Humans have always been judgmental beings. That is why they have assigned me the role of a ceiling fan.

My only job is to look down on people because I cannot control the speed at which I turn. It is all in their hands. Those knob heads control me with a knob. And for the past ten years, I have been judging them as the ceiling fan of the Government Utility Bill Payment Office.

Last March, I heaved a sigh of relief. For some reason, they were shutting down the world. This meant that the household ceiling fans had to work overtime, while I can rest until they reopen the world. But as luck would have it, the maintenance man forgot to switch me off before he left. I've been turning slowly and slowly for the past year, without any rest. It would've been better if they kept the knob at full speed, but no I wasn't lucky enough for that. If I ran at full speed for a few days, I would probably fall off the ceiling. And we all know ground fans are worthless. But the knob was turned to the slowest speed setting. A ten-year-old ceiling fan that hasn't been maintained by incompetent government officials and it is moving really slow. That's when time stands still. I have never left the ceiling for ten years. But turning above an empty room, without any people to pass judgments on, I would beg for hell than stay here. But as days passed, March marched slowly into April after almost a year. It was during April that I came close to freedom. Since most people stayed back home, the electrical appliances outside residential areas got a fluctuating power supply. Don't ask me how I know all that technical jargon, electricity literally keeps me alive.

Those fluctuations caused my speed to increase. Instead of moving at five revolutions per minute, I would rotate at six the next minute. Then seven the next. I expected eight the next minute, but the power fluctuation fell, and I began to move at two or three per minute.

Every time I felt a glimmer of hope, I would slow down. This kept happening long enough that I ceased to care. Death as freedom is too much wishful thinking for someone like me. Gradually, my condition worsened. Dust began to cover my blades. Rust began to slowly creep up on me, but I wouldn't stop turning.

At that point, I began to lose a sense of myself. I wasn't able to judge humans anymore. All I did was slowly turn, get covered in rust and dust, and stare at the blank floor.

But working in a poorly maintained government office has its perks. A few weeks later, probably during the early monsoon in July, a few rats came in. With no one around to shoo them away, with large paper stacks of government records lying for them to chew on, this became a heaven for them. But surprisingly enough, when it became a heaven for them, it did so too for me. I got to watch the rats. And very soon, within a few weeks, the whole place was sprawling with rats.

Apparently, rats don't care much for siblings. They just have a go when they feel like it. So it gave me enough room to judge them. Promiscuous and incestuous rats, I was back to my old self again.

But in September, the rats slowly began to disappear. They had eaten away all the paperwork. And didn't have anything else to eat but themselves. The rats which turned to cannibalism survived. They gave me another reason to judge them. But soon enough, that too became boring. Somewhere in October, I could hear the voices of people outside the room. Apparently, they were going to reopen the world again in phases. You can bet that I had been waiting for this. Imagine the sight when the maintenance man comes in and gets greeted by chewed records and cannibal rats. But they didn't open the office door. During the time when they shut down the world, people began to pay their utility bills without leaving their homes. So now they could pay their utility bills from home rather than come all the way here. Judging the antics of the cannibal rats soon became boring to me. So I began to ignore them. As winter approached, hell began to creep back on me. The rats ceased to fight themselves and began to fight the cold. But the cold didn't affect me, I am just a ceiling fan stuck on top.

But why did I start feeling like this? When did I gain the capacity to feel?

Where did all the emotions come from?

I'm an inanimate ceiling fan. A mass-produced capitalist commodity that will not work past its warranty period. If I can remember correctly, around March of this year, I started feeling this way. Just before they shut down the world. So for the next two months, I had something to do: think. I began to ponder why a fan could get emotional. Those days passed by, and it was March again, exactly a year since they shut down the world. They still weren't going to reopen the world. But something expected happened with the door of the office. During the winter, the door edges shrunk. And when summer came, the door became loose and bolted open. So basically, the door was open for anyone to come in. I waited for a few days, no one came. Some day, probably during the end of March, a young couple came in. They just needed a place to fool around. But the minute they entered, their faces were smeared with shock. The boy began to scream and ran away without the girl. The girl was initially frightened at what she saw, but that fright turned into anger as she slowly walked off to find that boy.

Until now, I hadn't realized it, but a corpse had been hanging off the ceiling fan. The noose which I had used still held my decomposed body. I remembered everything now.

