I’m so sorry I haven’t written in so long. The last 2 weeks have been a blur to me. I’ve been building and reading a lot. Almost every night, I fall asleep with a book from the villager’s library in my hands. After all those logs I collected, I decided I needed a house that wasn’t in the village. I went scouting for a place to live. While scouting, I remembered that I had found a blueprint for some log cabin earlier while ransacking the villager’s library. I pulled the blueprint out and realized that I could use it to build my house. I started reading it. First, It said that I needed to dig out a basement. So, I did exactly that. I dug out a large l-shaped hole in the ground under where my house was going to be. After that, I built the walls and fireplace. Doing that used up all of the wood I had, so I went and chopped down some more birch trees. Using the new wood I had collected, I made some stairs and placed them so I could go down to the basement and I could go up to the second floor. The blueprint called for glass which I knew could be made from sand. I went to the nearest lake and started collecting sand with my bucket. I brought it back to my under-construction house and burned some coal in my furnace to warm it up. Once it was warm enough, I put the sand in and waited till it turned into glass. I took the glass pieces as the sand turned to glass and placed them in the window slots one by one. Once I was done, I started on the second floor. I placed down wood logs to make a stable floor. I then made the walls. I had to make them different from the first floor because the roof had to lay on top of the walls. I completed that and went to work on laying down the roof. I was terrified that I was going to fall. So, I was extra careful and the roofing took two days to complete. After all that, I did some landscaping, went around the house, and added a few things to make it look nice. I then went exploring for a bit. During this exploration, I found a wood that I liked a lot more than the birch wood. I replaced the birch wood with this wood. It took around 5 days to complete that task. Once my house was completely constructed, I made myself a bedroom and placed my bed down. I also kept my furnace on the first floor next to the fireplace and kept my chests in the basement. After all this, I had run out of food and was getting hungry. I decided that I would need to make a farm. I started with making a staircase from my back door to the area where the farm would be. I finished that and moved onto clearing out the area and flattening it. I flattened both the first farm area and the second. I then dug out places for water and organized signs to show what would go where. I first placed the seeds I had found while ransacking the village. Secondly, I placed the seeds I had first found while exploring the area. Once those were all planted and watered, I went on and placed the signs next to the plants to label them and make sure I didn’t get confused. I was finished. It looked way different from before and it made me more confident in my adventures. I knew now that I had a home, a place to come back to.


It was a crisp Monday morning, an unprecedented bitterness wafting through our rickety house. I dressed myself to look presentable and descended the stairs into the kitchen, where I snatched a granola bar from the cupboard. I scooped up my backpack from beside the door, leaving without even a farewell from my negligent stepmother. Once I stepped outside, I drew my jacket more tightly around me. There was an icy breeze today, which was odd because the weather patterns in this town rarely differed. I cut between a few houses to get to the back alleys, in which I would begin the two-mile walk to school. I don’t take the main roads anymore, not since a kid got hit by a car there. I’d rather take the abandoned paths beyond the neighborhood, which are lined with dumpsters and garbage. It was then that things took a turn. I rounded a corner, and froze. About ten yards away from me was a very short man, about four feet tall, standing very still. His entire body was draped in a jet-black cloak, except for his face, which was wrinkled and pale and arranged in the most brutal smile I had ever seen. His platelike eyes were as wide as saucers, as if staring into my soul. In his pudgy little hand was a razor-sharp knife. He seemed a more twisted and vile version of the Grim Reaper, yet he never moved a muscle. For a moment, we both stood there, staring at each other. I brought my hand to my face and rubbed my eyes thoroughly. *He must be a vision,* I thought. But when I opened my eyes again, the Man was gone. He had disappeared in a split second, leaving no trace of his presence behind. Shaken, I continued on my way, but his face remained in my memory. When I arrived at school, I feigned serenity, though my sighting of the Man had unnerved me. I swallowed the ever-growing lump in my throat, and managed to survive the first half of the day without a hitch. Of course, I should’ve known that my peace wouldn’t last eternally. During recess, I saw a small boy from my class curled up by the fence with a book. It was Robbie, the timidest and most withdrawn kid in my grade. Under normal circumstances, I would not have taken notice of him, but the cover of the novel he was reading sent a chill down my spine. *The Strange One*, it was titled, and sported an image of a short man with a remarkable likeness to the one I had encountered on my journey to school. I approached Robbie, quaking. “Robbie?” I whispered, my voice quivering. “What is that book about?” His head snapped up from the page and he gazed at me curiously. “Want to have a look?” Nervously, I took the book from him and thumbed through to a random chapter. My heart stopped as my eyes flickered to a sentence in the middle of the page. *She saw a figure just beyond the tree, clad in a cloak with a pale face, and a knife in its hand.* Alarm bells chimed in my head and I goggled at Robbie, my eyes feral. “Is this… fiction?” I queried, desperately hoping it was. To my horror, Robbie did not give me the direct, reassuring response I desired. He stated, “I suppose it was written as such; however, it might be real. Why perceive something as fake just because you haven’t seen it with your own eyes?” *Whoever sees the Strange One will die within two weeks. It is an unavoidable destiny.* I tried to steady myself before I fainted. Deserting Robbie, I dashed back into the schoolhouse and towards the girls’ bathroom. At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My mouth was dry and my hands were trembling, but then I saw something that made my heart turn to ice. I gawked wordlessly at the mirror. A few yards behind me perched the Man, grinning silently and creepily. The blood drained from my face. Slowly, I turned my head to look over my shoulder, but saw only the tiled back wall. I whirled back to the mirror. The Man had vanished. The air had grown frigid, as if I was in an icebox. In a fit of terror, I sank to my knees, not taking my eyes off of the place where the entity had been standing. Black dots danced in my vision, but I forced myself to rise. As soon as I was stable, I dashed out of the bathroom and ran for my life back outside to the schoolyard. I did not utter a word about what had happened for the rest of the day. Over the next two weeks I encountered the Man five times more: once standing menacingly in a sewer, once peering into my window, once hiding in the corner of an empty classroom, and once watching me from my closet. The fifth time was by far the eeriest: I was watching television when it began to flash and glitch, and a distinct image of the Man flickered onto the screen. On each occasion, the moment I blinked, he disappeared. I was concealing a horrible secret, one that chilled me to my core. And anyway, who could I confide in? What options did I have? My father was away on business. My stepmother wouldn’t care. And, according to Robbie’s novel, I was supposed to die at the hands of the Man tomorrow, fourteen days succeeding my first sighting of him. That night, I had a restless sleep and was tormented by nightmares. At about three a.m., I awoke to a persistent knocking on my bedroom door. I called for my stepmother, but only silence met my ears in response. I stumbled out of bed and ventured tentatively over to the door. Under the crack of the doorframe, I could see a person in a black cloak stationed mere inches from my nose. I knew without hesitation that it was the Man. And he kept knocking. I skidded backward and started shaking all over, shivering like I was cold. I sobbed, I prayed, I moaned, I willed to be anywhere but here. Anywhere out of reach of the Man. I scrambled back to my bed and buried myself under the covers, crying. Abruptly the door burst open and a figure materialized in front of me. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I saw none other than the Man, his knife raised high above his veiled head. I opened my mouth to scream, but only an anguished squeak escaped. It was all I could do to console myself as I watched his dagger come down, down, down. My world dissolved into shadows.


