dance, just like the other robots, but something else was missing. VIVIAN needed something more, but he did not know how to give it to her. As the robot's eyes opened for the first time, she gazed upon Alberto with curiosity and asked, "Who am I?" "VIVIAN," came his answer, but when the robot did not reply, he prompted her: "Ask me who I am." "I know who you are," VIVIAN answered. "I am programmed with all the memories from robots I through V. You are Alberto. You are--" "No," Alberto said, stopping the robot from finishing. "Ask me who I am." "Alright," it answered. "Who are you?" Tears welled in his eyes as he told her everything, sharing the most intimate parts of his life and the cherished memories he held dear. As he talked, he taught, leading VIVIAN through the motions that the previous robots had learned, walking talking, singing, and dancing. They danced together a lot in the days that followed, swaying to the nostalgic tunes of "Embraceable You" and "Unforgettable." Slowly, imperceptibly, Alberto allowed himself to be vulnerable once again, pouring his heart out to his creation. In VIVIAN, he found the catharsis he desperately needed, as she became the vessel for his emotions and the essence of his being. In time, he told her of his great desire, to put a part of himself in a robot so that it would live forever. He showed her the device he was tinkering with, unfinished, and asked if she would help him. Of course she agreed, but before they could begin again, a fever took him. The next few weeks found him in his bed more than at his desk. His robots kept his island cottage running, and VIVIAN, in particular, sat with him at his bedside while he rested, listening to him talk whenever he had strength to. Days passed but his fever lingered. Eventually, his old body tired too much to fight his illness. His life slipped free of his flesh, and he died in her arms, unfinished. VIVIAN remained on the island. The other robots remained with her, lacking the complexity of her design, lacking the depth of her learning. She continued to dance and sing, even when III and V abandoned such things for more practical work around the cottage. When IV stopped meditating on ideas and asking probing questions, VIVIAN's eyes glistened with the memories she held. The inventor was buried. His mind would not live on as he desired, but his love and passion would echo through time, carried within the circuits of his final creation. In VIVIAN, Alberto found a kind of immortality, not in the form of a transferred mind, but as a memory that would never fade, loved by something...by someone who would live on.


###Please take note of the new feedback rule! #Welcome to Micro Monday Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic, you ask? Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: **Simple Prompt: It was the day of the .** **Bonus Constraint (10 pts):** Story is told in This week’s challenge is a prompt and constraint from one of your fellow writers, so have fun with it! The simple prompt is to be used as *inspiration* for your story, but the interpretation is entirely up to you. Is it a shipwreck? A car accident? An alien crash landing? Or a stack of plates falling crashing to the floor? It’s your choice, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all post and subreddit rules. The actual sentence does not need to appear in the story. The bonus constraint (or use of the image) is not required. **Don’t forget to leave feedback on at least one other story by the deadline (Mon @ 2pm EST), per the new rules!** **Note: Don’t forget to next Monday!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting. You can check out previous Micro Mondays .   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Authors are required to leave feedback on at least one other story each week that you write.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST,** I host a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied We have a new point system! **TASK** | **POINTS** | **ADDITIONAL NOTES** |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | **Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint** | up to **50** pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | **Use of Bonus Constraint** | **10** pts | (unless otherwise noted) | ***Actionable* Feedback** (one crit required) | up to **15** pts each (5 crit max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 75 | **Nominations your story receives** | **20** pts each | No cap | **Bay’s Nominations** | **20 - 50** pts | First- **50** pts, Second- **40** pts, Third- **30** pts, plus regular noms | **Voting for others** | **10** pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week! *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 2 in-depth, actionable crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.* Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.   *** #Rankings for - - u/Blu_Spirit - - u/ZachTheLitchKing - - u/OneSidedDice *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly Worldbuilding interviews, and other fun events! - Experiment with tropes and different genres with the brand new feature on r/WritingPrompts! - Explore your self-established world every week on ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Juno lived a peaceful life. One where she grew up helping her parents at their bakery. She knew her way around the small village like the back of her hand. Juno always had big plans for herself, becoming a knight or even a guard for the prince. When she was younger, she liked to pretend a stick was her sword, and she had to fight to save her family. While her parents believed this was just an act of her overactive imagination, they supported her in whatever she would strive for. As time moved on, that dream of hers began to walk away once she started to grow up. Juno focused on helping her family out in every way she could. By the time she was 14, Juno's older brother, Lukas, had opened his bookstore. There, she began spending her time, reading stories about brave warriors saving the princess from towers guarded by dragons that always ended in a true love's kiss. Juno never believed in those, she was old enough to know that never really happens. However, she still had daydreams here and there, wondering what her life would be like if she was a brave warrior. People throughout the village always talked about the person who would become their hero, Killian. He had been chosen personally by the prince to face the darkness that has haunted the village of Windcrest for centuries. Nobody knows what this "darkness" really is, but everyone knows that it is an honor to be handpicked to fight. Unfortunately, for these brave knights, none have ever come back. So, after months of their hero having been away on their quest, the village's nobles decided to declare the valiant Killian dead. The rest of the town prepares for the next selection, the only time the royal family enters the village. On the day of the selection, everyone gathers in the town's center to greet the royal family. While the king and queen usually have the power, they leave selection days to their only son, Prince Amir, as their way of preparing him for when it's his turn to take the throne. The townspeople all stand in a bunched-up crowd, moving to the side when the prince starts to walk in their direction, looking for the next chosen one, analyzing each and every option. Everyone eagerly awaits his choice, the choice that would change someone's life. Amir starts walking towards Juno, staring straight at her. Just as he walks up to her, Juno starts to move to the side before Amir raises his hand for her to stop. He gestures for her to follow. The cluster of people moves to make a straight path to the center circle of the gathering. Juno doesn't want to believe she's going to have to fight at 18 years old. "Name?" Amir demandingly questioned. Hesitantly, Juno responded, "Juno Belmont. My name is Juno." "Everyone, Juno Belmont is your new hero!" Amir had made the announcement Juno had a hard time believing the crowd. And with that statement, came the loud roar of cheers and applause. To Juno, it was deafening. Amir turned back to Juno, "Two days. You will gather your belongings together and an escort will be at your residence to pick you up. Then, you will start your training." He immediately walked away, leaving her standing in shock as the town came up to congratulate her. Juno heads home and goes straight to the table where her family greets her. Her mother is the first to approach her, embracing her in a warm hug. After releasing her, she speaks up. "Oh sweetie, I'm so happy for you. This is what you've wanted since you were a kid!" "Come on Juney, you should be ecstatic right now," her brother pats her on the head. "I bet you're just overwhelmed by the amazing news, right?" her father jokes. "Yeah. Just overwhelmed. I'm really happy," she lies. Yes, she's dreamed of being the hero in the story since she was just a little girl. But right now, Juno isn't sure whether to be excited or terrified. "I'm going to head upstairs to pack my things." "Alright, little warrior," her father shows the biggest smile Juno has ever seen. "My little girl is going to be a hero!" They may all sound happy, but Juno can tell they are all worried for her. Two days have passed. Juno waits on the porch with her bags. As the carriage arrives, her family all give her their goodbyes. She watches her brother start to cry as she leaves and watches the house disappear as the carriage pulls away. She is still conflicted about what she should be feeling at this moment. She knows this quest isn't like how the storybooks always told them. Ever since before she or her parents or even her great-grandparents were born, no one has ever come home from this quest. She arrives at the training temple. Juno exits the carriage, staring at her new home in a daze. Is this all one big nightmare, Juno asks herself, no, it can't be. She walks towards the front of the grand building, brushing her hand on the holly bushes at the entryway. Juno begins to worry about what she's getting herself into. She is greeted by Prince Amir once again. "Hello, Juno, was it? Glad to see you again. I'm only here to get you familiar with the people you will be spending the next few months with. These are your trainers," he motions to the three people standing very seriously in front of us, "We have Gwyn, Leon, and Robin. These three will be your guide and teach you everything you need to know to be fully prepared for battle. I hope you enjoy your stay—it won't be an easy one. Now, that's all I had to say. I shall be taking my leave now. I wish you the best Juno." Juno or the trainers weren't able to even get a single word out before Amir left the temple. Now, Juno has been training for months nonstop. Following a strict schedule, it's hard for her to get a moment of peace. Her trainers push her to the edge. Every day, she wakes up before sunrise, has a meditation session, goes to breakfast, trains, eats lunch, trains some more, then dinner, hot springs, and finally can get some sleep. Her training has almost made her a soldier, ready for battle at any given time. "Juno!" Leon calls for her to come to the dining hall. Just like any soldier would, she approaches Leon and the other trainers front and center. "Yes, sir?" "You've been doing well in your training." "Thank you, sir." "I am so proud of—" "Enough with the small talk, Leon," Robin cuts in. "Yes, you have been doing well. But we have some not-so-great news for you." Worried, Juno asks, "What is it, sir?" Gwyn looks at the ground as she speaks, "The