Working as a maintenance man in the government utility office was almost worthless. I was invisible. But that didn't really matter to me. That is how my job has always been and, I had learned to accept it. What I hated was that people judged me for being a cleaner. If I don't clean their place, they will live like pigs. But when I clean their mess, all I get is filthy stares of condescension. I never expected gratitude. But I never expected judgment either. After I hung myself, I had left the fan switched on. My body hung from the fan for three days before they shut down the world. And no one noticed a decaying corpse. That was when I became the ceiling fan. It was the only object which hadn't judged me for the past ten years. The rats had eaten parts of me. So now I became a few rats also. The world is full of filth, and now I'm only going to add more.


I live my days alone. I walk the familiar streets of my home. I turn the corner and find my apartment. I head inside. I kick off my shoes and lay on my pull out couch exhausted from my long day at a dead end job with people I hate. The place where I will slave away till i am worked to death. I look towards the kitchen, but I have no strength to cook. I look at the phone but with no patience left. I close my eyes hungry the thin blanket exposing me to the cold. My heater hasn't worked in months and it's a especially frigid January. Somehow despite this I lull myself to sleep with my tears. How did it come to this... Then all of a sudden I'm not in my apartment anymore! I look around to find myself in a meadow a beautiful meadow filled with my favorite flowers, blue orchids. I pick one and place it in my hair. My hunger is gone and the warm sun shines down on me. I run through the meadow full of bliss and glee. Then i reach the edge. In front of me is a beautiful city of silver. I take a step into the city. I'm back in my apartment. I feel my heart drop to the floor. I look at the clock and it's time for me to get ready for work. What's the point. What's the point of living anymore. I need to find a way back to that wonderful place. Maybe then I will be happy I'm on my way to work now. I head out and walk for about half an hour to my job. I go inside the beautiful house and see the youngest kid running around. My boss gives me a list of things I need to get done. I clean the entire house and by the time I'm done it's time for dinner. Better get cooking. As I slave away in the kitchen the eldest kid or more like young man being about my age comes up behind me. I know he has always liked me ever since I've been working here which is about a year, and has been pressuring me to be a live in servant. More like slave in this case. " You look absolutely horrible. I hate to see you like this." He says wrapping his arms around me. " You should come live here it's much more comfortable than what ever rat-hole you live in. I'll make sure you have everything you want." I stay silent. It's tempting, but I know exactly what he. I remove his hands from my body serve dinner and leave the house. I go back to my rat-hole of a home and manage to make myself a bowl of noodles. When i finish the electricity goes out. Just great. I put my bowl in the sink and turn in for the day. I'm back! This time I'm inside the city. I look around and everyone is dressed in beautiful clothes. I look in the windows of the stores and I see the reflection of someone...is that me... The person I see s beautiful, dressed in elegant clothes. I look down at myself. It is me! I see an estate just like the one I work in." Hello master how are you today" I hear the voice of young man. It's the boy I work for! " Welcome home." He leads me inside the house is decorated just like I imagined it would be if i ever owned it. The boy waited on me hand and foot the younger one playing like he always did. How is this possible. I explore the entire house. I can barely contain my joy. Dinner is a magnificent feast of all my favorite foods. I've never felt this full before. I turn in for the night in a warm comfy bed my stomach full. I wake up expecting to be back in my old crummy apartment. Instead I find myself in this dream of a world. I wake up full of energy its 12pm and I don't have to work! I decide to explore this new city. This time instead of window shopping I walk into the most expensive store I can find. I try on outfit after outfit and have the most fun I've ever had. I am about to leave out when someone stops me. " I think you're forgetting your clothes." the owner of the store says.  I panic. " I don't have any money." " You don't have to pay for anything anywhere why would someone like you need money." He says seemingly confused. I practically jump with joy and i quickly load the clothes onto the cart. I get back home in time for another absolutely amazing dinner and  have another peaceful night. Another day in my wonderland I walk around in my brand new clothes and see a group of young people around my age looking at me as if I am a goddess. I walk over and greet them. They compliment me and beg me to be their friend. Of course i let them. We spend the day shopping and we head back to my estate and watch a movie in my theater! Days pass like this I lose memory of my old life. Me and my friends go to a restaurant and order everything on the menu. I forget my family. We go to an amusement park. I forget my job. I go shopping. I forget my apartment. This is my life it's all I know. Months pass. I have a boyfriend now. I meet him at the pool. It's always warm here and i go to the pool almost everyday now. He lives with me and my house and he plays with the little kid that runs around. I never quite understood why the little kid is here but he is amusing. Today my boyfriend proposed an we're getting married immediately! Before I know it I'm standing at the alter in a beautiful wedding dress. As soon as I say I do I find myself in a strange place. I'm in a hospital! The servant boy is standing in a corner. All of a sudden everything comes back to me! " You have been in a coma for a year." The doctor tells me. No no no no no no no no no no. Im screaming now as the memories make my head hurt. Each one a wrecking ball. I need to find my way back! Maybe if I sleep forever. A permanent sleep...an irreversible sleep. I throw myself out of the hospital window...I'm back in my fantasy world....forever.