## The sound of keys jostling and a door opening bring me out of my daze. ## “There's a Maria here!” I hear him shout in surprise. As if I am a rare species of human he found in his kitchen. ## “Sometimes I come home and there's a Maria here, and it makes me so happy!” His tone full of childish glee. ## A surge of pure joy overwhelms me. I wonder if my face shows how happy I feel. I kinda hope not, I’d look like an idiot. “Welcome home.” ## Suddenly everything feels right. Whatever issue I was just dwelling on no longer seems relevant. Kevin is home and that matters more. ## My first instinct is to ask how his day was, but stop myself, Kevin hates that question. It’s too mundane! He would gripe I hate talking about work. But there’s no need to ask anything, he is already telling me all about something exciting. I can tell by the way his hands start to gestate wildly. He paces around the living room putting his things away, settling in. His mouth races a million words a minute. He is so animated, like watching a cartoon come to life. It’s fun to experience. ## “.....and they're making a sequel!” He concludes slightly winded and looks over at me for a response. ## Shit. What was he talking about? ## “Oh cool.” I say anyway. Making my eyes wide so he thinks I know why it’s cool. “How do you think that’ll go?” ## He continues to talk and I make sure to pay attention this time. I am not terribly interested in movies but they make him light up and I do thoroughly enjoy that. ## Nothing about our interactions would point to a couple that has broken up. We spend the rest of the afternoon basking in each other, talking and giggling like childhood friends. Maybe it’s because we know we only have a few more months together that we are able to enjoy each other so profoundly. Our lease will end and that is when our break up will stop being something we talk about and turn into something we live. But for now, we pretend otherwise. ## The breakup was all his doing. I was perfectly content with our life. We were settling into the next phase. A phase I had been dreaming about since I met him, since I recognized that I had found who I wanted to spend my life with. Kevin was instead restless and doubtful. ## Kevin: Are you happy? The text came in at work. ## His question didn’t strike me as odd, on occasion Kevin asked me this and other vague philosophical queries out of nowhere. I didn’t jump to anything being out of place. ## Me: Yes I am. I answered truthfully. Are you? ## I knew he wasn’t. He had been distant these past few weeks. I could tell settling into the apartment wasn’t giving him the fulfillment he expected to receive from achieving this long term goal. His next question slapped me in the face. ## Kevin: Do you think we would be better as friends? ## NO. No. No. My brain immediately yelled. Of course not. No. ## A second message came in before I could answer. ## Kevin: We already interact like friends, we’re not very romantic with each other. What would be the difference? ## A LOT! I took a deep breathe. I hoped to god this was another thought experiment of his. ## Me: No. We wouldn’t be better as friends. What I get out of our relationship could not be done with the intensity and frequency of a friendship. And we could be more romantic, nothing is stopping us except what we’ve let ourselves get used to. ## I typed fervently. Trying not to work myself into a panic mid shift. ## Me: Can we talk about this in person please? This feels important. ## Kevin: No it’s okay, you get home late we can talk about this another day. ## Me: No. You’re talking about a breakup Kevin. I can’t put this off. Wait up for me. ## Kevin: Yea okay. ## I got home at midnight but he wasn’t there. ## Me: Where are you? ## Kevin: Doing laundry. I’ll be right down. ## It took him a half hour. He was trying to delay a scary conversation, but I wouldn’t have it. When he got in I had a bottle of wine and two glasses poured, I knew we would need some liquid courage to talk about this. We started by talking about anything else for the first hour. He didn’t want to bring it up and neither did I. I realized, after enough delay, that if I didn’t start it, it would go on ignored. So I bit the bullet. ## “So you think we’d be better as friends?” I blurted. Trying to hide the pain in my tone. ## “I was just asking what the difference would be. I’ve been noticing more and more how distant we are.” ## I thought that’s how you liked things! My inner voice cried ## “But we’ve always been this way.” I said ## “I know. But I don’t think this is the relationship I want.” ## But it’s the one you created! I weep. ## “We can work on it. If you want more romance I want that too. I just thought that you didn’t want that so I don’t push it. But we can do something about it.” ## “I don’t think we can.” ## “Why not?” ## “We’ve said it before that we would try to be more affectionate and nothing ever changes. We’re just going to keep saying it and nothing is going to change.” ## “I never knew you wanted to break up because of it! That brings it to a whole new level of seriousness.” I am sobbing at this point. Feeling a desperateness I’ve never experienced before. ## “It should just come naturally. It’s not right that we have to work for something that should just be part of a relationship.” He says adamantly, ## “But if we both want it, what is wrong with having to work on it until it becomes normal? I don’t understand.” ## We continued to argue but go in circles. By the end he became more adamant that there was no solution to our problem except ending it. ## “I am not breaking up with you. I just want us to think about it.” I knew him enough to know that was a lie. Kevin hated making decisions. He had a tendency to give me non committal answers so I would have to make the decision. That way when it didn’t work out, he wasn’t at fault. ## We went to bed that night after a 3 hour conversation. I laid there in utter panic, foolishly trying to go to sleep. After an hour of turmoil I got up went into the living room, put on my favorite movie and sobbed until Kevin woke up for his next day of work. ## He looked at me from across the room saying nothing, eyes full of grief. He approached me right before leaving. I looked up at him and sniffled. He put his hand softly on my head. “ I am leaving. Can I kiss you?” ## I nod “Please.” ## As he walks out of the apartment, leaving me alone with my sadness I start to remember the day I fell in love with Kevin. ## I stare at my phone in absolute awe. It’s quite hot. Did we really just talk for 7 hours? I was so scared to even have a phone conversation to begin with. Texting is my comfort zone. I was so sure there were going to be awkward pauses and we weren’t going to have much to say. But neither of us stopped talking or laughing the whole night. I open my phone to text him, he has work in a few hours. I have a five am shift in 20 min. ## Me: Sorry I wish we could keep talking ## Kevin: So do I. Have a good day at work. ## I can’t stop smiling. I am trying to, I don’t want my boss to think I am drunk or something. My body feels like it’s on fire,. For someone who hasn’t slept all night I am incredibly energetic. High. I realize. I giggle all the way to work reliving our conversation. Once I am parked outside, it strikes me like a sudden jolt. Fuck. I am in love with him. I smile harder. My jaw hurts. Every cell in my body recognizes this new truth. I am in love. I didn’t expect love to feel so certain. I’ve never been in love before, but I am usually very bad at knowing how I feel. Where was the part where I hem and doubt and question myself about what should be and what can’t be and yadda yadda yadda? But no. There’s not an ounce of doubt in my body, this morning I am in love. I keep saying it in my head and it creates more fire. I am in love. ## Kevin and I had quite the unconventional start to our romance, in fact we credit the rocky infrastructure as the result of its demise. All I know for certain is that when we met, we clung to each other like we were dying of thirst and our connection was a tall glass of water. We became best friends immediately, constantly baffled at how alike we were and how many common interests we shared. I admired how ridiculously entertaining he was, and he loved my intelligent and accepting personality. It only took two dates and a few phone calls to know we had found something unique, and were not letting it go. ## The problem was that although Kevin and I had found something intense and special, I was not ready to do the girlfriend thing. I had just left what I described as a ‘suffocating relationship’ and Kevin had left a relationship where he had been cheated on. Both of which happened for us around the same time. It felt like fate had made those things end at exactly the time that would lead us to each other. After that relationship I was ecstatic to be on the dating scene and having a lot of fun exploring what being a single adult was like. I assumed Kevin wouldn’t be ready for something serious either, so soon. I came up with a compromise. ## “What do we do?” He asked me. ## My answer came off with more confidence than I had. “Have you ever heard of polyamory?” ## “I am not sure.” ## “We date. But we keep seeing other people too.” I simplified. ## “You want to keep dating me while you date other people?” ## “You can keep dating too!” I clarified. Wanting him to take this well. ## “Oh..” He said and looked out the window. ## “What do you think?” ## “Just let me get this straight. You want to make me your bottom bitch?” ## I crossed my arms “Um.. I don’t know what that is but it doesn't sound good.” ## He laughed “You’ve never heard that before? You’re from Atlanta!” ## “Is that supposed to imply something? Just tell me what it means.” ## He explained it to me and I scoffed. ## “I can’t believe you just said that.” ## “I am just trying to understand.” ## “Look! I like you. We both just got out of disastrous relationships. This seems like the middle ground we are looking for.” ## “I didn’t know we were looking for middle ground.” ## “Ever since I heard about it I wanted to try it.” I said and shrugged. ## He thought for a while and I shook my leg in anticipation. ## “I guess we could try it.” ## I smiled. “Really?” ## He nodded. Wow he really is the coolest guy ever. ## “But you’re going to have to help me through it.” ## “Oh of course. I’ve done a lot of research on it.” ## “Yea? How?” ## “I listen to tons of relationship podcasts.” ## He gave me a skeptical look “Okay Maria. I’m trusting you.” ## It went well at first. ## Kevin: I have a date with a young lady today. ## The message came a week later solidifying what we were to become. Okay, this is it. This is the part where I feel angry and upset and take back my decision. Instead I found myself smiling. Utter relief filled my system. Good. I can handle this. But, who is this girl? Does Kevin have a type? I am fascinated. I am excited. ## Me: Great! I wanna know all about it ## We remained in a deep state of limerence. Kevin lived in Fort Collins an hour drive from Denver. To see him I borrow my mother's car. I filled with anticipation the entire way. I try not to speed but it’s impossible knowing going faster means seeing him sooner. I play Taylor Swift's Red. No other album captures my feelings better than this one. I sing along, pull the windows down and speed up, checking to make sure no police are around as I leave the city. Will I ever be as happy as I am now, twenty years old experiencing her first love? I don’t know, but I take it in just in case. ## When I get there Kevin’s broad grin greets me. I jump out of the car and into his arms. This is the moment I think about the entire ride here. The moment that I get to feel him, smell him and kiss him. We kiss until we have to stop ourselves because we’re in a parking lot in the middle of the day. I’ve only known him for a few months, but that doesn’t seem to matter in the least. ## I go home very late, and the next week he comes to me. We take turns from Denver to Fort Collins, to have the funnest dates of my life. Kevin became my favorite person. I tell him things I never dared say out loud before. We get to know each other quickly and in deep intimate ways. The people I was going on dates with begin to pale in comparison to the love I was experiencing. It was all bliss. ## Until... ## “You’re still sleeping with your ex!?” I scream into the phone. It felt like someone punched me. My throat closed up and I couldn’t swallow. ## “I wasn’t going to.” He said. “But when you said we could sleep with other people I thought why not.” ## Silence.


“It’s just I don’t know what to do anymore,” I said, pacing around the room, “really I don’t. If it’s not one thing, it’s another—” “You’re inability to make decisions has lead you to this point, and refusing to make a choice will continuously lead you to here.” I heard a wispy voice say from somewhere in my room. I spun around, searching for the voice. “Not with just this decision,” the voice continued, “but all others that will inevitably come in the future.” “Hello? Who’s there?” I asked, looking from the bed to the closet to the dresser. “Who said that?” “I have spoken.” It came from the dresser, near the potted succulent sitting atop. “Who?” I said. “I.” It was definitely near the plant. I opened a drawer and ruffled through my underwear. Nothing. “Who is I?” “I am I.” I opened the next dresser drawer and found nothing there either. “Can’t you stop messing with me and just tell me who’s talking?” I spat, straightening, glaring towards the succulent. “I am speaking.” The succulent’s bright green leaves shook with each word. “I am I.” I took a step back, the wind pushed suddenly from my lungs. “You— what?” I took a deep breath, exhaled. “You can talk?” “A lot of species can and do,” it said, leaves jingling together. I ran my hand through my hair, glanced around the room, looked back at the plant. “But… How? Why?” “I have always been able to speak, but I have chosen not to until this moment. Why? Why is because you have spent many years speaking about your issues and problems with life and I have absorbed them like the water in my soil. You are about to embark on a new chapter in your life, Gary, and I believe that you will need to hear my advice.” “Oh?” I said, “and what advice can a plant give?” “My advice is the same is what I said before. You are indecisive and continuously find yourself in predicaments that you are not confident or knowledgeable of to understand. You make rash decisions due to this, and nearly a hundred percent of the time, they are the incorrect ones. You are anxious and depressed, more so the former than the latter. You are young but not young enough for it to be an excuse. You will move out from this place and have your own house, and that frightens you but you believe you will be fine because the other people of your race have done it and continue to do it without much issue. But the fear is still there and—” I unclenched my hands and snatched the plant from my dresser. I stomped over to the trash bin and chucked it in. “Throwing me away Gary will not solve the problems that you have, especially the ones of intimacy you have been currently having with Megan—” I wrenched the trash bag from the bin and tied it tight, then threw open the window. The cold wind was sharp on my warm skin. I could still hear the plant through the plastic. “And, you still continue to make rash decis—” That’s all I heard it say before I threw it outside and slammed the window shut. If I had wanted a therapist, I would’ve went and seen one. If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my and consider subscribing.