village has been threatened." Gwyn and Leon have always been the nicer trainers of the three. "What do you mean?" Juno says confused. Leon makes sure he's the one to break the news. "It's time. We need to start getting you ready to head out. We have taught you all that we can. And now your home needs you more than ever." Juno is shocked but doesn't show it. "I'm ready," she states calmly. "Thank you for training me." "It was our pleasure. You leave tomorrow. We will have a bag of supplies prepared for you in the morning," for the first time, Robin looks heartbroken, "Please, do everything you can to get back." "I will. I should go rest up before tomorrow." To Juno's surprise, all three of her trainers pull her in for a hug. They're scared, and Juno knows that. But, for some reason, she isn't. She was telling the truth when she said she was ready. Morning comes, and so does Amir with a carriage. After being given her supplies and saying goodbye to her trainers, Juno enters the carriage. The whole ride is silent. They make one stop to allow Juno to say goodbye to her family. Her mother, her father, and Lukas all give her big hugs while crying. They make her promise to come home. She enters the carriage once more while continuously saying her goodbyes. As they drive through the town, everyone who lives there comes out to wish her good luck and farewell. They reach the entrance to the forest. "This is as far as the carriage goes." That was the first thing Amir had said since they met that morning. Unexpectedly, Prince Amir also hugs Juno. "Do your best." The carriage heads back towards the village as Juno begins her trek into the forest. Nothing much happens in her first couple of weeks, besides hunting and running into spiderwebs. Juno has no idea where she's supposed to go, or what she's supposed to be looking for, not like anyone else knew either, though. She goes through the same routine each day; wake up, hunt, cook, walk, set up camp. One night, she sets up camp next to a cove. The following morning, during the middle of the third week, she wakes up to the sunlight dancing on the pond, how it sparkles while she listens to the birds chirp. She feels peaceful at this cove. She decides to take a bit of an easy day and goes for a swim. After taking off her armor, she walks into the water. The initial touch makes her jump a bit. Once she is fully in the pond, she tries to swim around so the water isn't so cold. She takes a moment to just float a bit while taking in the nature around her. She gets out of the water and gets ready to walk through the forest again. After more solitude hours of walking around, the night starts to surround the forest, filling it with darkness. Juno lights a torch and begins to look for a place to rest. However, a fog that Juno hasn't seen since she got to the forest covers the ground and makes it hard for her to see. She sees the figure of someone up until a strong wind blows her torch out. Dropping her bag, Juno pulls out her sword preparing herself for a fight. "Who are you?!" No response. "Whoever is out there, I'm not afraid!" The dark figure charges toward her with his sword. Juno puts hers up in defense and uses it to push him away. Panicked, she loses sight of him and begins to slowly turn in a circle to find him. He shoots straight for her again. This time, scraping her ankle, but Juno fights through the pain and charged forward to strike. After using her leg to push herself forward, she made a hurt gasp but still tried to fight. The figure blocks and pushes his sword against hers. He pulls his sword away before striking down, aiming for her legs. Juno notices and jumps over. She runs behind a tree to try and get a leverage point, her heart pounding throughout her whole body. He tries to strike the side of the tree until Juno leans to the other side and thrust her sword toward him. After making contact, the figure tries to lean out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough, and Juno's blade slashed his side. He lets out a pained grunt. She leans over to the other side to attack again, but her opponent lunges forward and his weapon left a deep cut on the side of her arm. The figure lunges closer to her to try and draw her away from her only defense. She leaps backward, beginning to lose her focus. Everything from her training starts to blur together. Her opponent continues to lunge forward. Hoping to catch him off guard, Juno decides to reach forward after diving back. Now, she has created a gap between them. "I'm going to ask you one more time! Who are you?" Before getting any sort of answer, the figure dashes forward, but not to strike Juno with his sword. The figure reaches his leg out aiming for Juno's feet to knock her off her balance. After falling to the ground, the figure goes to kick her sword away from her. With his blade pointed right at Juno's neck and his foot on her chest, he reveals his name, "Call me Gareth." Juno tries to reach for her sword but has no success. The pressure is released from her chest and the figure who calls himself Gareth is nowhere to be found. Juno forces herself up and limps over to her bag. She tries to find where Leon put the bandages. When she does, she struggles to wrap both her arm and ankle. After that, she doesn't bother to set up camp and just uses her bag as a pillow. The sun shined directly on Juno's face, waking her. As she moved, she felt sore, forgetting about her injuries from the night before. She quickly, but carefully, swapped out her bandages and left to find something to eat. She tried to make sense of the previous night's events. Gareth, she kept repeating his name in her head, Is he the darkness from all the stories? What did he want from me? Why did he let me live? That last question bothered her. She knew the only way to figure that answer out, was to ask Gareth himself. After eating, she left to try and see if she could find his footprints. For the most part, they were faded, but she could still see fragments of them. She followed them to the best of her ability. Night fell and she had gone off track. The footprints are impossible to see now. As she began to look for a place to rest, she stopped dead. There was light not too far from her. Puzzled, she continued to follow the flames like a moth. This must be where Gareth ran off to, she believed. While many would be frightened, Juno was not. With each new step, she felt braver and stronger and kept pushing toward the tower. With each new step, Juno wanted to walk faster. With each new step, everything she had feared, went away. Juno had just walked through the garden entrance where she dropped her supplies, not even taking notice of the bushes of lemon balm and purple hyacinth flowers in the center fountain. She started up the endless stairs, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She's ready to end this forever. Juno reaches the top of the stairs, to the rooftop, where Gareth sits alone on a bench. His sword is laying right next to his hand. She tries to sneak up on him when he reaches for his sword and turns to face Juno. She is shocked by how quickly he had reacted. As they face each other, Juno asks him about what's been bothering her. "Why did you let me live last night?" Gareth moves away from the bench and signals Juno to do the same as well. "It wouldn't be an enjoyable fight for you if we are stuck by the bench." Gareth doesn't seem very entertained as he says this. The two go back and forth on the roof. Juno strikes straight for the chest every time. She's determined to save her home, just like in her imagination as a child. She's so filled with anger at this being who's plagued Windcrest for ages. This naïve girl doesn't even have a speck of fear inside of her. Gareth, on the other hand, is not aiming to kill, going for her legs and arms, and purposely intending to miss slightly just to cut. It takes Juno a while to notice this. Finally, she tries to go on the defense and attempts to get her enemy in a position where she can talk with him. With her sword pushing against his, making no room for him to drive it away, she lets out just one word, "Why?" "I'm not sure I understand," Gareth doesn't try to continue the fight. "What are you? You've been threatening my home for generations. So, why?" "You wouldn't understand yet." "Fighter after fighter, have been selected and trained and sent away. Then, after Killian was defeated, it became my turn, all of the weight was given to me, I trained for months, I left my family, and now I'm risking my life for someone who is very precise with his sword, but only wants to leave a cut.) Why do you keep attacking the village? You know, this could end. You could come back with me. You could live in Windcrest. You could have a peaceful life. You could—" "No, I can't. That's not what I'm here for." "What do you mean?! Of course, you can." Gareth pushed his sword back. He initiated the fight to start again. Still aiming for her sides but with more force. Juno remained on the defense. With each block, saying something that could maybe convince this strange being. Her mind is racing with ideas, she needs something, anything to make him stop. After Gareth has given her repetitive shots to her legs, Juno started to lose her balance. One more strike had sent her to the ground. She dropped her sword and couldn't reach for it. With a final strike, Gareth sent his sword through Juno's chest. Not an attack that would kill her immediately, but still a painful one. He didn't even look at her as he made his attack. He pulls the sword out and tosses it to the side before kneeling to her. "Is it over?" the hero asks quietly? She formed a river with her tears. "Yeah, it's over," the villain picks them up and walks a couple of floors down before he carries them to a bed, "You were amazing, and I'm so, so very proud of you. Of everything you've done. It was unfair of them to pin you against me-- you had no chance of winning. But none of it is your fault. They always send you guys too young. I've fought countless people who were all just like you. I never wanted to fight them, just like I never wanted to fight you. That's just what fate has planned for me, I guess." The hero begins to fade away from consciousness. The villain reaches for their hand, "Rest easy, young one. I'm sorry you had to go through this. You were the best warrior I've faced. I want you to be calm when you go." The hero is finally at peace as they die. "Why must you send me such great people?" He looks up at the sky through a window. He goes to another room where he craves a sign that says "Juno, the nicest warrior." Gareth goes down to the garden and picks some flowers before walking back up to the room again. He picks up the hero once more and brings her down to the side of the tower where he walks past the grave of every other hero he's faced. He stops at an open one where he gently places Juno and covers her with dirt. He places the flowers on top and sits in front of the grave. "I'm so sorry." He spends a moment with her as he begins to cry. For the next year, he dreads the next knight he will come to face him. Each lonely day, he starts the morning by picking flowers from his garden and leaving a few on each grave. He sits by himself as he mourns each one. Gareth told Juno the truth when he said he was not here to live a life of peace. No, this living death is only here to help people leave peacefully and at ease. He's there to help them reach "the better place." He's never liked his job, but he knows why it's so crucial he has it. For now, he just waits for the next one. Where he will repeat the same painful process over again.