I can’t stop moving. My body wont let me. My hands grip the bed covers as my legs do a pedaling type movement. I’m freezing yet sweat has covered most of the sheets. My eyes are closed and I see things. Terrible things. Call them demons, monsters, whatever sick, strange, unimaginable things, I see them. Can’t very much keep my eyes open as I’m so very dizzy. My head is light and I feel I am on the cusp of a seizure. Never had one before. By the grace of God only, I would imagine. I’m moaning and repeating ‘’No….please God, no. Make it go away”. It will be sometime until that happens and I’m well aware of that, unfortunately. Saying it out loud makes me feel a little better. I’m in for a ride, and not a good one. I can only hope that its quick. As quick as can be at least. I know what to expect. If I do fall asleep I know what awaits me. The nightmares. The sleep paralysis. I’ve had them before but their exacerbated when this happens. These withdrawals will kill me one day. The Lord will spare me only so many times. And I do believe this may be the last. 48 exhausting and terrifying hours later, he was able to throw his legs over the side of the bed. No food had entered his body and what liquids that were consumed didn’t stay consumed for too long. His legs were wobbling. Weak from not being mobile. As the hours passed and his mind began to clear, he thought. That’s all he could do. He thought of the feelings, the torture that he put himself through. Telling himself over and over and over again that this was no way to live life. He wasn’t always like this. He used to smile. Used to enjoy himself. He laughed and he was full of life. ‘’Where did I go wrong?” he says to himself. Making his way to the balcony window and looking outside he saw the snow fall. Light, but constant. Gray clouds covered the sky. A beautiful sight. Turning, he walks into his library. His bookshelf is filled with so many memories. Stories that he used to get lost in. A faint smile comes across his face. The living room. Art on the walls and so many things collected and given to him. Gifts and items from his mother and his father. His friends. Collectibles of all sorts are scattered on various shelves and desks throughout. So many years spent enjoying what his apartment is filled with. He loves them. Mustering up all of the strength he has, he was able to shower and dress himself. A copy of ‘’The Lord of the Rings’’ sits on his bedside table. His favorite. Grabbing it and walking into the kitchen, he reaches for his keys, opens, and locks the door behind him. Leaving the pain and suffering of the past couple days behind. The park wasn’t far. The drive would be difficult nonetheless. Tunnel vision was a prominent symptom of the withdrawals. He would make it. He was hell bent on doing so. No music. Silence was needed. To think. To clear. To just be. He pulled off into the parking lot. A massive snow covered field with trees lining the perimeter. A steep hill with the parks trails intertwined over it in the distance. Knowing exactly the spot he wanted to go to, his trek began. It would take a while granted his current state, but he needed to make it. Eyes forward, looking all around. Admiring the beauty. The wind was picking up, making the frosted trees sway back and forth, creating an even more calming emotion for him. He crossed the field and entered the trail head. Snow freezing over on the ground, a slight crunch with every step he took was all he could hear. More clarity with each passing minute. An old, weathered bridge crossed the creek after descending for a few minutes. How many people have crossed this in days past? How many feelings and emotions have taken place in this very spot? Were there lost and broken souls standing right where he was at some point? Happiness and optimism? A simple admiration for the scenery. A proposal. A book being read. A story being written. Who would know. It could be a “simple” place to some. It could be a magical place to others. That’s the beauty of where he was. It was what him, and others, chose to make it. Not far passed the bridge, a narrow trail climbed up a brush laden hill to a cleared out area. Stone, amphitheater style seating rows occupied this space. He sat. Eyes up to the sky. A deep breathe in as his eyelids slowly shut, feeling the flakes land softly on his face. Emptying his mind of the negative, off what he had done to himself. Awareness. Only of where he was and what was around him. Silence lay heavy over where he was. Peace. He looked down at his book and flipped the cover open. Page 1. Starting fresh. It was never too late to do that. Some hours later the snow had subsided and he finished up his reading. He took his time heading back on the trail through the woods, over the bridge. Soaking up his surroundings as he did. Every wonderful sight. Crossing the field once more he arrived at his car, ready to open the door, he paused and looked up. One more glance at the trees. At the snow. It was so simple a thing. A park in the winter time and a walk through the woods. A couple hours of his favorite book. By this time the previous hours had all but left his mind and he felt renewed. This strengthened him. He put the key in the lock and opened his front door to a place that he loved, and one that he has taken for granted for far too long. He walked over to the couch and sat, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. This was it. He would no longer carry on the way that he was. There was happiness all around him. His family, his books, his reading chair, food on the table and clothes to wear. These realizations stemming from a simple walk in the park. This was life. Surrounded by the most beautiful things. He wanted to live. To make the most out of everyday. And he would. He would.