Hi there. This is a 1.5k short story mainly focused on romance and philosophycal stuff. The setting is supposed to be a Victorian England. I'd be thankful if you take a bit of time to read it and give me your opinion on it and critisice it. Also, it is my first time posting in this sub so if you have any indications or recommendations I shall be thankful to hear them. Story: It was a dream. He knew it. He was painfully aware of it. He knew it was a dream as he looked at the mirror and found himself smiling. He knew it was a dream when he saw her sweet smile. He knew it was a dream as their laughters echoed under the ever-blue sky; as her eyes looked at him, flickered and sparkled and smiled at him; as he felt the tremulous warmth of her hand against his; as her lips grazed his; as he felt her scent on his arms, the tenderness of her skin, the softness of her hair, the playfulness in her smile, the light behind her eyes. Yes, it certainly was a dream. Of course it was. There was no way it was true. He desperately held on to that dream for he didn’t want to let go of her. He desperately held on to that dream, on to the sound of her laughter, on to the image of her eyes, on to her voice, on to everything that she was. He held on to that ephemeral dream, on to that midsummer fantasy that showed him what he desired. Perhaps that was why he loved and laughed and smiled and talked and was loved with every single piece of him inside that illusion; perhaps that was why he lived and felt alive inside that fantasy, inside that desire, inside that midsummer dream. Perhaps that was why he... He woke up alone, to the sound of passing carriages and to the gentle touch of daybreak rays. He woke up to the rooster’s song and to the white sheets. He woke up to the heartache of realizing that what he had dreamt was a dream after all. He woke up to the loneliness of his bedroom, to the unyielding pass of cruel time, to the tears that fell down his cheeks, to the sound of his sobbing. He woke up, yet his eyes did not see the ever-blue sky. There were no lips to graze his, nor echoing laughter, nor sparkling eyes, nor healing smiles, nor tremulous warmth. There was nothing. Just him, his arms empty, his heart aching, his eyes crying, his smile gone. When the rooster’s song was over, he stood up and slowly got dressed. He sighed. The house felt awfully empty and big, yet strangely suffocating. He would normally have a coffee every morning, but that day he just wanted to get out, to run away from those oppressive walls. Outside, it was a beautiful day. It was warm and the sun was bright, painfully bright, and the chicks were chirping and the cicadas buzzing. It felt like that midsummer weather wasn’t on tune with him. He sighed again and started walking. The streets were dirty as per usual and crowded despite being early in the morning. Thus, he walked away from the crowds and went to the outskirts of the town, and eventually, the cobbles were substituted by dirt and grass and the buildings by trees. He got to a small stream that flowed lazily under the shadows of willows and birch trees. The stream’s murmur and the brushing of the trees with the wind muffled his heartache, and the cool breeze felt light on his skin. He sat with his back against a willow and closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind and ease his pain. Some time passed, he heard footsteps closing in to him. He opened his eyes indolently, and met with a woman that sat under another willow in front of him. Her skin was softly tanned, contrasting with her white dress. The sunlight stole golden reflections from her nut-brown hair and her eyes looked at his. They were the color of verdant meadows under the summer sunlight. They looked at each other silently. “... Are you not planning to introduce yourself?” She finally spoke, her lips curved into a smile. “Are you?” “Not if you don’t.” “Then so be it.” He answered. ”The promise of a name for a name seems fair enough, yet, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and therefore names are but a way of referring to something. I can just think of you as a forest nymph.” “Do I seem like a forest nymph to you?” She asked incredulously and laughed. He smiled back. “Fair enough, it doesn’t seem accurate.” He stretched out his hand and bent forward. “My name is Arthur.” “Elaine.” She shook his hand and then he looked at his pocket watch and stood up. “I have got to go for today. May we meet again.” “So long.” She waved her hand and then sat back and closed her eyes as he had been doing moments ago. The ghost of a smile haunted her lips. He started his walk back town. His boots were slightly muddy and his pants had some grass stains. However, the weather didn’t feel as unpleasant as it had before. The warmth of the sun felt soothing, and he even found a certain melody to the cicadas’ and birds’ song. He felt like the song spoke of longing, of finding, and of new starts. He felt like it spoke of hope. He felt like it spoke of love and joy and smiles and warmth. He felt like it spoke of midsummer times. The next day, he set off early for the woods. His pace was firm and steady, and it mixed with the midsummer’s song. The lazy blowing of the wind was irregular and lonely, and gave dissonance to the song. The dissonance spoke of the despair of the knowing, of the gray clouds in the clear sky, of the shallowness of hearts, of the trifling sweat spilt, of the unsteadiness of justice, of the tears fallen to the earth, of the heartache that flesh is heir to, of the cold of loneliness, and of the relentless pass of time: it spoke of the futile fight against the heavens. When he got to the clearing, she was already there. As the previous day, she was sitting under a willow and had her eyes closed. An open book laid on her lap, its pages slightly withered. The wind, the dissonance of the song, blew again, making her hair disarrayed under the changing sun light. His chest strongly ached. Then, the wind stopped and for a moment everything became silent, dormant even, pausing the song. Her eyelids slowly opened and she looked at him and smiled. “What are you doing there, standing still? Come and sit. The breeze is specially good today.” And then, then the dormant forest seemed to come alive. The birds sang, the cicadas buzzed, the trees brushed, the stream flowed, and the wind blew too. Even the sun seemed to sing with its rays, even the earth seemed to sing with its softness, even the chirps sang with the awkwardness of the young, even the trees sang as they reached for the sky with their leaves with the wisdom of the old. Even the book seemed to scream the mysteries and the tears and the smiles that had been written into it. That, that was indeed the real midsummer song. It spoke of calm and stir, it spoke of old and young, it spoke of patience and rush, it spoke of friendship and hatred, it spoke of pain and love, it spoke of loneliness and belonging, of dreams and reality... It spoke of nothing and it spoke of everything. “You are right. The weather sure is nice today, Elaine.” The days passed, and the midsummer song was still everywhere for Arthur to listen to it. And he did. He listened to it under the midsummer sun. He listened to it between laughters and kisses, between chatters and silent caresses, while looking at those verdant eyes. Between smiles and sunshine, between summer forest and streams and bed sheets. But, somehow, he knew it. Yes, he was painfully aware of it. He knew it when he saw her sweet smile; when he heard her laughter; when he felt her skin and her lips; when he looked at her green, vibrant eyes, at her brimming with life green eyes; when he looked at her loving smile... Yes, it certainly was. Of course it was. There was no way it was true. It was indeed a dream. And he, foolishly, inanely, desperately, held on to that dream, on to her, on to his desire, on to that ephemeral dream, on to that midsummer fantasy. Perhaps that was why he loved and laughed and smiled and talked and was loved with every single piece of him inside that illusion; perhaps that was why he lived and felt alive inside that fantasy; perhaps that was why he had listened to the midsummer song inside that desire, inside that midsummer dream. Perhaps that was why he... He woke up alone, woke up to the heartache of realizing that what he had dreamt was a dream after all. He woke up to the loneliness of his bedroom, to the unyielding pass of cruel time, to the tears that fell down his cheeks, to the sound of his sobbing. He woke up, yet she wasn’t there, and neither was the song, and neither was his desire. There was nothing there. Nothing but tears and the lingering of a midsummer song and of a midsummer dream.