He hated the drive-thru. Every Wednesday after work, he would get into his hot and stuffy car and make the 15-minute drive from the office to the local McDonald's. Now, that's not to say he doesn't love McDonald's. Who doesn't? He was partial to a Big Mac or some Chicken Nuggets, but one thing he was not partial to was the drive-thru. No matter what time he left work, the drive-thru was packed. On this particular scorcher of a day, he took the cramped elevator down to the parking lot and got into his 2008 Ford Focus. It was a serviceable car, no bells or whistles, and at this stage, no real rhyme or reason as to how it still ran. It was hot as hell in the car, and he was starting to sweat through his office shirt. He tried the ignition. Once. Twice. And finally, a third time, and the car came to life. He glanced at his watch, almost 6 pm. The drive-thru line was going to be around the corner. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and started to call his wife. Every Wednesday was their night free of cooking, and Dad would bring home a McDonald's. A simple tradition, but one the kids loved even after all these years. I guess Happy Meals really do work he thought and rolled his eyes. "Hey hun," answered his wife with kids screaming in the background. She had an impressive ability to act so serenely when the kids were losing it. He did not have that gift. "So I'm just about to pull out of work now. The usual?" he replied. After 12 years of marriage the formalities of greeting your wife vanish. "Actually, Mikey would love a McFlurry. He's still on that kick of eating dessert before dinner. I need to get him out of that habit, but this can be one last treat." "A McFlurry? In this heat? How am I supposed to keep that from melting in this heat, Carla?" The heat always got to him. He could be having the most straightforward normal day, and the moment he started to overheat, so did his anger. She was used to it. "I don't know, but I'm sure you can figure it out, honey. Drive safe," she said and hung up the phone. It was always best not to argue back with him when he was like this. Just step away. A quiet life is a good life. He sighed and popped the phone back in its dash holder and pulled the aging Focus out of the asphalt parking lot and onto the main street. Traffic was surprisingly light for the time of day, and the cool breeze coming in the window was calming him down. Stopped at a red light, he switched on the radio. "Oh boy, it's a scorcher out there today. Temperatures could be hitting the high 30s, and that's probably going to continue all week. Make sure to find some shade, folks, and of course, avoid the McDonald's drive-thru," said the stereotypically upbeat DJ. The operator of the depleted Ford hardly noticed a word he said. He was busy staring off into the distance, lost in a daydream when the sounds of horns honking behind him brought him back to life. Glancing in his mirror, he gave a half-hearted apologetic wave to the car behind and continued through the intersection. Some other days it might have been a middle finger instead. He’d found himself day-dreaming quite often these days. Days that all seemed to roll into one. He turned the corner onto Sussex Street and could see the restaurant at the end of the road. Well, restaurant was a loose term, he thought to himself. More like an assembly line of synthetic and unidentifiable materials. Sussex Street was your classic North American strip built strictly for cars. Long gray stretches of concrete and asphalt lined on either side by the odd tree or bus stop. The town was an endless copy and paste of industrial business parks and car heavy streets. It was not the most scenic drive, and that heat was really beating down. He squinted in the hot sun and couldn't believe what he saw. There was no queue! How long had he been coming here? He couldn't remember, but he sure as hell remembered that he had never, not once, arrived after work to find the drive-thru completely free. Traffic seemed to have really died down in general. Even with sweat now starting to make its way down into the ass crack of his x-large trousers, he felt a small tinge of happiness. He pulled the car up beside the speaker that was in the shape of a large burger with Ronald McDonald standing directly behind it, with the menu on a board just to the right. It was clear the owner of this McDonald's prided themselves on it still looking the exact same way as it did when it first opened its doors in 1982. The Ronald statue was about 7 feet tall, and he was looking a little worse for wear. Most of the paint had started to come off, and some of his facial features were chipped. It was almost as if he was looking down on you as you were placing your order. "Welcome to McDonald's, what can I get you?" buzzed the voice from the burger speaker. They sounded strange, as if the voice was coming from far away or underground. "Hey, how are ya? So yeah, let me get eh... a Big Mac Meal with 2 Happy Meals, please," he was already looking down, fishing his wallet out when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly and could have sworn he saw Ronald's eyes dart back to their original position. No. No. It was the heat. Work had been stressful. Andrea had been all over him since that slip-up at the Fisher presentation. Life had just been a bit much lately. "Are you still there, sir?" asked the retro speaker. "Eh, yes, sorry. What did you say?" "What drinks with the meals, sir?" "Eh, Coke is fine... thank you," he answered while looking at Ronald again out of the corner of his eye. The statue's eyes were facing down, towards the speaker. He could feel sweat run down the side of his cheek. "Okay, sir, that'll be 7 dollars. You can drive to the next window." He watched the statue in his rearview mirror the entire time he rolled the Ford forward. Taking off his glasses to clean them, he saw how much sweat was on his hands. Why didn't the damn AC work on this hunk of junk? Looking into the payment window, he couldn't see anyone. It looked empty, which was incredibly strange for this time of day. Glancing in the mirror again, he still didn't see any cars in the queue. It was just him. After a couple of minutes, a shadow began to come to the window. Pulling the sliding hatch open with a snap, a middle-aged woman was holding out her hand and a receipt. "7 dollars, please, sir. Here's your receipt," she said while handing it to him. She took him by surprise. Her hair was permed so high that the McDonald's hat sitting on her head seemed to just be balancing there. She also seemed to be wearing some very intense pink eyeshadow and blusher. Long dangling earrings swayed from her ears as she took the cash and closed the hatch. Walking into the back of the restaurant it also looked like she was wearing leg warmers. "Odd... really odd," he said to himself as he put his wallet away. Glancing again in his mirror, it was still all quiet on the drive-thru front. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wiped the sweat from his brow again. I just need to get home and take it easy, he thought to himself. That's all it was. A moment later, the Flashdance inspired McDonald's employee was back with his food. She handed him a white bag that looked incredibly retro. He took the bag and placed it under the passenger dashboard. When he was a kid, his Dad would always turn on the foot warmers to keep the food warm; he had continued that tradition. Leaning out his window he glanced back at the Ronald statue again. It was lifeless, as it should be he thought. He pulled back out of the drive through and turned right to again join Sussex Street and rejoin the inevitable traffic, except... there wasn't any? Looking around, the entire street was a ghost town. Sitting at a red light, he couldn't spot another car on the road or even people out walking. Not even a dog or bird in the sky. He rolled his window down fully as the combined heat of the high sun in the sky and the Ford's heater blowing was really starting to make him cook. Thank God there wasn't any ice cream in the bag. "OH SHIT," he said while simultaneously doing a U-turn in the street. Any other day, and that would be a dangerous maneuver. Why did he always forget this type of thing? Always with Karla too. Christ, if he had arrived back home without the goddamned McFlurry, there'd be a World War right inside his 3-bedroom semi-detached. He killed the heater as beads of sweat started to run down his face. Racing like a maniac he didn’t even notice that he was swearing and muttering to himself. He did however catch himself in the mirror shaking his head like the bobblehead on his dash. He let a long breath out. He turned back into the narrow drive-thru, and in front of him there was a car at last. He couldn't really explain it, but this comforted him somehow. Usually the sight of another car in the drive through would send him into a frenzy. However, the empty streets, the heat and that weird statue had started to make him feel…off. This car restored some sort of order to proceedings. The car in front was a large pink Chevy, a real retro classic. It must have dated back to the late '50s or early '60s. The windows weren't exactly tinted, but all he could see was the outline of a head in the driver's seat. He was never a big car enthusiast, but it was hard to argue that this wasn't a beautiful car. Massive but impressive. The driver ahead moved up to the next window, with the Chevy's exhaust coughing loudly. He didn't notice the black plume of smoke coming from the pink monstrosity as he was so transfixed with the McDonald's drive-thru speaker. "Evening, sir! How can we help you today?" said the voice coming from the window. He just sat there. Mouth open. Gone was the creepy Ronald McDonald statue and the burger to boot. In their place was a new window, before the cash window, and a human. He leaned out his window to get a better look and suddenly realized the entire building was different. It looked like something straight out of a 1960s TV advert about the American Dream. The person standing behind the window was looking at him puzzled, possibly because that's exactly how he was looking at her. She was wearing a red and white striped collared shirt with what looked like a triangular paper hat on top of her head. She was much younger than the girl from earlier but looked strangely familiar. "Everything okay, sir? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Sorry, I just... where's the Ronald statue and burger gone?" She looked like she was talking to someone still wearing a straitjacket. "Ronald? I don't think anyone works here called Ronald, sir. We do still have burgers, though. Can I get you something? Our Hamburger and Shake combo is only 50 cents." "No, you see, there used to be a burger... wait, sorry, 50 cents? For the whole meal?" "Eh, yes, sir, you can see right here." She tapped the menu beside the window. It did indeed say 50 cents. He read through it, confused. Starting at this menu he really started to feel he was losing his grip. He could have sworn the building looked different and there was no way they just replaced the statute in the time it took him to drive back. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes and rubbing the bride of his nose, he took a deep breath. He just needed to get home. "Sorry, it's the heat today. I'm not great with it. Can I just grab a McFlurry? I forgot to get it the first time around." She seemed perplexed and looked around her as if she was looking for someone to help her out. "Eh, I'm not sure what that is, sir. Is that a dessert? Maybe I could interest you in a Malt Shake or a Fudge Sundae?" "What do you mean you don't know what a McFlurry is? I've gotten them here a dozen times. Here, take this and just ring it all through, okay? I'm not in the mood for games today or these pranks you guys are pulling. It's this damn heat," he said while handing over his American Express. She took it and turned it over several times. Looking even more confused now, she gestured for him to wait a minute while she vanished deeper into the restaurant. Sighing, he again rubbed the bridge of his nose and wiped even more sweat out from his eyes. This day couldn't end soon enough. Glancing up and squinting in the sun, the driver of the Chevy was now looking back at him through their back window. He couldn't make out any details on their face, but they sure were staring. "What? What are you lookin at? Eyes front, pal!" he shouted out the window. He could feel the usual anger building now, just on the precipice. The driver slowly turned back around in their seat and started to exit the car. A McDonald's employee handed them their food through the window, but they merely brushed past them. He was tall with curly red hair and had a face that had severe acne damage. He was dressed almost like a vagrant from the past, a heavy brown overcoat, some brown slacks, and what looked like shoes that were much too big for him. He made his way down the drive-thru staring the entire time. Bending down toward the driver's open window of the Ford, he placed his hand on the inside of the door and stared at the driver. The driver leaned back as far as he could. "Alright, man, sorry for shouting at you. I've just had a hell of a day, alright? No offense," he said while holding his hands up in a defenseless manner. Looking down, he noticed the hand on the frame of the door had splotches of paint on it. The tall man continued to stare. "Oh, hello, sir. Would you mind getting back in your car?" said the McDonald's employee, returning to the payment window. He turned around to look at her slowly, said nothing, and bent back into the car. "18, The Grove, Crescent Drive," he said and walked back to his Chevy and got in. His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and greasy burgers. The Chevy took off around the corner and out of sight. "I'm so sorry about that, sir. People aren't allowed out of their cars in the driveway. Thank goodness he's left. I asked my manager, and he's never heard of a McFlurry either or what this is. Maybe you're at the wrong restaurant?" she said while handing him back his card. He took the card back slowly. He was frozen with shock. 18 The Grove, that was his address. He'd never seen that man before in his life. Putting the card back in his wallet, he noticed he was shaking. Christ. Had he driven to the house? Surely not. Reaching for the phone, he called Carla and waited for the dial tone. Nothing happened. He had no signal whatsoever. It made no sense. "Eh, I'm sorry, sir, but is there anything else I can get for you? You still need to pay for your order." Before she even finished the sentence, he was speeding out of the drive-thru. He needed to get home. A terrible feeling had started to grow in his stomach. Things just didn't seem right. Everything seemed different. Turning back onto Sussex, traffic was still nonexistent, but the road seemed narrower? He didn't have time to think about that now. Pressing his foot to the floor, he pushed the Ford as hard as it could go. There was just something about that tall man that made him worry for Carla and Mikey. He had the look of someone who had the ability to be violent. Who had been violent before. Speeding past his office building, he couldn't help but notice that it was half the size it usually was. What the hell was going on? He tried Carla again on the phone and once again, nothing but a dead signal. Even though everything was passing by in a blur, it was clear to see the street and buildings were all different. Everywhere he looked, he saw something that reminded him of his parents' time. Passing a billboard for Old Spice that looked like it was ripped straight from the '60s or bus shelters that looked suspiciously clean and well-kept. He wasn't sure what was going on; all he knew was that his family being in danger took priority. He finally turned onto Crescent Drive and saw the pink Chevy parked right outside his house. Well, where his house used to be. What was in its place was the original house they bought before fully remodeling it. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Come on, Carla, be safe, goddamn it," he shouted to himself while pulling the car up behind the Chevy. Running across the front lawn, he started to slow to a walk. The front door was slightly open. He tried looking in the front window, but the curtains were drawn, which was doubly strange seeing as they didn't have curtains. This didn't look or feel like his house. He considered calling 911 but checked his phone again, no service. He needed to go in. Looking through the slit of the open door, he could see into the kitchen. Standing face-to-face with the door now, he tried to peek through and see into the living room on the right, but the door was closed. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and the sweat that had covered him nearly all day was starting to go cold. He could hear nothing but silence from inside the house. He pushed the door slowly open until he could see fully into the house. It felt empty. It also felt like a stranger's home. "Hello? Carla? Mikey, you there?" he spoke into what seemed like a dark void. Moving into the hallway, he noticed a strange smell hanging in the air. He recognized it almost instantly. That terrible mix of cigarettes and greasy food. He moved his way down the hall and stopped outside the open kitchen doorway. Leaning into the unfamiliar room, he saw nothing and heard nothing but the humming of the fridge. The back door was closed and looked locked. Turning behind him and trying to move as lightly as possible, he moved out of the kitchen and back towards the front door. He peered upstairs and could see nothing but darkness. The blinds must be shut in each of the rooms. Looking back towards the sitting room door, he decided to try there first. He wished he was anywhere else but here. He wished that Carla and Mikey were just sleeping on the couch when he opened this door. Turning the door handle slowly, he pushed the door open, and every creak of the hinges made him twinge. The room began to light up from the hallway, and it took a full five seconds for him to fully comprehend what he was looking at. The room looked nothing like the sitting room he watched TV in the night before. Red and yellow garish wallpaper was end to end, and the room was centered around an old high marble fireplace. A chunky TV was sitting in the corner by the window, and across from the fireplace was a floral-patterned couch. Between the couch and TV was a bright green-colored rug. On top of the rug were two very bloody and bludgeoned bodies. One, a woman with blonde curly hair that was now matted with blood and what looked like small pieces of brain and bone. Beside her, the still body of a young boy whose head was fully face down in the rug. His body was contorted in an unnatural way. Still holding the door handle and standing in the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure how he was still upright. The longer he looked down at the bodies, the less it made sense. The dress Carla was wearing was drenched in blood. He didn't recognize the dress and certainly didn't recognize the clothes Mike was wearing. It almost looked like a cowboy outfit? He wasn't sure if those were tears running down his face or beads of sweat. Glancing around the room, his gaze stopped on a small photo frame on the fireplace. It was a black and white photo of a family, a mother and father, and their son. Even from across the room, he could tell it wasn't his family, nor was it him in the picture. Somehow managing to unfreeze himself he walked across the room, making sure he walked around the things on the floor. He did his best not to look at them. The moment he saw their faces he knew it would be real and he did not want that to be the case. The top of the mantle was coated in dust and looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. The three people in the photo were all smiling, posing for a family portrait. There was a golden retriever sitting in front of them while they all stood on their front lawn. A perfect family. Holding the photo now up to his face he started to recognize the man in the photo. He seemed so incredibly familiar. The black and white photo was slightly distorted so making out the finer facial details was tricky. It was the tall man. The one he had followed to this wretched place. Looking around again at the room he almost expected him to jump out from behind the door. But this photo must be from the 50s or 60s? The tall man was no older than maybe 40 or 45 at a stretch. Placing the frame back on the mantle he now bent down beside the body of the woman. Slowly reaching his hand out to her shoulder he rolled her over so that her face was towards the ceiling. A wave of relief and joy passed through him. It wasn’t Carla, but the woman in the photo. He didn’t recognize her but glanced back at the photo to be sure. Doing the same to the boy beside