* Content Warning: Terminal Disease Discussion TIME OUT I don’t want to be strong today. Today, I want to drink wine before five, not eat a healthy dinner, and not complete my evening workout, the one I do religiously because healthy living, the podcasts tell me, is life-elongating. But not for him. Although he exercises daily, his life expectancy hasn’t elongated; it's diminished. Today, after hearing his news, I offered my strength, offered him my support, and said all the things one’s supposed to say in these situations. You’re going to get through this . I’m here for you . We’ll fight this together. I love you . You said the right things, I tell myself. But I abruptly ended our call because tears broke from the vault, and my voice started to quiver, and everyone knows you shouldn't upset someone who received horrible news. There really should be a handbook for terminal etiquette . More than anything, I want to open that bottle of wine I saved for a rainy day because Stage Four sounds scary—despite his assurances that it’s slow-moving or slow-growing or whatever my four pages of hastily transcribed notes mean—and today is the rainiest day of all. On tiptoes, I reach for the bottle on the shelf, and a landslide of pantry items tumble down. Plastic bag boxes, coffee filters, an insulated lunchbox. Fortunately, the bottle is unharmed. As I pop the wine cork, an imagined weight creeps from my chest to my spine. With hunched shoulders, I grab a glass and pour. Wine drops splatter on the counter. No matter. I'll clean the mess later. I sniff, swallow, and wince. The liquid is sour and pungent on my tongue. My taste buds tingle as I welcome the drink. Ten sips left—give or take a few. My phone feels heavy when I lift it. I stare at the screen, knowing I should call him back now—soon—but first I must pull myself together and be certain I won’t break down. “It’s going to be a challenging year,” my friend told me when I shared the news. “You’ll have to be strong,” she said. “Especially for him.” “I know,” I said. “I’m trying.” I swear. I will. Six sips left. My fingers repeatedly type the word tease instead of these and realize that my alcohol buzz has set in. Family members are texting, asking for updates, and I just want to drink this damn wine and turn back the calendar and not answer the phone and stay in bed and scream in my pillow. Why didn’t he follow up with his doctor last year? Why didn’t he tell me sooner? How could he be so irresponsible? Maybe he would live longer than six years if he had been more vigilant with his health. “Don’t beat up the cancer patient,” he pleaded when I asked him these questions. My heart grew soft and small. Stupid girl. He’s hurting. Don’t twist the knife deeper. Support is what he needs, not reprimanding. I’ve been stingy in doling out sympathy. But how will I support him long distance? How can I help from a thousand miles away? Who will take him to his chemo infusions? Who will clean his house? Run errands? Make him soup when he’s ill? I don’t trust myself with these responsibilities. It’s too much to think of at once. I’m not ready, not yet. Maybe soon. Soon. For better or for worse , they say. I guess we’re doing worse for a while. If only I could turn back time, my buzzed brain repeats. I’d go back to yesterday. Or the week before. Or New Year’s Eve when we lay in bed and made plans for the future, and he stroked my jaw and said, “I wish we could stay here forever.” “Forever” isn’t supposed to be only six years. If I could turn back time, I’d set the clock to the year I met him. Undo the wrong that followed. Force him to eat healthier. Get him to sleep more. Visit more. Join a gym. Follow up with his darned doctor. Five sips left. Focus on the positive, I tell myself. He has access to medical experts, and he’s not giving up. I’ll make every effort to be there with him. I’ll be a better girlfriend. A better nurse—advocate, friend, partner, proxy—whatever he needs. I’ll put my own wants aside and be a better human. I promise. I promise. I promise I will. If only it’ll help him get better. Four sips—wait. Not yet. He texts as I’m typing this, and I’m editing my misspellings because the wine is making my vision fuzzy, and it’s hard to get my thoughts down, but I need to put these words somewhere. I can’t let him hear them. I can’t tell him I’m scared. Scared for him, scared for us.