**Broken World** The man swept through the streets of what remained of Larneth. The once prosperous city was now a refuge for the peasants the handicapped, the poor… In other words - filth. Even so, this filth saw him as a hero, and so he had to play the part appropriately. Their pleas and screams boiled his blood. When they groped his scarlet cloak, his hair stood on end and he had to stop himself from recoiling in disgust. He didn’t know whether his self-control could channel the barrage of fury and repulsion he felt towards these animals into his plastic mask of smiles and empathy. They made him remember a boy he wanted to forget, one that he hated being reminded of. He remembered a boy who was seen as the one amongst these oppressed people who would strike back. If he was still here, the flames of justice would fuel him to make sure these people did not stay like this. He would comfort the crying children, help the men and women get on their own feet. Against all odds, he would restore places like Larneth to their former glory, and unseat the corrupt leaders of this broken world. The boy who made everyone smile. The boy who made his parents proud. They said he would go far. They said he would come back. They were wrong That boy did not make his parents proud. That boy did not go far. That boy did not come back. That boy was killed by the matured Amadeus Dabaso. An eternity of torture passed, and he returned to the present. He had reached his destination. A dilapidated building was cowering in front of him, looking as though if he was too loud it would crumble into dust. Gliding forward to the entrance, with his cloak billowing behind him like fire, he spoke. The illusion broke. A modern building which resembled a castle stood in front of him, glaring down at him with a triumphant leer. “Well, Amadeus! You took your time,” said a cheerful voice from behind him. Amadeus took off his hood, revealing the face of a young man in his 20s.“Good evening, *Greed*,” he said, without turning around. “Ah, you’re so uptight about the rules! Well so be it, *Wrath*.” Greed replied with a smile. Greed was a man at his prime, with clothes that represented that of some kind of royalty, clothes that were lined in gold. In contrast, Wrath was wearing a red cloak over plain clothes. “We’d best not be late; Father wouldn’t be very pleased.” Greed muttered, his eyes drifting to the large castle. “Pride has outdone himself this time. Who would have expected a castle, eh?” Wrath said quietly. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.” Wrath swept towards the castle, but Greed stayed behind. “Wrath, one of the Seven Great Transgressions known to man, born of a desire to avenge or to serve justice upon those who have wronged you.” Greed’s tone had morphed into a forced friendly tone, as if he was trying to praise Wrath. Wrath stopped in his tracks. “Never once have I ever seen you show any wrathful, vengeful side. Hell, I’ve never seen you get angry even once! You must be suppressing them, right? You’ve got nothing to worry about! We all savour our own Great Transgressions as much as we can. It’s the sign of our rebellion against God himself!” “So why does Father favour you so much when you show the least rebellion against God and don’t have any connection to your name whatsoever! I don’t want to start doubting Father but when everything seems as weird as this…” There was a deafening silence. Wrath broke the silence with a whisper. “I have a connection to my name. Just because it is invisible to the likes of you does not mean it is not there. Perhaps I’m not favoured more than everyone else. Maybe it’s just that you are favoured less. After all, it is the nature of the greedy to rebel against their masters and seek their own personal gain.” Wrath began to walk off. “Although, quite frankly, I think the ugly nature of the envious suits you more.” Wrath disappeared into the castle, while Greed stayed, motionless, rooted to the spot, with a look of fury etched into his face. The moment he had entered the castle, he had known something was not right. The castle had somehow managed to get his heart to an unnatural pace. The silence closed in all around him, threatening to swallow him whole. Shadows jumped across the wall. He turned around sharply, eyes darting frantically. Nothing. Then why was he so...unnerved? What made his legs threaten to collapse? What made his heart scream at him to turn away? He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Despite the incessant protests of his body, he forced himself forwards. The only sound in the labyrinth of silence. Five hooded figures sat around a grand table, adorned with jewels and gemstones. The rest of the room was as grand as the table, with paintings of ancient battles, forgotten even as legends. Spears and lances stood on display, studded with amethysts to give them a purple gleam. Most predominantly, a single throne sat at the head of the room, draped in a purple cloth. An uninterested man sat there, examining a glass of wine. His appearance gave no hint to what age he could have been; he looked anywhere from 20 to 60. His slit of a mouth opened. “Where is Amadeus and Greed? Its understandable that Amadeus would be late-he is not accustomed to the castle after all. But I expected more of Greed…” The woman in the purple hood spoke. ”It seems that Greed is toying with the boy, taking advantage of his vulnerability in the castle. You know how much he infuriates Greed, Father. Anyway, they’re here now”As if the words had sparked it, the grand doors slammed open. Greed walked with a gleeful face in front of Amadeus. Amadeus’ hands were shaking and his face was disfigured by hatred; Greed’s taunts and gibes were still fresh in his ears. “I’ve brought Amadeus!” Greed declared, in a singsong voice. Although everyone’s faces were covered, Amadeus could feel the excitement rippling through the room. The man known as Father twisted his mouth upwards. “Welcome, Amadeus. I trust you were able to find your way around the castle?” Laughter echoed around the room, with all of the hooded figures gazing at Amadeus with delighted eyes. They had never been this excited to see him before. The feeling of danger that the castle had sparked turned into bright flames. Amadeus gave an empty smile. “Greed was…accompanying me. It wasn’t hard to navigate the castle with him leading me.” The woman in the purple cloak mocked him “You didn’t get too scared, did you? Maybe Greed should have held your hand as well!” The rest of the figures guffawed, relishing his humiliation. His clenched fists shook in increasing intensity. His shallow breaths gave testimony to the assault on his self-control. He turned to Father with a quaking voice “ I don’t mean to be impudent but I’ve noticed that you are referring to me with my original name. Is something wrong?” Father’s smile widened across his entire face, a smile which normal people couldn’t be able to achieve. “No, Amadeus, nothing is wrong. In fact..” He got up, throwing the glass of wine on the floor. The glass, which should have shattered on impact with the floor, hit the floor with a thud. The wine remained still, as if it was stuck to the glass while the glass rolled around.“Everything is going according to plan.” He should have trusted his instincts. He had walked into a deathtrap. The small boy appeared in his mind again, wandering across the streets. His haunted eyes and dirty face never stop moving as he surveys his surroundings. But all his eyes can find are mountains of rubbish and abandoned piles of debris. No food. No water. Not a single living soul for miles around. He had walked into a death trap… But that boy still managed to survive. So why couldn't he? Even if it was a death trap, he wasn’t about to kneel down and die. Lightning cracked across the room as Amadeus flashed towards the open window. Impossibly, The man in the light blue cloak was already there. His hood flapped open, revealing a face riddled with happiness.


The Ant and the Grasshopper There once was a village of insects of all kinds. Ants, Beetles, Grasshoppers, Flies and Termites all living together. With so many bugs in one area it got crowded so they decided to send Dragonfly scouts to look for new areas to settle. One day Dragonflies returned to the village with wonderful news. They discovered a new meadow just over some hills that is full of seed producing plants and food. It would be a long trip but if they left now they could reach it with just enough time to harvest food for the winter. The Termites kind of ran the place and they liked their trees and colonies they had established so they decided not to brave the trip. Dragonflies and Flies don’t eat seeds and grass so they decided the trip wasn’t worth it either. But the Ants were hearty and their colony was growing so they needed the new meadow to feed their growing colony. And for the Grasshoppers a land of opportunity like this would be easy for them to reach because they can travel quickly with their powerful legs and wings so they decided to go as well. The Grasshoppers reached the meadow quickly. They established themselves and gorged on the leaves and seeds that were abundant, just as the Dragonflies had said. The ants got there a couple of days later and they began digging their colonies as the grasshoppers came and stopped them. “This land belongs to the grasshoppers, we claimed it two days ago and you are trespassing.” "Ok" the ants remarked "we will build our homes over there. On the other side of the meadow." "That belongs to grasshoppers as well. Grasshoppers have claimed all of the land in this Meadow." The ants didn’t know what to do. They were exhausted from the long perilous trip and lost many along the way. Then the grasshoppers spoke. “Let’s make a deal. How about we allow you to stay here and build your colony and harvest all the seeds you can carry but since it’s our land your colony is in and those are our seeds you harvest you have to give us half of what you collect before the winter.” The ants agreed knowing they might not survive the trip back to the village and who knows if the Termites would even allow them back? So the Grasshoppers hopped and played and ate their fill each day as the ants diligently worked to harvest as much as they could knowing half would have to be given to the Grasshoppers. As winter came the ants gave the grasshoppers their share of the food and everyone settled in for winter. There were far fewer grasshoppers than ants so they each were able to eat plenty all winter long. The ants had to ration their food so it would last all winter. Winter melted and spring came. The grasshopper that had claimed the land where the ant colony was located had passed away over the winter and the ants decided that now they will lay claim to the now vacant land because how can a dead bug own land? But the grasshoppers told the ants that the land was handed down to the children of the old grasshopper and they were the new owners. The old grasshopper had many children so now the grasshoppers demanded that this year the ants give them 3/4 of what they gather. The Ants protested. “We barely survived last year on half. How can we live on half that?” "Well if you don't like the deal you are free to move your colony somewhere else." The Grasshoppers said this knowing that the surrounding wilderness was full of dangers and harsh rocky terrain and moving would mean having to dig a whole new colony through hard clay. So the ants reluctantly agreed to the Grasshoppers terms. The ants doubled their efforts to gather as much as they could to meet the grasshoppers demands. They worked day and night, and produced so many drones to work that they were packed thorax to thorax. When winter came they had collected more seeds and food than anyone had ever seen in one place. More than the grasshoppers could eat in 10 lifetimes. “Wow” remarked the grasshoppers “You guys did great and you should be very proud of yourselves. We never thought anyone could gather this much. I guess the new percentage must have motivated you to do better. So next year our cut will be 90% of your harvest because we believe you can do it and this bold new goal will motivate you!.” The ants took their share home and that winter lost many. They couldn’t feed all the new drones they had to produce to meet the quota so they starved. This year the ants decided that 90% was too much. They decided to make a plan. They once again worked as hard as they could, even harder than the year before. They pushed their colony to the point where it was completely overcrowded, just a mass of ants living on top of one another ,a conveyor belt pushing food one direction to storage and new born ants to the outside to start working right away. The Grasshoppers were blown away again. “This is amazing guys. Even better than last year! We are so proud of everyone’s hard work that made this possible. We put out a goal and you all really rose to meet it. Congratulations.” And as the grasshoppers began to take their share of the food the ants approached to stop them. “We aren’t going to give you almost all of this food. None of you did any work all year, you sat around taking naps and hopping about eating whatever you pleased. We collected this food, and we need it to feed all of the ants that gathered it so you can’t have it all.” The grasshoppers scowled at the ants. “How ungrateful you all are. For generations our families have allowed you to live here in this land of plenty. All we have asked in return is compensation for the use of \*our\* land and we share with you \*our\* food. Would you rather leave this place for the wilds and we can simply hop about and eat as we please anyway? You only have what you have because we gave it to you and if now you are going to act bitter and envious we are going to have to ask you to leave.” “We won’t leave.” Said the ants “We have been in this meadow as long as you have and we have just as much right to be here. There are many more of us than you because we have been growing our numbers all year. You can’t stop us all from taking this food back to our colony” The ants then rushed to carry the food back to their colony. The grasshoppers chirped and birds and lizards swarmed the ants from the nearby bushes and tall grass. They devoured ant after ant as the ants begged surrender. After nearly all of the ants had been eaten, smashed, pecked or tore apart by strong grasshopper jaws one of the grasshoppers chirped again. The chaos stopped. "For this traitorous act you vile anarchists will lose half your share of the food and be grateful we are allowing you to have that along with your pitiful lives.You ants should have no trouble feeding your people now as there are far fewer of them." The Grasshoppers laughed and gave many seeds and leaves to the birds and lizards. And it continued like that every year. The ants would work as hard as they can so that their 10% would be enough to get them through the winter knowing that it won’t be and many will starve anyway. And the Grasshoppers always have an endless supply of lizards and birds to keep the ants in their place. Note from author: So I wrote this originally thinking of a reimagining of the classic fable but then my sister pointed out this is basically the plot of A Bug's Life lol.