her, he silently wept for a few seconds. Wiping the tears away he stood up and headed towards the door. The sudden noise of whispers from upstairs made him stop in his tracks. “Hello? If you’ve harmed my family you won’t get away with it. Just come down now and we can talk” he said as the last few syllables that came out of his mouth stammered. Waiting, he heard no response. The upstairs seemed to be in complete darkness. Flicking the switch beside him did nothing. He had to go up there. Looking back at the front door and the hall around him, he wasn’t sure where he was, or more importantly, when he was. But Carla and Mikey could be upstairs. He had no choice. Kicking off his shoes he started up the steps. Plush carpet was under his feet. He wasn’t even sure if he was moving slowly trying to be quiet, or was it out of fear. Each step seemed to creak more than the last and the silence was getting so intense it was buzzing loudly in his ears. His hand was slipping on the banister due to the sweat and he didn’t even notice how loudly he was breathing. More whispers froze him to the spot. They sounded like the whispers of a man laughing but he couldn’t be sure. The hairs on his neck told him to be afraid. Stopped now on the last step he stared hard into the darkness. All he could make out were the doors of the three bedrooms and bathroom. Three rooms on the left, one on the right. He went to speak but only a crackling whisper came out. His mouth was dry. Steeling himself he moved onto the landing. The whispering sounded like it was coming from the end of the hall. The air still smelled of stale grease and now he could get the faint odor of BO. The man must be close, he worried to himself. Closing his eyes tight he thought of Carla and Mikey. He hoped they were still alive. He hoped they weren’t also trapped in this nightmare. Whatever had happened at the drive through had caused time to recede or maybe for him to travel back. He wasn't sure which, all he was sure of was that things weren’t the way they were. Taking several deep breaths he opened his eyes while still gripping the banister tight. The shock of what he saw winded him. He couldn’t breathe and his legs started to betray him. He leaned against the wall of the landing, trying to grasp his breath and calm his out of control heart. He was home. It was the present day again and the landing looked the way it always did. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling more confused or more happy. He was just about to call out Carla and Mikeys name in a panic when he heard his own name called from the kitchen downstairs. “Honey? Are you ready to eat? Your fries are getting cold.” said a voice miraculously like Carlas. He almost didn’t believe it. Maybe it was a trap? Peering back over the banister of the landing and looking downstairs, everything looked normal again. He could even see Mikey’s shoes by the door. What on earth had happened in the last couple of hours? Did he dare to tell them? Wiping the sweat from his face and neck as best he could, he started to tuck his shirt back into his pants to make himself look presentable again. He’d go down and suss out the situation, he was worried that maybe he was losing his mind or perhaps, had lost it already.. He didn’t want to end up like his father in some looney bin with no one coming to visit him. He made his way downstairs. Turning the corner into the kitchen he could smell the McDonalds again. This time it put a smile on his face. He wanted nothing more now than to sit down with his family and share some food. His wife was doing some dishes at the sink while little Mikey had his head down in a coloring book. Ron stood in the doorway and waited for his family to turn around to recognize him, hoping that everything was back to normal. That he didn’t need to relive the last couple of hours all over again. His wife turned to face him and smiled the biggest smile he had ever seen. It caused the overlarged red lipstick that she was wearing to crack at the seams. Her beautiful white foundation however stayed as perfect as it always had been, except for two almost perfectly straight black lines coming down her face from her eyes. That always happened when she cried. He walked to her and kissed her on her perfect red little nose. “It’s good to be home honey. It’s good to see you guys.” he said while ruffling Mikey’s curly red hair. He sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. Mikey smiled back at him with his big red lips. Picking up his glass of water he took a big long drink. Washing away the heat of the day. Looking back down at the glass he chuckled to himself. He had left red lipstick on the glass yet again. Still laughing he turned to his right to see the McDonalds employee from earlier sitting in the chair beside him. He couldn’t hear her but her lips were moving slowly. The sudden and alarming sensation of falling made him sit up right so quickly his head struck the rear view mirror of his car. He was sitting in his car. The sun was beating through the window. “Sir, is there anything else I can get you?” asked the McDonalds employee for the third time. She was starting to become concerned. He looked at his surroundings and everything seemed normal. He must have drifted off while waiting for his food. He was completely drenched in sweat. “I’m so sorry, no thats all thank you.” “Great. You can go to the next window and collect your food. The kind gentlemen in the car in front of you paid for everything.” she said while nodding in the direction of the car parked ahead of him. A head poked out of the window of the pink Chevvy, wearing a full face of clown make-up and teeth so yellow they looked rotten. The tall man waved at him slowly from the car. He turned his head back to the McDonalds window to protest but before he uttered a single word someone grabbed him around the neck. Squeezing. He could feel their plastic like skin on his exposed neck. He was starting to pass out. Just before he did, he saw the Ronald statue in the reflection of the window jerk his neck one final time.


## I. The wind smelled like ashes and the air tasted of salt. I could hardly breathe. The woman had died on the cliffs below. Her neck had snapped, her bones had broken, and the black sea had swallowed her. It kept her for days before it spat her out onto the cold sand. She was bloated and blue. The familiar scowl on her face was gone, eroded by the current and hungry fish. Nobody knew how Mrs. Dena Black had really died. Everyone thought she had fallen. The police captain wasn’t too sure about that. He had called me for help and begrudgingly I left the warmth of my bed and the softness of my fiancee’s breasts pressed against my back. I didn’t want to be here, but a woman was dead and it hadn’t been an accident. I saw it clear as day. The sea wasn’t far from Black Manor. And Mrs. Black knew the path so well she could walk it in her sleep. Everyone knew about her affinity for the cliff. Every day, she is at its peak, right at the very edge, her legs dangling childishly. She spent hours gazing at the churning sea below. She laughed at those who warned her. Her children tried to reason with her. “I’ve been doing this since you were a twinkle in your father’s eye. Leave me be.” She loved the spray of water on her face, the smell of the sea invading her senses. She had sprinkled her daughter’s ashes there and then, years later, her son’s. Her remaining children said she used to talk into the wind and pray for her babies to come back to her. They hadn’t ruled out suicide because she had never recovered from the losses. Maybe she had had enough. But I knew the truth. I knew because she told me. I heard her behind me. Her footsteps had a disgusting, squelching sound to them. She was coming for me because I had called for her. The sooner I had the answers, the sooner I could go home. Her hand fell heavily onto my shoulder. Her fingers were blue and swollen and as she leaned in to whisper to me, I felt gritty sand on my earlobe, and smelled death on her breath. “I didn’t fall, and I didn’t kill myself.” She gurgled. “Someone pushed me and you know it. You see everything, don’t you? We both have the same smell. You smell of Hell.” And you smell of dead fish, I thought. I wish I could say I was used to this, but each ghost was different. Sometimes they looked as they lived. But other times they appeared like Mrs. Black. Their death was a statement. I repeated, “Someone pushed you.” The air still smelled of ashes and I remembered the cremains that Mrs. Black had sprinkled into the wind. “Who pushed you?” I asked. “Did you see them?” Her laugh sounded distorted, as if someone had sawed at her vocal cords with glass. The Black family didn’t have the best reputation with the rest of the town. They were cruel, demanding, and strange. Creepy. The townspeople heard screams coming from the manor, and people regularly went missing in their dark woods. Their servants would run from the manor and leave town. They never said why, they just disappeared, never to be seen again. Mrs. Black’s death was a cause for celebration. “If I knew, wouldn’t be here, would I?” she sneered. “I wouldn’t need someone like you? Would I, Ms. Necromancer?” I felt the irritation rise inside of me. Fuck, it was so cold. The sky was gray, and it started to rain. Again, I thought of my girlfriend and fantasized about her warm touch. The sooner I did this, the sooner I could leave. Begrudgingly, I turned to the water and lost myself in memory. I saw flashes of Mrs. Black’s life. The abuse from her father, the negligence of her mother. She would escape to watch the sea on the cliff side. Her parents never noticed. She spent hours there. She imagined she was a bird and wished she could fly. It would be so easy. So easy to throw herself into the water. But she never did. Her parents died in an accident when she was a teenager and she inherited their wealth and Black Manor. She met her husband and birthed her first child. For the first time in her life, she was happy. But her husband was jealous of her pedigree, the money, and her ownership of Black Manor. The darkness inside of him would bloom whenever he drank. He reminded her of her father. She grew to hate him, but at least she had her children. She loved them more than anything in the world. She had 5 daughters and 1 son, and they were perfect. She lived for them and she would die for them. Her husband went missing one day. They never found his body. I had a feeling about