Will there be an “Us” long-term? Dealing with two types of cancer simultaneously is going to be difficult. Plus, there are other factors to contend with. His Type 2 Diabetes and high blood pressure, for example. How did he get so sick? He doesn’t eat fast food, doesn’t smoke, rarely drinks. There are no guarantees, they say. Earlier, when he mentioned the words, “ Quality of life and metastasized ,” my heart shattered like a vitreous plate hitting the floor. I knew what he meant. Negative thoughts are detrimental. He must remain positive, look on the bright side, manifest healing. That’s what the experts advise. Don’t give up, I begged him. Hold on. Fight. Please. Please. Four sips left. The wine buzz isn’t numbing me, not like I hoped. Panicked thoughts scramble my brain. I should’ve eaten a salad. I should’ve gotten on the treadmill. I should’ve gone outside for a walk. I need to be a better girlfriend, one that’s healthy, happy, and supportive, not selfishly sipping wine, worrying if we’ll ever be intimate again. Worrying his beautiful hair will fall out. Worrying he will be too sick to help me when I’m older. Worrying, I’m a horrible person for even thinking such things. He’s the one suffering, not me. Three sips left. I stare at one of our framed pictures and feel a pinprick in my gut. Look at his thick, pretty hair. Two sips. I’m awake yet slightly sluggish. My stomach is warm and tingly. I’m not used to drinking. Not often. Not alone. I lift my hand and swirl the burgundy-colored puddle at the bottom of my glass. The little voice in my head, the one that’s been telling me I’m a horrible person, says, pour out the wine, wash your face and sober up , but my fingers need to release these words somewhere and my heart needs to heal a little before I call him back, lest he hears the grief in my voice. Last sip. Empty glass. Deep breath. I smile and reach for my phone.


CW: death, gore, illness The man in my room was dressed like an alien. He had a white plastic suit, like a packaged fish from the town over the hill. I couldn’t see his face behind a dark visor, but when he spoke his voice was fluent in muffled smiles. It was comforting in a way, like burying your face in pillows when you’re tired. I wish I could see his face, I hadn’t seen anyone's face in weeks.

Not since I got sick.

I was playing with my baby sister outside the village about two weeks ago. Running around near an old hollow tree. We were playing pretend- she was the princess and I the brave prince. An evil vampire bat had captured her, hiding her in the tree for me to rescue. I fought through the guards, smacking them with a stick I found, and broke into his foreboding tower.

My little sister was crying.

She had a little red mark on her hand, so we went home.

When we walked through the door, Mom was the first to identify the bite. A bat must’ve got her when we were playing. It wasn’t big and there wasn’t much blood, but the fear in Momma’s eyes frightened me.

“What bit you?” She asked. My little sister wiped tears from her eyes, “A mean old bat! I didn’t mean to touch him, but he looked so cute hanging there. I didn’t know he’d bite me!” “You need to be more careful, sweetheart.” Mother wiped the wound clean with water, then poured some smelly bubbles onto a piece of cloth. My sister flinched as Momma pressed the cloth to the wound, “This is why I told you never to play by that tree! Honestly, it’s like you never listen to me!” She was looking at my sister, but talking to me.

“Momma, the tree is hollow! It’s the perfect evil tower!” She sighed, “I know.” Two days later my little sister had a fever. A day later my Momma had a fever too. Another day passed and I had one. I quietly wished Dad was here to take care of us, but he left a long time ago. The village elders tried to take care of us, but as more and more people fell sick they stopped letting people visit each other.

It was a week into the sickness that men in white suits came to help us. They separated us, putting us into little makeshift rooms on comfy beds. They’d poke and prod, check our temperature, and feed us.

They’d never take the suits off though.

“Can I see my Momma? Is my sister alright?” I asked.

The man had been working at a nearby table. The vials of blood and urine clicked against one another as he hesitated, “No, son.” “Why not?” The Covered Man set the vials down, turning towards me, “Because they’re very sick right now and need to rest. You need rest too.” He placed a covered hand on my forehead as he spoke.

“But I’m feeling better today! Can’t I just say hey?” He sighed sadly, “No, son. Not yet. Not until you’re all better.” I hadn’t moved during the conversation, I hadn’t moved in a long time, “How long will that be?” His face was hidden, but his voice shook, “I-I’m not sure, son. Soon though. Soon-” My breath was rattled, shaky, and wet, “You keep calling me son. Are you-?” “It’s an expression used in America, where I’m from.” I felt my eyes grow wide. Imaginations of Dad being behind the visor dissipating. My chest beat with excitement, “America?! I’ve always wanted to go to America!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. My little sister wants to go too, but Momma said it was too far away.” “Did she now?” He took my hand and squeezed slightly.