I was alone on Thanksgiving. Nothing unusual about that, and nothing sad. It was by choice. Erin had gone to Texas to be with her family. I had stayed home in San Francisco, rather than travel all the way to Southern California to spend time with mine. My family didn’t really understand, but I had blamed it on work. They needed employees over the holidays, and wanted us to choose between time off for Thanksgiving or time off for Christmas. That *was* the truth, and almost every year of my adult life, I have worked on the evening of Thanksgiving. Later on, I would also work every Christmas when I decided not to travel then either. This year, despite making myself available, work didn’t even schedule me. I had the day off to be alone at home. That would be the first of three Thanksgiving Miracles I would experience on November 24, 2005. I’ve never cared about Thanksgiving. I like it now for the small ritual of celebration we have at home. Erin no longer returns to Texas. She likes to cook a big dinner for the two of us. It’s great for me because I love her cooking. Every year, she will break down the details of everything she got wrong, that was cooked for the wrong amount of time, didn’t mix right, and now tastes “weird”. There’s at least one item on the menu, maybe the stuffing, or could be the turkey, could be the sweet potatoes, that she will refuse to eat herself because it’s “not supposed to taste like that.” It all tastes perfect to me. She insists I’m wrong, and maybe I am. She doesn’t particularly like cooking any more than I do. She doesn’t do it often. Maybe my taste buds adapt out of appreciation for her efforts. All I taste is the sweetness of the gesture. Or it’s possible… that she’s a fucking great cook! Ever consider that, *Erin*?? In defense of, I suppose both of us, sometimes the turkey is not great. But is it ever? When I was a kid, I hated this holiday. HATED THANKSGIVING. I believe it’s tied to the hate/hate relationship I have with food. Sometimes I hate that my body requires me to eat food, but sometimes I hate that I have to *prepare* food in order to eat it. It’s such a nuisance! I like how plenty of foods taste, but I hate that the healthier something is, the more likely it is to go bad, rotting like a corpse that died too soon. The perfect food is ice cream, but unfortunately, ice cream is hardly perfect as “food”. I’m a picky eater, if you can believe it. I hate anything spicy. I don’t think soft foods should ever have something crunchy inside of them. I think bell peppers are from Hell. I went to a vegan restaurant one time and ordered corn chowder. There were bell peppers in it. Some people will read that and be like, yeah that’s how you make corn chowder. Some will think bell peppers are so insignificant that they’ll wonder how I even noticed. I was so disgusted that I still feel a wave of nausea when I walk by bell peppers in the grocery store. Just typing the words “bell peppers” so many times has me on the verge of PUKING. That was my reward for trying to eat healthy and vegan! Tricked with superfluous ingredients. Ben & Jerry’s would never pull that shit with me. Ben & Jerry’s lists every ingredient on the container and they have never betrayed me. I’ve never bought a pint of Chunky Monkey and been like, “why are there walnuts in this?” Of course not, because I have never bought Chunky Monkey. It is clear there are walnuts in it! There is no such accountability in the health food industry, or even for regular food. When you eat out, you never know when there will be tomato in an omelet, lettuce on a sandwich, or bell peppers in your glass of water. My family never tricked me. My grandma would make Thanksgiving dinner every year, and it was GOOD. I wasn’t pressured to eat anything I didn’t want to. My hatred of the holiday was nobody’s fault. What I hated was the concept of food, and the concept of *celebrating* food. So much time spent on preparation. It didn’t seem worth it. Especially for the centerpiece, the turkey. It’s a whole project that takes an entire day, for an end result that is usually too dry, and never amazing. Even at its wettest and tastiest, it’s basically mediocre. At least to my obviously particular sensibilities. For what it’s worth, I also think steak is horrible. It tastes disgusting. I have also never tasted a wine that wasn’t the absolute worst thing my mouth has ever experienced. I have heard these things are not the case for everyone. Perhaps these palate anomalies have also forged my resentment against food, by making me feel like an outsider. One year, when I was 14, I insisted that I would only eat fast food for Thanksgiving. I was determined. I would not submit to the fascism of tradition and eat anything that someone actually worked really hard on. It was never personal, but in retrospect, this was definitely insulting and I owe my grandma an apology. Sorry, Grandma. I still attended Thanksgiving dinner. I just brought my own meal, which had its own complication. For some reason, fast food restaurants are not open on Thanksgiving. So I had to pick up my order from Taco Bell the night before. At the dinner, I was surrounded by family, feasting on roasted turkey, stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes, dinner rolls, yams, cranberry sauce. I had on my plate a single bean burrito from Taco Bell that sat in a refrigerator for 20 hours and was briefly reheated in the microwave. The middle was still cold. I found out Taco Bell does not taste as good the next day. I was *happy*. My mom encouraged me to eat any of the food on the table. One bean burrito was barely a meal on a regular day. I refused. All I wanted was a small tortilla wrapped around a slab of bean paste mixed with a few shreds of cheese, “red sauce”, and by request, NO onions. Don’t even get me started on Taco Bell putting goddamn onions in their bean burritos. I guess not even Taco Bell is perfect. But in that moment, it had served its purpose. I had won the night. Take that, Thanksgiving! In 2005, I was ambivalent about the holiday. Having a day off to hang around and watch a movie at home was the most pleasant circumstance I could hope for. I had no dinner plans. No intention of eating anything special, certainly no intention of *cooking* something. Around noon, I went outside to check the mail. Our apartment was on the bottom floor of a duplex. A short pathway beside some grass led to the door from the sidewalk. On the left side of the front door was the stairway leading to the upstairs apartment. On the right was our wall-mounted mailbox. I reached in the mailbox and took out the DVD from Netflix I was expecting. It was raining, and I took a moment to take in the weather, to appreciate the empty streets and beautiful gray skies. I truly love a light rain and couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. A few feet from where I stood, sitting in the grass just off the path, was a box of donuts from Krispy Kreme. The night before, I had had a craving, specifically for Krispy Kreme. I had planned to check their schedule to see if they were open so I could have Krispy Kreme for Thanksgiving. Now, here was this box. I walked over to it. The box was soaked and looked like it had been stepped on. The clear film on the top revealed that there were still five glazed donuts inside, only one of them crushed. “It’s a Thanksgiving miracle!” I said, out loud because I was so excited. This was the second Thanksgiving miracle of the day. A free dinner just showing up on my doorstep! I sent Erin a text letting her know “I found donuts outside!!!!” She wrote back, “Holy shit, it’s a miracle!” I’m 38 now, and I can’t fucking believe I ate wet donuts I found in the street. At 23, it was normal. I used to movie-hop a lot, buy a ticket for a movie then sneak in to two more. To feed myself, I would go through the theater as everyone was leaving during the credits, and pick up unfinished bags of popcorn. Sometimes I found a few nachos, sometimes even candy. I thought I was being clever and resourceful by eating trash, as opposed to fucking gross. Nothing bad ever happened, as far as I knew. I did used to get sick three or four times a year back then, and almost never do now. I never connected my frequent sickness to my open invitation to germs, but it seems there might be something there. The movie I got from Netflix was called *Blood Freak*. It was from 1972. I had no idea what it was about. I rented it because I liked the title, and because the disc was put out by Something Weird Video. I loved their catalogue. The poster promised “A 20th Century HORROR beyond belief! Only the blood of drug addicts can satisfy the thirst of the BLOOD FREAK monster!” The monster pictured on the poster had a lumpy brown head with blood-red eyes and a long conical beak that went straight out. Blood dripped from the freak’s beak’s sharp teeth. My third Thanksgiving miracle was watching the film while eating all five delicious donuts, and discovering this was a *turkey* monster. A biker named Herschell helps out a girl named Angel with a flat tire. They become fast friends, and she invites him home, where it turns out Angel’s sister Ann is hosting an orgy. Herschell is offered drugs and sex, but that night he refuses. He stays with the family for a few days, and eventually, Ann is able to corrupt him and gets him addicted to marijuana. Meanwhile, Ann and Angel’s father has offered Herschell a job on his turkey farm. Mostly maintenance, but one of the requirements of this job is taste-testing the turkeys with an experimental chemical added to them. The mysterious chemicals mixed with the already destructive drugs in his body (marijuana, exclusively) have an adverse effect. He becomes the Blood Freak, a man of the exact same stature but with the head of some special effects guy from Florida’s bizarre interpretation of a turkey. His new addiction is not only drugs, but drugs filtered through blood. Only the blood of drug addicts can satisfy the thirst of the Blood Freak monster! Herschell goes on a murder spree, chopping off limbs and sitting patiently under his victims as they endlessly scream and their blood pours into his beak. Incredible. I had inadvertently rented a holiday classic. How could I possibly have a grudge against Thanksgiving after a perfect day like that? It’s still hard to get *excited* for it. I almost always request to work. However, I’ve given up my personal War On Thanksgiving. I still don’t visit my family to have a big dinner with them, although I have a handful of times now. I prefer a quiet week of watching movies and eating leftovers with my favorite chef and our two stunningly gorgeous cats. I am thankful for having that. This year, I am also reflecting back on some of the most miraculous moments of my life. I am extremely thankful for free donuts and a movie called *Blood Freak*.