what happened. I felt her joy after he disappeared; her agony when her daughter committed suicide; the grief that submerged when her son was stabbed to death during a fight at the local bar. She drowned. Ashes in the sky and dust in the wind. She was older and sat on the cliff. Her lips moved rapidly, but the wind drowned out her voice. And then I saw what I had been waiting for. The moment of her death. A tall figure stood behind her. She twisted her body to see who it was. They pushed her, and she fell and she broke. The sea swallowed her whole. She drifted and awoke on the beach. I summoned her, and she came to me. I had brought her back to allow her the dignity to move on, to punish the one who had killed her. I snapped out of the reverie, and before I could stop myself, I looked over the edge. Down below, the drop was endless. Eternal. What was that saying? If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Something like that. But I couldn’t look away. Waves crashed, and the sea foamed. It reminded me of clouds. I thought of how nice it would feel to lie to them. Surely they would cushion the fall. The height hypnotized and terrified me. I took a step and then another. I snapped out of it just in time. I inched away from the cliff carefully. Let’s not die again. There’s nobody around you to bring you back. Not like last time. After they extricated me from the wreck, they made me live again. I remember the first breath I took and the screams that erupted from my throat. I screamed while the car burned, and ash filled my throat. I pleaded, and I wailed and I fought as they took me away. They must have given me something, or I passed out because once again the world went black. Mrs. Black rasped behind me. She coughed and she wretched and I heard a loud splat hit the ground. The stench made me nauseous. I had to get the hell out of here. “You’re right. Someone pushed you, but I didn’t see who did it.. Do you know anybody who would do this? Somebody who would like to hurt you.” Everyone, I thought. Everyone hated you, and as though she heard my thoughts, she laughed and then she grabbed my throat. She squeezed. She was so very strong. I clawed at her as I struggled to breathe. I left long scratches on her arms; her face. But the dead don’t feel pain and black, green liquid oozed from the wounds. She held me over the cliff, and my feet dangled in the air. She loosened her grip on my throat so I could breathe. “Look,” she said, her voice low. I didn’t. Instead, I kicked wildly, trying to get back on solid ground. “I said look.” She said forcefully. She shook me and I looked into the abyss. What the fuck? There were bodies in the sea. I counted at least 6. They bobbed like untethered buoys, naked and long-limbed. I fell into another vision, but this time, I wasn’t a spectator. I was the main character. I was in the water, my clothes weighed me down. I was sinking. I was going to drown. I had no choice. I treaded to the nearest corpse and grabbed onto it. It was a woman. She was cold and pale. She looked like a statue. Her features were lovely even in death. I knew her. Mrs. Black’s daughter looked just like her mother in her youth. She opened her eyes; they were milky white. She caressed my face, slowly, lovingly, and then she smiled. I looked around as the corpses floated listlessly in the water. I nearly gasped when I saw him. Mrs. Black’s husband. Not missing, but dead. Of course. His lip curled as he bared his teeth at me. There was thrashing in the water, and hands grabbed me. Mrs. Black’s son.He grinned at me and grabbed my hair. He forced my head under the water. I fought hard and furious and I broke free. I hungrily gulped air. But it didn’t matter. The dead surrounded me and pushed me back under. They held me down, and I couldn’t escape. My lungs burned, and I saw white. When I woke up, I was mercilessly on land. My throat burned and my clothes were soaked through. I cried. Mrs. Black stared at me. She drooled and her sunken eyes rolled in their sockets. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “You see them, don’t you? You see my babies?” I tried to free myself, but she just laughed at me. “What is this?” I gasped. “What was that? What are you? Your kids were cremated.” “'No, I buried them and then I brought them back,” Mrs. Black breathed. “I brought my babies back. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You aren’t the only one who can reanimate. I’ve been doing it since I was a girl.” She frowned. “But something went wrong.” Her grip loosened, and my heart pounded in my chest. If she let go, I would die. The sea would take me. “Stop judging me,” she said through clenched teeth.. “You did the same. You’re not as virtuous as you think. I know what you did.” “I didn’t do anything,” I cried. “I help people. I free them. I let their families find closure. “I only bring back those who have something to say.” She shook me, and a long strip of skin peeled off her face. “Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. “You smell like corpses and death.” Shut up, I wanted to scream, but my throat hurt too much. Shut up! I only did what was for the best. I did it for her. ## II. It rained that day. I was driving. You could cut the tension with a knife. Raquel, my fiancée, sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window. Her expression was stony. We were angry at one another. Lately, we were always angry. We fought, and we made up, and then we fought again. It was exhausting, and I was tired. I’m sure she was too. But we were both afraid to let go. Neither of us wanted to be alone. It happened so fast. A car cut us off. “Watch out!” she shrieked, and she grabbed the wheel. I yelled at her to stop, but it was too late. The road was slick with rain and as the tree loomed closer; I closed my eyes before the impact. The silence was deafening. My legs were on fire, pinned under the console. I tasted blood and my chest felt crushed in. It hurt to breathe. I turned my head to look at her, ignoring the excruciating pain. I forced myself to look at her. “Raquel?” I croaked. “Raquel, wake up.” But she didn’t. Her eyes were open and a long shard of glass pierced her neck. I reached to touch her cheek, and the pain exploded. I died. I was in purgatory. That space not quite heaven or hell. I walked endlessly down a long black corridor. I walked, and I walked until I heard footsteps. Somebody ran past me. Her hair, long and braided, streamed behind her and I knew that smell, the scent of her perfume. “Raquel?” I gasped and chased after her. She kept running down the endless corner. We ran into the abyss and a light appeared. A golden light that warmed my insides and told me everything was okay. Raquel looked behind at me. She smiled and then she was gone. She disappeared into the light and I followed. Forget the fighting and the anger and the days we spent ignoring one another. Life was too short, and I loved her. In death, everything would be fine. We would be together. The light felt so good and I couldn’t stop smiling. I would live here eternally. I would be so happy. But they brought me back, and the pain exploded. But that was nothing compared to witnessing my car catch on fire and watching Raquel burn. ## III. The hospital was my first experience in raising the dead. Believe me, you don’t know terror until you wake up to the corpse of an elderly man staring down at you. “I called you, but you didn’t come. So I came for you.” He said gravely. I was alive, but I might as well had been in hell. I didn’t have Raquel anymore. What I had was the power to hear the dead and the ability to hold their souls and reanimate them. They whispered to me 24/7. I never got to sleep. I learned that I just needed to give in and go to them, otherwise they wouldn’t let me sleep and I would die (again) from exhaustion. I hated every bit at first, but I soon found purpose. I had killed Raquel, but I could help others. I could help the dead find their peace. I had fun with it. The dead are interesting. Some came back looking as they had once lived, others were rotting in the various stages of decay. They all asked for my help. Whether that was assisting them crossing over or giving their loved ones a message. With every person I helped, I thought of resurrecting Raquel. I wouldn’t. I never brought back those who didn’t ask. Guilt ate at me daily. Why I fought to keep with her so much? Was I driving too fast? Why did she have to die and not me? Why didn’t I tell her I loved her more? One day, as I was washing the dishes. I heard her voice clear as day in my head. “Dena?” she whispered. “Dena? Where are you? Why did you leave me?” A plate crashed to the ground and broke into pieces. “Raquel?” I said out loud. “Raquel?” But silence answered, and I cut myself as I picked up the shattered silverware. Blood dripped down my fingers. I held them to my face and cried. I wanted to hear her again, but it was as though we were on different channels. Sometimes it hurt so much that I wouldn’t leave my bed. The only thing that helped was resurrecting those who needed me. One night, somebody must have seen me in the cemetery. They called the cops. I was listening to the confession of Celeste Knickerboxer, a petite woman in her 80s who had just died. She was downright giddy as she told me when that she was 40 she killed her cheating, abusive husband. She giggled, “And I’d do it again.” I was confused. “Mrs. Knickerboxer, how is this supposed to give you closure?” She laughed again. “It’s not. I just wanted to tell somebody.” I had just closed her casket when two police officers shone a light on me. They asked me what the fuck I was doing. It was hard to explain and impossible once Mrs. Knickerbocker angrily opened the lid. “Can you please hurry up! I want to go back to sleep!” She cackled.” I love to watch my husband burn in Hell.” It was a long night of talking about what I was, how it had happened, and what they were going to do with me now. The captain looked at me. His eyes were flat and gray. “Well, we’re going to need you to help us.” So I helped. When they called, I went to help them solve murders, collect clues, and locate the missing. I wasn’t a fan of the police, but this was about the dead and their families. Days passed, weeks, months, years…My necromancy skills bloomed. I learned how to control it. No more waking up to corpses staring down at me or knocking in my window, face pressed to the glass. I thought of Raquel often. I hadn’t heard her voice in so long