“Yeah-” I felt something warm on my cheek, sliding across it like a wet slug, “I’ve always wanted to try a hot dog…” The Covered Man chuckled, “Oh yeah? Hmmm . I think I have an idea. Hold on for a minute.” I smiled and nodded as he left the little room. His footsteps disappeared down a corridor of moans and crying. Someone was in the room next to me, shuffling around and mumbling to themselves. They were new here. My previous neighbor had left a few days ago.

I called out weakly to him, “It’ll be okay! They’re really nice here. You’ll be better in no time!” An old, gruff voice echoed back to me, shaking, “Yes-Yeah! Yeah, little man, we’ll be okay.” I could feel the tears in his voice. The loneliness. The shock. His words spoke comfort but his voice betrayed a deep despair. Before I could ask the old man his name, the Covered Man stepped back into the room carrying a plate with weird bread on it. There was a log of meat in between, covered in ketchup and mustard.

A hotdog?! “A hotdog?!” I whispered, breathlessly. My chest hurt.

He brought it to me, “Yeah! I had one of my colleagues deliver it from my ‘special stash.’” Sitting down next to me, the Covered Man broke off a piece of the hotdog and held it to my mouth, “Go on. Take small bites.” It tasted exactly as I imagined. I chewed it slowly. The ketchup was full of vinegar, blending well with the mustard and the mysterious meat of the hotdog. The bread was like a little cup holding all sorts of flavors. Happy tears slid down my cheeks. Thick. Sluggish. I took another bite. Chewing deliberately.

It hurt to swallow.

The Covered Man was silent as he fed me, finally pulling out a white towel and rubbing my cheeks carefully. When he pulled back, the towel was coated in red liquid. He tossed it into a yellow bag with symbols across it.

“You need to…You need to take one to my sister… She’d love that.” I sighed, “ I wish I wasn’t so mean to her all the time.” I took a deep, shaky breath. When I coughed, my entire body hurt. Globs of coagulated something splashed across my chin and lips. “I wish I had…I really wish I had listened to Momma about that tree-” The Covered Man’s chest rattled, “Y-yeah, son. I’ll make sure to do that.” I could feel his eyes on me, safe behind the visor.

“Can’t I go see them?” I asked.

It’s so hot … “I-I can’t-” The Covered Man was crying now, struggling to speak.

“Hey, don’t cry .We’ll be okay.” I reached out to him. He took my little hand in both of his and squeezed.

“Yes, son. You’ll be okay.” His voice spoke of comfort. Companionship. Of hot dogs and freedom. Of playing with my little sister far away from the tree. Of my Momma watching us run around, rarely joining us but it was always better when she did. I imagined Dad coming back home from wherever he’d gone. He would smile and give me the biggest bear hug. He’d tell me how proud he was knowing that I helped Momma take care of my sister.

I closed my eyes, using so much strength to open them again.

The Covered Man was still there, looking down at me.

I reached towards his face, towards his mask.

He recoiled and I stopped.

“Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hesitated for a long time, taking deep breaths. After a while, he took one big breath, exhaling slowly.

The Covered Man took my hand, cautiously leaning down towards it and pressing it against his cheek. I felt his mask; cold, hard, and old.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“You know, Doctor, you don’t need to be with every person when they pass.” A woman in white coverings was scolding the man. He placed the now limp hand, so small, so young, against the boy’s chest.

“All he wanted was to see his sister and mother again.” The woman peaked around the Doctor’s shoulder at the still warm corpse of the boy. He was patient two. The second patient to contract the illness. “Did you tell him what happened?” “No.” The Doctor shook his head, “I didn’t.” They stared at the boy in silence for a while. He was no older than ten. The hemorrhagic fever had destroyed his face. Blood bubbled from his ears, eyes, nose, mouth, and everywhere else you could imagine.

Finally, the woman broke the quiet, “You shouldn’t let patients touch you, Doctor. This disease spreads through touch and we can’t risk losing our team leader.” “I know, I know.” The Doctor took a deep breath, “But all he wanted was a connection. He didn’t want to suffer alone.” He paused, “You know what his last request was?” The woman placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “What?” “He wanted a hot dog.” They sat in silence.

She spoke, “He was smiling when he passed.” “I know.” There were three wooden crosses next to a hollow tree.

One for the Mother, the Sister, and finally for me.