Magic is dying. At least that's what my grandmother says. I can't believe her though. It's not like magic was ever real to begin with. Sure it's been several years since the cherry blossoms have bloomed but that doesn't mean they were magic. It's all because of global warming. As I walk outside my apartment complex I take a look at the cherry tree in the front. When I was young every year it would have these beautiful blossoms that would slowly appear, stay for a few days and then fall. It was nice, I suppose. I don't really remember them. I guess I took them for granted as a child. Now the tree hasn't had any bloom for the last four years. It still goes green but there are no petals. Spring time is supposed to be the cherry blossom season. With the white flowers blooming and people drinking under the tree. Taking a branch in my fingers and holding it to my nose I can just smell a hint of the blossom that's hiding in here, but it refuses to come out. Why has nature abandoned us? Is it a punishment for all the hell we've given it? Dam, I'm late for school. I just make the train. It's the same train I've taken for the last four years. When I sit down I see her. Sitting across from me as usual. A foreigner, with long brown hair and big green eyes she looks like something from a fantasy story. She looks a year older than me and goes to a different school. Ishtar I think it says on her label, I don't recognize the uniform though even after the four weeks she's been on the train. She doesn't wear any make-up but she doesn't need it. One of these days I plan on saying "Hi" to her, but the timing is never right. Maybe today will be better. I just hope that she doesn't say no. I'd better wait. I don't want to get hurt. No maybe I should… Here's my stop. Darn. That was too quick. I'll try again tomorrow. It's not like she's going anywhere. Besides I'm sure I'll be able to work up the courage tomorrow. "You got off again. Why do you never talk to me? It's been four weeks since I first saw you. I knew then that you were the one. You are the only one I could ever have, but you ignore me. I know that you look at me and I can feel that you like me but why do you never try? What could you be scared of? One word on your part is all it takes. One word and we could have had a connection. I can't keep coming here any more my Tammuz. Today was my last day. I'm sorry but I no longer believe that you wish to hold me. Farewell my love. I'll try to hold on to the magic as long as possible but I must go home. Please remember me. Find me if you can. If you even want to." I get on the train that evening and try to look for her again. I had a strange dream in class about her but I don't remember much about it. I'm a little worried but not much. She's sometimes here but not always. My evening schedule often changes so I don't always get to see her. I was sure that this time I was going to talk to her. I'd even worked up my line. "Hi." That took me three hours to decide. Oh well. She's always there in the morning. I'll try it again then. "Magic is dying. Can't you see it." I hear my grandmother say as I walk in the door to our apartment. She`s on that topic again. Mom's convinced she has dementia or some sort of psychotic fit, but grandma is pretty much all there. "I'm home." "Tam, sorry could you be a dear and run to the store. I forgot the milk." "Mom I just got home. Come-on." She gives me the money. No choice. I take it and put my shoes back on. "Look at the cherry blossoms. You can tell that she`s not doing her job. It's going to be the death of us all I tell you. She's missing something." "Okay Ba-chan. Do you need anything at the store too?" "Get me some smokes, and don't tell your mother. She'll throw a fit. Here's a 50. You can keep the change." Grandma is cool like that. I know some of the things that she says are weird but that's just who she is. Stepping outside I take another look at the cherry trees. As grandma said I can see them wanting to bud and I'm sure I can smell something but no. Global warming has done its job too well. Better get the milk. I have some homework to do before bed. I leave early the next day and quickly pass the tree in the courtyard. I want to make the train before it leaves. This day I'm going to talk to her, I can feel it. The air feels a little dryer than yesterday and kind of strange. It hasn't rained in a few weeks but I think it smells a little like my closet full of moldy books. I make the train but when I sit down in my usual spot she isn't there. Maybe she changed seats. I get up and start looking down the aisle. I don't see her or her purple uniform. She`s never missed before that I can remember. I remember a bit about the dream yesterday but push it aside. I walk up and down the train aisle and even open the door to the next compartment. Still no sign of her. Maybe she's sick today. I'll have to try her tomorrow. I really wanted to speak to her and I can't really hide my disappointment when I get to school. "Hey why so sad Tam? You look like you lost your dog." "Morning Shin. No I just had a bad train ride. There's this cute girl on in the mornings. I really wanted to talk to her today but she wasn't there." "A cute girl? Really? Don't tell me our resident herbivore is switching diets. The girls will be so jealous. They wanted to be the one to catch a hunk like you." "Very funny. It took me four weeks just to work up the nerve to talk to her. It's not like I get the chance to do that often." "Of course use the school as an excuse. Nobody asked you to go to an all boys academy. You could always transfer to the other one across the street." "That's not it." I could try explaining but they just don't get it. They are always able to talk to the girls that visit. I have trouble just looking at them. I get all tonged tied and fidgety. If any girl liked talking to a pile of sweat she'd be mine. But I don't think that such a girl exists. The next day on the train is the same and so is the day after that. I don't see her for the whole week and next week is the spring holiday. That's two weeks and nothing. Not a glimpse of her. I'm getting kind of worried. "What's wrong Tam?" I look up at my grandma taking a seat across from me at the kitchen table. "You look upset." "It's nothing Ba-chan. Just some troubles with a girl." "Really? Tell me about it." Since I was a boy I could always talk to my grandma about everything. She's been living with us for the past six years and despite her belief in magic she's always been pretty dependable. I tell her all about the girl on the train and how I wanted to talk to her but the minute I got up the nerve to do it she disappeared. I really would like to find her. I tell her how when I saw her bright smile, green eyes and brown hair I knew she was unlike any of the other girls I had ever met. I pour out my soul and she sits there quietly, listening. When I'm done she doesn’t say a word for a few minutes. "Tam have you thought about trying to track this girl down? I know you can draw and she sounds like a foreigner who would stick out. You could probably work up a sketch and ask around." I sit there stunned. Why didn't I think of that. "Thanks Ba-chan. I'll do that." "My pleasure dear. And don't forget to check everywhere. You never know where you'll find her." I draw a description of her uniform with the label on it "Ishtar" and the next day I start asking at the other stations down the line. I don`t know exactly which one she gets on but I know it's probably one of the local stations. I try the first one back and then the next one before that and the previous one down the line. At every station I get the same answer. They've never seen the girl. "Sorry." I go back further and further but no luck Finally I reach the first station on the line, my last chance. "Oh yeah her. I saw her almost everyday. It's kinda odd to see a foreigner out here. I mean this is the middle of the countryside. She get's off the express train coming from Nagoya and transfers to this local one. I don't know where she starts from but I haven't seen her in the last two weeks. Maybe she went home." I thank the station man and sit down off to the side. The Nagoya train? Where does she come from? Maybe she did go home as my dream said. It`s hot and the heatwave doesn't look to be ending anytime soon. Maybe I should just go home too. I know my grandma would be disappointed in me but if there's no way to find her then what can I do. Standing up I look over at the wall of TV's at the side of the station. That's when I see it. Her uniform. It's the same purple and the same design. I tried looking for it on the net but there was no school in Japan that had that design registered. But there it was. The school must be really private. I put my face close to the screen hoping for a glimpse that will tell me where the school is. I'm not disappointed but I wish I was. India. Time passes. "Help me Tammuz I need you. You are the only one who can save me." I wake up in a cold sweat. That dream again. It just started suddenly and now I've been having it every night for the last two weeks. Ishtar is floating in a void of some sort surrounded by billowy clouds and wearing almost nothing. It's a good dream but I wake up just before anything really exciting happens. It`s been five years since I stopped looking for her. After finding out that the uniform was from I school in India I tried to track it down on the net but no luck. I even called the studio that did the piece I saw it on but still no use. My mother wouldn't let me go to India then even though grandma said she'd pay, so that was that. I had to move on with my life and I eventually just forgot about her. That is until the dreams started Beep beep beep beep Ah nut's I'm going to be late. I jump out of bed and quickly pull on a suit. I run out of the house holding the toast my mother made for me and just make the train. Panting I scarf down the toast brushing the crumbs into my hand so I can throw them away later. There are no seats so I have to stand but that's okay, it lets me look out the window. It's springtime again but still no cherry blossoms. They just haven't been appearing anywhere. Even the tress no longer smell like they have something waiting to sprout. If anything they smell like my old socks which is not a good smell. The heat is becoming oppressive and there is no end in sight. Ten hours later I'm still at my desk. Working for a big advertising agency is all well and cool but they do drive you hard. I've been here for two years now but I'm still getting used to the job. This place is better that what it was though. That big scandal last year over the girl who committed suicide really forced them to cut back the overtime hours, even if it doesn't feel like it. "Hey Tam we're about to go out for some drinks. Wanna join us?" I look up at Jun and Soichi, My sempai. They know how to work the system at this company to get out of the worst of the overtime but I don`t want to go. They head out almost every night and the last time I got so drunk I woke up on the station steps. Besides I don't think my wallet can handle it. "You're going out for some drinks? Do you mind if I tag along?" Dammit the boss. There's no way I can say no now. "You're going to the usual place right? I'll catch up. I just have to finish this report." "Okay, but don't take too long we'll be waiting." I wave bye to them as they head out the door. Another night of drinking. And being the youngest they like to force the beer on me. They say we're bonding but I think they just like to get me drunk. I'm so tired and this report is staring me in the face. Five minutes. I'll just close my eyes for five minutes, dash this off and head to the party. I'll beg off after one drink and head home. Five minutes. "Tammuz I need you. Where are you? Why have you never tried to find me? Why did you give up? The magic is dying Tammuz. You are the only one who can rescue me Why have you forsaken me? Why!?" I wake with a start. I'm groggy and look around unsure. It takes me a second to realize I'm still at work. I look at the clock. 3 am. There goes the party and my report was erased when my head hit the computer. Tomorrow's going to be hell. I'm not disappointed. My boss chewed my out for messing up the report even though it turns out they didn`t need it. Just some busy work. Jun and Soichi ignore me, so that's good but I heard them bad mouthing me to some of the other sempai because I didn't come to the drinking party and left them all alone with a boss who doesn't like to pick up the bill. When I finally get home it's 12 am. I've been at work for two days straight and my socks are standing up on their own. "Tam are you okay? You weren't home last night and I couldn't contact you on your phone. You aren't overdoing it at work are you?" My mother is waiting for me at the kitchen table. I shake my head but don't answer and head to the shower. The hot water feels so good. "Tammuz." I jerk awake. Sleeping standing up is dangerous. I quickly finish and drag myself to bed. I gotta wake up at 6 am tomorrow to get to work. "Tammuz are you happy? Is this what you want? Do you wish me to go? Is this your desire? Like the last time?" I reach for her but she turns away from me and vanishes. My heart is breaking. I feel like a pit is swallowing me up. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Again I wake up. 5 am, early this time. I don't think I'll be able to sleep again and after that last dream I don't want to. Getting up I go to my desk and pull out an old notebook. Inside is the sketch I made of Ishtar. The same one from my dreams. I remember what it was like seeing her on the train. It was like I'd always known her. She had a presence about her that felt hypnotic even after all this time. I wanted to find her then and did everything I could but, well, life got in the way. She asked me in my dream was I happy and I had to think about that. When my mother wakes up an hour later I'm sitting at the kitchen table. "What is it dear?" She sounds worried. I wish grandma was still here but she passed away last year. She was easier to talk to. "Ka-san do you remember me wanting to go to India a few years ago?" She tilts her head. "I want to go there again. I have something I have to find there." "What about your job?" "I hate it and I don`t like my co-workers. I can't say no to them and they know that so they're always giving me the worst jobs available. Just like in school. I can't stand it. I've made a choice. I want to try and find her." My mother is silent. The last time we had this conversation she used every sneaky mother trick she had to make me feel so guilty that I quickly gave up any desire to go. "I can't talk you out of it this time can I?" "No. My mind is made up." She silently goes to her drawer takes out a thick letter and gives it to me. Then she starts to make breakfast. I`m puzzled but I open it up. There is a piece of paper in it and a huge wad of 100s. I stare at it with my eyes wide. Opening the letter I recognize Ba-chan's writing. "Dear Tam. If you're reading this letter than you have finally made the decision to follow your dream. I made your mother promise that when this day came she would give you the money and no guilt. With it you can start your journey. It's all I can do to help you find the magic again. I think you need it as much as it needs you." "Is this for real?" I look up at my mother. She's just finishing the toast and putting some salad on the table. "Ka-san?" Silent she looks at me. "Your Ba-chan wanted you to follow your dream. I guess I did too, but after your father was transferred up north I guess I didn't want to be alone. I think I may have placed too much on you." She sat down at the table. "After seeing what your job was doing to you I didn't want you to continue but I didn't know what to do. I know you love design but the hours and pressure. I'm afraid that if you continue like you are I'll lose you too." This was the most vulnerable I've ever seen my mother. I get up and give her a hug she returns it for a second then her usual cynicism comes back and she pushes me away. I feel great. My bosses at work almost refused to let me go. They kept telling me how valuable I was and how much they needed me but I couldn't take it. Two years without a vacation, 40 hour weekly overtime shifts and useless make work projects are finished. I was really happy to see the back of Jun and Soichi. They were made for this company. I have my ticket and passport. All that's left now is getting there and finding the school. I have done all the research I could and I know it's in the south in the main coffee producing area of India. From there I'll have to expand my search. It's been five years but I feel better than I ever have. Making this decision was the best thing I could have ever done. I really wish I had done it earlier. Even the smell of the trees is getting better. I could swear that I smelt a hint of cherry and not the usual pungent socks order. It's too bad blossom season is almost over. The way I feel now seeing the petals would put me over the top. "Tickets please." I find my seat on the plane and look out the window at the airport. Since making the decision to do this I have never been so scared or excited in my life. A few times I wanted to back down but no. This is the most confident I've ever been about something. I can't wait to get there. The only sore spot is that my dreams have stopped. I don't know if it`s a good thing or I bad thing. I kinda miss them though. "Excuse me is this seat taken?" I shake my head while still looking out the window. I can't wait to get started. The woman sits down next to me and I catch a whiff of her perfume. It`s a nice smell. It reminds me of spring as a child. Fresh and green. I love this smell. I close my eyes trying to remember where I last smelt it. Maybe the train? "Please fasten your seatbelts. We'll be taking off shortly." I risk one last look out the window as the plane taxis to the runway I swear I saw a white flower on the tree outside. Maybe global warming hasn't killed them all yet. "Is this your first time traveling?" I look at the woman sitting next to me. About as old as me but more fashionable than I could ever be. She reminds me a bit of Ishtar. "Yes. I`m on my way to India." "Really? What are you going to do when you get there?" "I`m looking for somebody. I have something I must tell her." "Thant sounds very romantic. Is she waiting for you at the airport.?" "No. I have no idea where she is. All I have is a memory and a picture." I show the woman the picture I drew. She looks at it and wishes me good luck and opens her book. She was nice but I can tell she thinks I'm kind of strange. I mean who travels around the world looking for a woman they don't know. The only other person who knows what I'm really doing is my mother. I think my grandmother guessed I'd do this before she died but that’s it. The funny thing is I feel more alive now than I did working that job. Maybe this was the right choice. I mean just talking to the strange, attractive woman should have unnerved me but it didn't. I'm really looking forward to finding her. It's been five years since I've been home. India was beautiful and I've been able to learn so much about this wonderful culture but I still haven`t found her which is disappointing. The dreams haven't come back either but I don't know how I feel about that. When I arrived in the country it took me a while but I found the school. It was located in the south western part of the country, close to the tip. It's name was Ishtar girls academy so that told me I was on the right track. It was local, very small, elite and difficult to access. When I got there I tried to find out if anybody from the school had ever gone to Japan. It took some doing because they were very private and protective of their rich clients but I found that a few had. When I showed my sketch the headmistress said she recognized her but refused to give me a name or any information beyond the fact that she had graduated. None of their records were available online and after getting that much information I was shut out of the school. They refused to let me back in after that. So I searched. Starting around that school I searched everywhere. Spreading out in wider and wider circles. No luck. Everyone I met who looked like the picture I drew just wasn't her. Many times I wanted to give up but the memory of that last dream, the loss I felt, spurred me on. I also spent time learning how to grow coffee, farming silk and just cultivating the land. The experience was eye-opening. The work was harder than the advertising company ever was but I didn't feel the weight of a soul-crushing presence over me. In Japan I was used to concrete. The hills to protect against landslides. The rivers to prevent flooding. The parks we had were small and dedicated to the spring cherry tree which had stopped blooming. Nature was controlled for the most part. But here it was alive. Not once in my time here did the trees smell like my socks. Sometimes they smelt worse but that was just because of the fertilizer. From what I could see global warming had nothing on this place. And the people. They were so friendly. I was able to make so many friends that when I told them I was heading back to Japan they threw me a farewell party. They had to rent a huge hall to hold everybody. When I compare my time here to my time in Japan I can't help but love it. Even if I couldn't find her. However it was time to go home. My mother is getting older and I am the only one who can take care of her. I don't know if it's what Ba-chan would want but I miss her. I know what I'll do when I get there. After spending all this time learning how to farm I'm going to continue. I still have some of Ba-chan's money left so I'm going to use it to invest in a farm and grow something. Besides it'll give me time to continue searching and maybe do some drawing in my free time.. My life replays itself as I land at Kansai airport and am reminded of how sterile everything is here. After so much time in the sun I don't know if I can take it. The smell hasn't really changed. I already miss the fresh smell of dirt and don't know if I can take sock again. "Tam is that you?" I look around and a man is approaching me. It takes me a minute to place his face but then it hits me. "Soichi. How have you been?" I can see he's been successful. His suit is freshly pressed and he has on an expensive watch. A Fred Perry. He's carrying a Louie Vuitton suitcase as well. Those things cost money. "Pretty good. I've been made head of the department and we just got back from a business trip to Singapore. I couldn't believe it when I saw you here. It brought me back to the old days, remember?" I can see a subordinate behind him looking frazzled and stressed. His suit's not as clean and it looks like his suitcase has seen better days. "That's good to hear. How's Jun?" "We got married three years ago and have a daughter. I don't get to see them much because I'm always busy but they are doing well. I try and get back home once a month. In fact I'm going to stop by there before I head back to my place in Tokyo." Watching his face as he spoke I felt that he was missing something. His image now was all he had. It was too perfect. He was always trying to do as little work as possible and take it easy, but now? I can't quite put my finger on what it was until I asked. "Are you happy?" He looked startled at the question and tries to blew it off like he usually did before. I think if I was the old Tam I wouldn`t even have asked him. However five years of living in the sun and talking with people, not at them, have changed me. I'm not the same man I was before I left. "Yes really happy. Anyway I have to go. Talk to you later." Soichi looked quiet as he left and gave his subordinate a sharp wave to follow after him. He's no longer quite as carefree as I remembered him. Getting on the train from the airport I take it home. I missed this. Not the silence on the ride, the sights. Looking at the people sitting staring at their smartphones and completely ignoring everything around them I have to smile at what they were missing outside the window. I partly can't blame them. It's spring again so the cherry's should be blooming if the heat hadn`t been so strong. When I transfer to my local train and sit down I can't stop a smile coming to my face at the memory of her. This was where I first saw her. The moving train lulled me to sleep. Near home a bump wakes me up and there she is. Ishtar. Sitting across from me. This must be a dream but she hasn't appeared to me there in over five years. This can't be real. Groggy I rub my eyes and pinch myself for good measure but no it's real. There she is. I'd spent ten years of my life looking for her and she pops in right on the same train I've always ridden. My grandmother always said magic was everywhere and looking at her I could understand why. She was beautiful. If anything the years have made her even more perfect. There was still no need for makeup. Her long brown hair and green eyes sucked me in just like before. I want to jump up and dance for joy. My journey is over. All I need to do was talk to her. To tell her "Hi." But I can't. After all this time it was like I was back in high school. What if she says no? What if she rejects me? That same herbivore that burst into a pool of sweat at the mere thought of talking to a girl was back. Is everything I had experienced over the last ten years gone? No! I won't let this slip away again. "Arriving at Akameguchi station. Please remember to take your bags and belongings when you exit the train. Watch your step and have a nice day. "Hi, my name is Tam. Nice to meet you. What's your name?" "Next station is Nabari. Please stand away from the doors as they close. This train is departing the station. Thank you for riding and have a nice day.