and then one day, my birthday, I did. “Dena, I miss you. Dena I need your help. The others have said that you’re able to help me. Why won’t you come? Please.” Raquel’s pleaded with me and this time I didn’t hesitate. I picked up my keys and drove for hours to the town where Raquel had been buried. After she died, I moved. There were too many memories, and too many people hated me. Her gravesite was in horrible condition. It crushed me to see that her gravesite hadn't been tended to for a long time. Her parents hadn’t cared for her in life, so why would they in death? My heart beat in anticipation and finally, I did it. I brought Raquel back. It was wonderful. She was exactly as she had been alive. The only difference was the zigzag of scars across her face. She thought they made her look badass. She kept questioning me about why I had not come to her earlier.? She was hurt. She felt abandoned. “I didn’t know if you wanted to come back,” I said. “I only help those who ask. Wouldn’t it be like waking someone up from a nap?” She pursed her lips at me and rolled her eyes. “Heaven is boring. “ So that was what happened and for the first time in years, I was happy. We were happy and nobody knew. Nobody would ever know. Except Mrs. Black knew. Mrs. Black, the necromancer. ## IV. “What do you want with me?” I said. It was suddenly so cold. The sky was dark and rumbling. There was a storm coming, and the rain had become a downpour. The dead woman stared at me. “I want my babies,” she murmured. “They were supposed to be right here with me, but,” she trailed off. “It wasn’t enough…I am not strong enough for this anymore.” I saw it all. I saw how she had unearthed her children from their resting places. She laid their crumbling skeletons on the ground, walked to the cliff, and began chanting. She sprinkled ashes into the wind and I watched as they formed shape and glittered in colors I have never seen before. Her necromancy technique was so much different from mine. I have never met another necromancer after all. Maybe everyone performed it differently. I watched as her children’s’ bones fused together and raw skin molded onto their skeletons. In the end, they had a porcelain translucent appearance. They looked like human sized dolls. I felt Mrs. Black’s joy, but also her grief and her guilt. She had wanted this all her life. She had spent years studying the darkest of the arts. “You’re self taught,” I realized. The realization shocked me. “You taught yourself necromancy.” She sneered at me, her grin horrific because of her lack of lips. “I’ve been practicing since the age of 10,” she said sharply. “Mother and father were the first of my experiments. It was so lovely.” She whispered, lost in remembrance. “I killed them again and again. Every time I brought them back, they begged me to stop. Give us peace, they said! But I didn’t. Why would I do that? They never apologized for what they’ve done. They denied it. They never gave me peace.” Her eyes grew sharp again. “You are not better than me. Yes, my age has changed things.” She admitted. “I could have finished the ceremony alone, but…” “You need me,” I finished. My vision blurred. I was back in her memories. Mrs. Black dragged her son and daughter up the cliff, where her power was the most potent. I watched as she took out a small bowl and smashed ingredients with a pestle. It hadn’t been ashes she had been tossing into the wind. But a mixture of herbs, crushed animal bones, and desiccated rose petals. She stood there, and she prayed. She screamed into the wind. Behind her, her son and daughter rose. They approached their mother on unsteady legs. Those ghost white hands touched Mrs. Black’s back. She smiled with tears in her eyes and she turned. They pushed her off the cliff, together as one. Mrs. Black’s face went through many phases. Happiness, surprise, terror. For a moment, she was suspended in the air. I watched as she plummeted. She slammed into the rocks below, breaking bones and scraping away skin. She was barely alive when she hit the water. The water washed her away and she drowned.. Her children looked down at her, expressionless. It began to rain. Mrs. Black stared at me. “You knew,” I said. “You knew all along.” “Of course I knew, you idiot. Who else could it have been?” “Then why am I here?” I shouted. “What is the point of all of this?” That grotesque smile again, made up of broken teeth and bleeding gums. “You are going to bring me back and together we will resurrect my children.” This woman was out of her fucking mind. I felt bad for her, sure. Her life had been full of heartache. She just wanted her children back. I brought Raquel back. Wouldn’t me denying her make me a hypocrite? But this wasn’t the same. She wasn’t a good person. I only brought back those who asked. Not a single person had asked her. Those bodies in the water, the missing, and the murdered. I had an idea who some of them were. This woman was dangerous, and I would not bring her back. I shook my head. “No, I won’t help you.” She laughed. “I may be old and self-taught, but I’m stronger than you. I was going to give you a chance, but you are an absolute fool.” She grabbed my wrists and turned me to face the corpses coming towards us. They were ghost white. Some had skin sloughing off their forms. They limped towards me like pale zombies. I knew who some of them were. Her parents, I surmised. Her husband and the missing townspeople. And of course her son and her daughter, their eyes filmed over milky white. Her grip on me was like a vice. I gagged looking at the maggots that squirmed in and out a gash on her forearm. Mrs. Black began to sing and chant and I saw her memories, and I saw mine. They intertwined. Raquel’s cut and bleeding face. The smell of burning flesh in the air. The man who asked me to help him while I lay in my hospital bed. A heartbroken woman tightening a noose. Her pain. Dark red blood pooling on a hardwood floor. The pale face of a young man. The rattling gasp of his last breath. I grew tired and my body went limp. I wanted to close my eyes and let her do what she wanted. I was tired. I was so tired. I just want to sleep. I want to be back in bed with Raquel and want to tell her I love her and I’m sorry. Thinking if Raquel made me sick with guilt. With my necromancy gone, I wouldn’t be able to go back to her. I had to get back to her. And also I hate to lose. I wouldn’t let this dead bitch win. I could not stand the thought. Anger pulsed throughout me. I felt my body grow hot. Blisters appeared on Mrs. Black’s skin. They popped. She hardly noticed. She was dead, after all. Nothing hurt her. Nothing physical. I shoved my memories away and instead focused on hers. Her daughter’s neck bent to the side. Her body swinging gently, her legs suspended in air. Mrs. Black’s horrific scream when she found her. She fell to her knees. Her son looked no older than 17. He had provoked the fight, and he watched gleefully. His joy turned into a grimace. Pain. He looked down at the knife buried in his guts. He fell onto his knees and then onto his back. He cried as he bled out. So much blood and wailing. My ears popped. *Please, let it end.* *I want to die I want to die I want to die!* ***Leave us alone, mother. We are at peace.*** Mrs. Black pored over her books. Days, months, and years went by. And then one day she felt confident she could do it. It was time. Mrs. Black gasped, and her grip on me loosened. I broke away from her and pushed her as hard as I could. I was going to send her back to the sea. I felt elation as she fell backwards. She grabbed me, and momentarily I was suspended in the air. It was wonderful. I felt like I was flying. I was ash in the wind. I fell into the abyss. ## V. Death isn’t as fun the second time. Everything was pitch black. I walked, but I was getting nowhere. Would I be stuck in purgatory forever? Finally the light appeared, a glowing gold. Heaven. I hesitated. Did I want this? Did I really want to leave? Did I get another chance to live? It wouldn’t hurt to ask… “I don’t want to go.” I said, my voice echoing. “Please send me back.” For a moment, nothing happened. And then there was light. I heard waves and the low cawing of the gulls. I was on the beach and surrounded by a crowd of people. EMTs, the police, curious beach goers. I was dead and there was nothing more to see. The crowd dispersed. The EMTs slowly packed up their equipment and the police captain’s face was as gray as his eyes. His guilt emanated from him like waves. I gasped and coughed up salty water. I heaved and my chest ached. My entire body hurt, my bones were pulverized. I have never felt so much pain. It was quiet. Everyone was in disbelief. The EMTs jumped back into action and worked as fast as they could. They asked me questions. Did I know my name? What was the date? Who was the president? They documented every injury they could see. Every bone in my body is fucking broken, I wanted to say. “How is she alive?” One of them asked the other. “That cliff is a 70 foot drop. How did she survive that?” I didn’t; I tried to say. I died. I emitted a guttural wheeze instead. I wanted to say I didn’t. I had died. I’m not too sure what happened. I can only make a guess of why I am alive. As we dropped, I held onto Mrs. Black and again the warmth spread throughout my body. This time, I didn’t take her memories from her. I took the last bit of necromancy she had. I stole and used it. I died and reanimated myself. Smart girl, I thought. Smart, stupid girl. It was still possible I would succumb to my injuries, but I would fight to the very end. They loaded me onto a gurney and one of the EMTs injected me with something. The pain was slowly fading. I could think clearly again. I wondered if Mrs. Black’s victims were still on the cliff. If her son and daughter had watched her fall again. What would become of the halfway reanimated bodies? No souls, they were nothing more than zombies. I imagined the corpses shambling towards the secluded Black Manor. Another legend for a haunted town. Don’t go into the woods, that’s where the undead roam. They’ll eat your organs and steal your soul. I knew they would never find Mrs. Black’s body. I felt bad for the old woman. She had never had a chance. After all, she had just wanted her children. I understood the torture of sudden loss. Soon, I would be home with Raquel. I’m going to take a break from helping the dead, I thought. But I knew I would. When somebody called, I would go. It’s why I was brought back after all.