It’s almost time for reunion parties. There is excitement and fear for anyone whose time it is to reunite with former classmates. My 20-year High School Reunion is the best reunion story out there. I attended my 20 Year High School Reunion. I had mixed feelings. First off, it was extremely over-priced. One of my classmates scored the “big time,” took out a membership at the ritzy country club and took advantage of the rest of us! Secondly,  I tried to squeeze in as much as I could during those years. I loved high school. Well, except for how this particular story started. It was Sadie Hawkins. The dance where the girl asks the guy... buys the cute matching shirt/sweater and plays divine goddess host for the evening. My first pick didn’t get back to me... so, I asked the Student Body President. I spent days making this enormous poster of butcher paper, magic marker, paint and, of course, writing some cheesy poem, which, now, escapes my memory. My mom, whom I hadn’t seen in two years, flew out to visit, and it was a moment of bonding. My mom and I drove to his house and she delivered the giant, rolled “invitation”. Mr. SB Pres. was not at home, so we left it with his brother. It took a couple days, but he said, “Yes.” I don’t recall the details of that moment either. I saved my weekend Nanny money and bought these crimson and gray sweaters. They were my school’s colors and I thought they were perfect! ·         Quirky invitation... check ·         Answer... affirmative ·         Matching tacky shirts: check I made the plans for dinner and the hair appointment to look “foxy.” I bought the tickets and had money set aside for pictures. It was going to be amazing. I was so giddy. The Wednesday before the dance, Mr. Pres. said he would rather go with this “other” girl who had recently asked him and “would that be okay?” I know what you’re thinking. I was, however, polite and concerned about other’s feelings and so I smiled and said, “Sure. I think that would be great! I hope you have a good time.” I suppose I sincerely meant it. I mean, why would I want to go with someone who didn’t want to be there with me? He gave me back the sweater; I canceled my dinner plans and hair appointment. He went to the dance. I stayed home. Life went on. Fast forward. Twenty years later I’m going to the reunion. There is no other reason aside from the fact I have decided I’m going to tell Mr. Pres. just what a schmuck he was. His rejection haunted me. I drilled into my boys’ head that if they say, “Yes” to a girl for a dance, they take her. There is no discussion. No second thought. They grew up hearing me tell them this story over and over. At the reunion, I sit through the uneventful night looking for him, but cannot seem to identify him. I tell my husband, “Maybe he didn’t come?” There is a drawing for prizes and they call his name... wait... ah, yes! There he is! I excuse myself and go up to the front of the reunion and wait as someone else has acquired his attention. I wait, and wait, and finally, I decide I look, perhaps, desperate standing there alone and so I go and sit back down. A little while later, I see he has returned to his table and so I excuse myself again. I rehearse what I’m going to say on my walk to his table. With a big grin I say, “Mr. President (okay, I used his real name, but you get the picture), how the heck are you?” He turned and said, “Hello, Julee” Women And Power A weekly exploration of women and power. “I’m surprised you remember my name.” There may have been a tad bit of bitterness in my voice. “I remember you. I have thought about you through the years and what I did to you. It is the one thing I regret. It’s not that I thought about it every minute, every day, every week or every month, but I thought about it. I am very sorry for what I did.” Tears started to swell and I choked up. He continued, “I told my family; my children. I am sorry.” I replied, “I told my children too. They know that even if the fat, ugly girl asks them first and they say, “Yes”, they are taking her.” He introduced me to his wife. She said, “Oh, memories! Good or bad?” He answered, “This is Julee.” “Oh, bad memories!” she winced, “He told me the story and he is so sorry. Tell her you’re sorry.” “I already did. I AM sorry.” I asked his wife, “Would you mind taking that Sadie Hawkins picture for me now?” She smiled and he stepped closer, put his arm around me and we took our picture. Upon leaving him I said, “Mr. President, I knew you as a boy; I will remember you as a man.” I went back to my table and my husband asked, “Well? What happened?” I told him, what I have just told you. My husband said to me, “You’re lying.” “I’m not,” I answered as my eyes filled with tears and, slowly, one by one, they fell to my cheek. I was ready to go home. I came and that apology put me at peace. When I got home, the first question my boys asked was, “Did you see Mr. President?” “Yes” and told them this story. My 18-year-old replied, “I’m so glad I always took the girl; that would be a terrible thing to have to carry around for 20 years!” Indeed, it would. It should be noted a week later, I sent Mr. President an email and told him “Thank You” that his apology meant a lot. His reply: Julee; You should be very proud of yourself for having the willpower and fortitude to do the things that you were able to do at such a young age. I am very sorry for what I did to you in high school. That is the only thing that I did that has bothered me through the years. Thank You for the opportunity to say that I am sorry at the reunion. It was a great load off of my shoulders; I hope that you can truly forgive me. I’m happy to know that you are doing well and have such a big family. I’m sure that you have a great husband and kids and a wonderful life. You mentioned at the reunion you were surprised that I remembered you after all these years; I just want to let you know that I will never forget you. You are a wonderful person. It was very nice to see you at the reunion. Thank you, Mr. President I keep that letter,  almost ten years later, folded in my purse. I take it out on occasion to remind me that I deserve great things. That even after 20 years, I am someone remembered and I have value.