Logike was a deeply unsettling boy to look at. At only 16, he was 6’ 7” tall, and he loomed over most people. But at 140 pounds, he was dangerously underweight. His skin was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and a constantly displeased grumble to his voice. He wore nothing of note. A plain white T shirt, plain blue jeans. No tattoos, no piercings, no decor of any kind. His head was buzzed fairly short. It was clear he cut his own hair, as it was uneven, and too long in the back. He exuded an aura of aggression and disinterest. He sat on the red leather therapy couch, but didn’t rest lying down. Instead he sat forward, hunched over, his neck craned forward awkwardly. His long fingernails absentmindedly raked across a patch of psoriasis on his forehead until it bled into his eye. He didn’t blink, and let the blood drip into his open eye. "The hardest thing about being a sociopath, is the lack of guilt." Logike monologued. "It's not hard for me, per se, but it's frustrating for the people around me. They can't stand it. If I do a "bad" thing, they glare at me. They're waiting for me to show remorse for whatever I did. Big or small, they want me to act like I feel bad for what I did. But I don't. I can't feel bad. And that's out of my control. Did I intentionally skip the event you invited me to? Yes. Baptism? Not coming. Wedding? Not a chance. Birthday? What are you, five? Do I care that I skipped the event? No. If I wanted to go, I'd've gone. Do I care that I hurt your feelings? No, literally can't. Do I understand how it made you feel? No. I have no idea. But if you were really my friend, you would've known me well enough not to invite me in the first place. Did I do something careless, and it resulted in someone getting hurt? Maybe. Do I care? No. I can't. And shaming me will only annoy me. No amount of scolding will make me show guilt. See, the thing is, everyone thinks I'm an apathetic asshole. Maybe I am. But I'd honestly rather not be. If I could just fake emotion, it would make my life easier. That's what makes it a condition. This is literally out of my control. And I'm not just saying this to get you to feel bad for me. Fuck your pity. And don't you dare call it empathy. And even if it's genuine empathy, don't tell me. I don't understand how that feels, and I don't care. All I'm really trying to say, is leave me the hell alone. And if you don't, I won't feel bad about anything I do in retribution." Doctor Infigo was a short, fit, studious man, wearing a contoured white suit. His white rimmed glasses were the same shade as his suit. At 4’ 11” tall, he was nearly a dwarf, but with none of the telltale signs of a disproportionate body. His shoulder length dreads, only a single shade of black darker than his skin, were kept tied into a ponytail with a single dreadlock. He paced from side to side, actively scribbling in his notebook. "You're in therapy to better improve your own behavior." Dr Infigo said. "But it sounds like you'd rather manipulate everyone else's behavior instead." "I'm perfectly fine with my mentality, other people are the problem." "Well I can't teach you how to manipulate people." "Then this was a waste of my time. Good day." Logike stood up, and headed for the door. "This is court mandated therapy, Logike. Sit down." "Nah." Logike said, opening the door. "I will call the police, and they will send you back to prison. I don’t care if your a minor, and neither do the courts. You don’t get to assault your teacher with a scissors and get away without consequences. So, what's less inconvenient? Therapy, or prison?" Logike stood in the middle of the doorway for a long time, weighing his options. "Do they have internet access in prison?" Logike asked. "Yes." Dr Infigo said. “But it is highly limited, and strictly supervised.” Logike still hovered in the doorway. "And the food is terrible." Dr Infigo added. Logike turned around and shut the door. "That sounds too inconvenient." Logike said. "Prison usually is.” Dr Infigo said. “That's kinda the whole point." "Why do you care if I go to prison?" "I don't. But I get paid to help assholes like you, and I like to eat and pay rent." "Makes sense." Logike said, taking a seat. "Well then, therapist. Therapy away." "I want you to look sad." "I want you to jump off a bridge. But we can't all get what we want." "I'm serious, this has a purpose. Try to look sad." "But I don't feel sad. I'm not an actor." "Put your face in your hands." Logike put his hands over his face, and looked through the gaps in his fingers. "Don't be an idiot, you've seen sad people before.” Dr Infigo growled. “Weep you uncooperative bastard!" Logike hunched over, his face buried in his hands. He moaned like he was dying. There was a knock on the door. "Come in." Infigo said just slightly quieter than a shout. A police officer in a stab-resistant vest came in, his baton at the ready. He looked nervous. He saw Logike appearing to sob, and lowered his guard. "Holy shit.” the officer said, a surprised expression on his face. “Did you actually get through to that creep?" "It's my job." Dr Infigo said. "Holy shit." "Could you give us a moment, we're having a breakthrough." "Take all the time you need." The officer left with pep in his step. As soon as the officer was out of earshot, Dr Infigo’s eyes narrowed. "Alright you little shit, I'm gonna teach you how to act." Dr Infigo said. "I'm not an actor." Logike complained. "Acting is just lying with body language, and you're a very good liar." “Lying is easy when you don’t give a fuck what the truth is.” “Then acting should be just as easy for you.” “Why are you teaching me how to act?” “People are more likely to respond positively if they think you can empathize with them. So we are going to fake it ‘till you make it. You’re going to pretend to give a shit, even though you don’t.” “Why teach me how to lie? Doesn’t that go against your job description?” “If you act like a reformed criminal, it’ll make me look good.” “See, there’s the ulterior motive. Now you’re speaking logically.” “I don’t think you’d listen to me if I didn’t have a selfish motive.” Logike’s eyebrows narrowed in suspicion “Are you pretending to be selfish to help me?” Logike asked in an accusatory tone. “That would imply I’m trying to help you out of the goodness of my heart. Do you believe anyone is really capable of altruism?” “Of course not.” “Then you’ve answered your own question.” Logike mulled the situation over in his mind, chewing over the details. “Alright.” Logike said, holding out his hand for a shake. “I’ll let you teach me how to lie.” “Only if you make me look good.” Dr Infigo said, accepting the handshake.


It was May 2019 at a dive bar named Rocky's off Main St in Bowling Green, KY. I was six Orange Gose drinks deep and a week removed from slashing my own finger open while filleting a steak in my apartment at 2 AM while many more drinks deep than six. It was 3:30 AM by the time I went to the hospital. I'd spent the previous hour and a half with a beach towel on my finger while I ate the steak. It was May 2019 and that's where I was at. I digress; a week later, I was at Rocky's and sitting outside on the bench, shaking off the Orange Gose. That's when a girl in her early 20s plopped down next to me and, as if we were old friends, started telling me about her boyfriend. He was inside the bar, apparently as hammered as I was when I was spewing blood and methodically eating a sirloin a week prior. She told me about how tired she was of having to babysit her boyfriend while he swung between being the man she wanted to be with and the man she was waiting on outside of Rocky's off Main St. I had been that Jekyll and Hyde boyfriend, more than once. I knew the story even through a drunken haze where my ability to retain the details was, at best, as questionable as my decision making. After all, I still had stitches in my finger as evidence of both of those failings. It was at this point she pulled out her phone and asked to show me something. Let me preface this by saying, yes, this girl was insanely adorable. Well, here's what she showed me: a photo spread, taken somewhere in the woods, of herself seemingly themed on the Garden of Eden. Through the aforementioned haze, I remember a picture of her nude save a leaf covering her genital region. It was probably the hottest thing I'd ever seen, to be frank. She didn't ask if I liked it. She didn't say anything. She just kept showing me photos, apropos of very little. At this moment, I asked if she was drunk like me. She shook her head. Stone cold sober, she claimed. She wasn't slurring words. She looked as clear of mind as she claimed. She was just waiting on the man she loved, unsure if she was mistaken in possessing that love. And, for some reason, showing a drunk hippy a pictorial of herself. The conservation shifted back to her uncertainty about her boyfriend. She was asking the right guy. I had no clue if her boyfriend was worth keeping but I knew that I understood what it meant to be the man you should simply leave at the bar...and run far, far away. So I shook off the preoccupation I had on the hottest picture I'd ever seen and told her, best I could through slurred words and deep confusion, my idea of what the warning signs were. Part of me wanted to see if this girl wanted to go home with me. Most of me, thankfully, wanted to let her know the signs of what a bad home looked like. I have a working dick and a working soul and I've been swinging the pendulum of my instincts and actions from the former to the latter as best I can. Such is the nature of being an increasingly aged man. I was in the middle of my attempts at giving her answers when a guy approached us. It was him. He looked at her. He looked at me. I wondered if I was in for a fight. Instead, a smile came across her face. She jumped up and all but leapt into his arms, but the uncertainty was still evident in her tone and posture. Even six beers deep, I could see that. And even six beers deep, I could see how much she loved him. I excused myself. I walked toward Main St. and hoped that this young guy was not at all like I used to be and was still so terrified that I still might be. I looked back at them. He was facing away and she facing toward me. She waved at me over his shoulder and I could still see her smiling and exuding the same dual presence of warmth and conflict. I began to round the corner and walk down Main Street. I'm not sure if it was due to rounding the corner or the increasingly fish-eyed nature of my reddening eyes. But at that point, I couldn't see her anymore.