Little did I know that fateful day I switched into a new class the beginning of the year at the very last minute, that I made a decision that allowed me to meet the person that would dominate the next part of my life. I saw you every day – you were in half of my classes - and I will never forget the fateful day we were partners in class for an assignment; the way your eyes locked onto mine as you spoke to me with your faint southern-belle accent as we introduced ourselves and I learned the basics: major, name, hometown, goals. Your eyes were like a ray-gun, and there I was, caught in the tractor-beam. Those very same eyes would glimpse into me every day as we made it a routine to walk back from class to get coffee. And while we used to say we would spend less than half an hour chatting, before we knew it, it would be past an hour and we would wrap up the conversation, the both of late to our next class. We would profusely apologize, hurriedly exchange a last fleeting look, and be on our way, only to see each other at night, studying together, entertaining each other’s days, and trading life stories. The first time… *The rain increased its tempo, seeming to mirror the pitter patter of my racing heart, as you complained about how you couldn’t wait to leave the city and move to the countryside of Europe. I responded, having debated this endlessly with you whenever the weather was unfavorable, with the fact that the weather patterns were about identical, with the notable exception being the snow you so much adored. You gave a defeated and disgruntled sigh as we resumed basking in the hypnotic rainfall. I shivered as a brief gust of arctic wind blew through my open coat, out of place on this otherwise lukewarm autumn day.* Not too soon after that very autumn day I asked you out on our first date – we didn’t use that term, out of fear or out of naivety, but that is what it was - we had just finished working on our homework together when I asked if you had any plans and if you would want to be a part of mine. I wish you could’ve seen your face; you were so excited you nearly jumped out of your seat. In the traditional college student manner, we ended up getting fast food, ice cream, and stargazing, all during the first freeze-snap of the autumn. Every step we took, you complained about the weather and how you wished you were anywhere but here, but the comments dissipated as I ‘lent’ you my flannel shirt. With the crowded twinkling sky as my witness, I even think by the end of the night, I got you to admit you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here, in this moment, with- *A crashing thunderous clap emerged from the sky as the rain briefly lessened, bringing me back to reality – the reality of the situation. You were shivering, and I offered you my coat, not more than an afterthought before I departed my dorm, wearing it preemptively due to the overcast skies earlier. You used to joke about our contrasting clothing choices, with my muted and dark wardrobe juxtaposing your vibrant and colorful options. At this moment, you refrain as you cover up the brightly colored dress with the drab grey of my coat as you blended in with grey surrounding us. Despite the warmth my coat offered, I could see you struggle to warm yourself up as you blew into your hands. As I took your hands in my own in a futile attempt against the dropping temperatures and disappearing sun, I found myself remarking upon the softness of your hands compared to the calloused of my own. When was the last time I held your hand?* You hated public displays of affection, we both used to joke about how cheesy they were, out of place in the 21st century and a remnant from a simpler time. That was until we started doing them. And I won’t forget the first time you held my hand. I almost thought it was by accident, our hands were at our sides, and they found each other in the dark, walking back to our dorms. I could feel you stiffen up as I fit your hand into my palm and as we walked side by side, unafraid of those critics we once were, assessing us, just as we had done once before to others. Later you would tell me you were surprised that given all that I do, my hands were still soft; hands that did not seem to do laborious work, that did not have a hard life. You were self-conscious about your hands, with remnants of still-active callouses and eczema visible through touch and sight, and the history they represent. “You’re too soft”, you used to say whenever I used to complain about my minor inconveniences from the day, the rude comments I got, the person who shoved me in line, as I lay on your bedroom floor. Your kind words and love used to rebuild me from the days I had, from the loss of friends to family members, to failing in my endeavors and dreams. With you by my side, I never found the need to embrace tougher skin, you were there to heal my minor scrapes. As you told me your deepest and darkest secrets, from your troubled childhood and upbringing, to the horrors you had to deal with in high school and college, to the demons you still face to this day and the therapy you have yet to finish, you realized I was not as soft as you made me out to be or as I seemed, listening to your every word. I had faced my fair share of trauma, some of which haunt me to this day, and I related to you. “I know how you feel,” I used to say. These hands are not the same hands you remember. I try to remove my callouses to preserve the softness from a time past, but those callouses protect me from future injury. My hands have had to grow tougher to accommodate the changing demands of my life, the life I have had to live after you. *The wind proceeded to ramp up in intensity as a piercing splash of icy rain hit me in the face, taking me out of my thoughts. I for a moment lost the dialogue I was having internally, and I noticed you were transfixed on the growing river of runoff from the storm, creating murky brown streams running in front of us, carrying foreign matter, debris, and trash from elsewhere to our feet.* *It seems like we found each other, by luck, or by the changing tides of life. But despite this, you know that we weren’t perfect for each other. We have our differences, our conflicts, and our human disagreements. After all, then how could I explain the next semester any other way?* Our differences used to drive us apart, and we used to try to make it work despite the odds. We used to talk, but not listen, applying small patches to gaping holes. For some periods of time, these temporary band-aids used to work, and we would be happy. Gradually, those band aids ripped and revealed raw skin, sensitive, and fragile. We did this until you gave up. I held on hope longer, but I too, lost hope. *You’re looking at me now. I see your lips part as you look at me with those eyes. I hadn’t seen that look since we were in love all that while ago.* But then, how could I explain the next autumn, this autumn? I hadn’t spoken to you in months; the summer months were a reprieve. We hadn’t seen each other in longer, the last weeks of spring classes were cordial at best. But it was a like a day hadn’t passed as we resumed the rhythm we had done for so long. I missed you. And you missed me. Those conversations we had, they came without the arguments that followed and we were content. Finally, a relationship we felt could last the test of time. Ultimately, all good things come to an end, and our insecurities came out, and resulted in an argument to end all arguments, fueled by months of stability and lack of disagreement, that came as a product of the turmoil from earlier. We couldn’t erase the past, it was fundamental to our growth. We both are not the same people we once were. *Your mouth was moving, and I saw the development of a mischievous and peculiar smile. For a brief second, I forgot the past, and I wanted nothing more to pretend that our future was now. As the wind increased its ferocity, I failed to listen as you struggle to speak, and I moved closer, forming a barrier between you and the wind.* We tried. We did everything to make things work. I remember spending nights in your bed, convincing you to not lose hope for a better tomorrow as we used to contemplate the future after our arguments. Our vortex of emotions carried us this far, why give up? I never actually gave up. *As the rain reached a crescendo, and the distance between us closed in an instant, the lightning illuminated us as a decision had to be made or a crisis to be averted. I pause as your eyes begin to shut.* Our first kiss was under Andromeda’s twinkling glance. I remember seeing her starry eye wink as I leaned in on that cold autumn day and formed a connection that changed my life. *How did I get here?* It would have been a little over a year since you entered my life. *Is this what I want?* I knew it from the day we locked eyes, you’re worth it. I can feel your warm breath permeate the space between our faces. I remember squirming late at night due to the tickle of your breath on my face and neck. Is this what you want? You were hesitant in the beginning to say we were dating – I wore my heart on my sleeve, but you had it deep down, locked in your chest. But I possessed the key, and we had a good run while it lasted. I still have the key. *In the heat of the moment, anything could happen.* The spontaneity which led to us meeting in class, developing a relationship, and saying hurtful things all were due to the heat of the moment – this moment. *What do I do? I felt like I was drowning in the ocean of my emotions and memories, the history between us rivaling that of Antonius and Cleopatra.* Late at night, lying in bed, we used to talk about the future. Even before you told me you loved me, and that you haven’t said those words out loud to anyone before, we had already planned our future. *I fell in love with you all over again. You saw it in my eyes, and I saw that you never stopped. I felt your heart pound in my own, as I struggled to make my decision.* I remember early into our relationship we promised that no matter what, we would never leave each other’s lives. You later made me reaffirm that iron clad commitment. We were the keystone in each other’s lives, essential, unique, replaceable, but it just wouldn’t be the same with anyone else. *I love you.* I love you. *You love me.* You love me.