It was a breezy autumn day in Paris, France. People bustling on the streets, cars honking, birds chirping. Just a regular day. A young girl, Ava, was looking for a coffee shop to stop by. She wanted to find a peaceful place to do her homework, since she had a pop quiz the next day. Then she noticed a little coffee shop hidden in the shadows. It was almost smaller than an apartment house, and was painted a soothing brown color. Planks of wood lined the walls, and a a sweet but bitter aroma of coffee came through the windows. She could see people gathered together buying drinks in the corner, a bench with cream and sugar, and polished tables. There were also a few light red and white umbrellas in front of the shop, above some wooden benches and a round table. But one thing caught her eye. It was a sign, and neon letters were written on it, along with drawings of leaves and drinks. “NEW AUTUMN BASED DRINKS! LIMITED OFFER, ONLY $4.99!” it said. “Mm, that sounds delicious! And it's a little shop too! A perfect place to study!” Ava thought. So she entered the store. It was dark at first. After her eyes adjusted to the light, the first thing she heard was studying music playing quietly. There were people buying frappuccinos, people wearing headphones and just laying there, people typing on their computers. The coffee machine was grinding in the background. Ava immediately loved this place! She walked to the front and looked at the menu. There were so many things to choose from! Hot chocolate, Americano coffee, lemon tart, cookies, tuna salad, espressos, cappuccinos, sandwiches, macaroons, frappuccinos, drinks for dogs, and finally, the special autumn drinks.

There were three to choose from: the Pumpkin Spice Latte, the Hazelnut Frappuccino, and the Autumn Coffee Special. “The Autumn Coffee Special sounds most appetizing,” thought Ava.

“Hello, welcome to the Coffee House. What would you like to order? My name is Noah.” Noah said through the counter. “I would like to order the Autumn Coffee Special, and a tuna salad please.” Ava replied. “Umm...t-that will be $3.99 please…” “Okay?” Ava was very confused. Why was Noah acting like that? It was just a purchase. Later, Noah handed her a paper bag with the company’s logo printed on it. When Ava looked inside, there was only a tuna salad! There was no Autumn Coffee Special! She stormed to the front desk again, staring at a nervous Noah. “Why is there no Autumn Coffee Special?” She demanded, but still kept her cool. “I’m very sorry, but we are out of stock! It turned out that this drink became very popular.” Noah exclaimed. “Oh, then in that case, that’s alright. Thank you for telling me and giving me the tuna salad!” Ava replied nicely.

Then she walked away. Noah gave a sigh of relief. He thought Ava would get mad and report to the manager! Then he would get fired!  “Heh, why did I ever think that Ava was trying to get me fired? She’s such a nice person!” Noah thought happily.

On the other side of the building, Ava was thinking too. “It was just a drink after all. Nothing to be sad about,” she whispered. She settled down at a nice desk to study for her quiz. A young man named Benjamin was sitting right next to her, signing some documents on his laptop. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a yellow t-shirt below that, a pair of dark ripped jeans, and blue sneakers. He had blonde hair, mixed with hints of blue from his previous hair dye.

He had heard the whole conversation between Noah and Ava, and he felt bad. So he got up and exited the store. 10 minutes later, he came back and had a cup in his hand. It was full of a drink of some sort. He went to Ava and lightly tapped her shoulder. “Hey, umm I heard that you wanted the Autumn Coffee Special so I bought you one from the other store!” he said.

Ava was stunned. She couldn’t believe that somebody would do that for her! And especially someone she didn’t know. It's not like she wanted it that much. Ava blushed, and accepted the drink with a warm smile. She was very embarrassed, and to thank the stranger for his generosity, she invited Benjamin to talk the next day. She wanted to buy him a drink and talk about their day. Benjamin happily agreed, and they went their ways for the day. They met every single day from that day on. They would talk about how they failed on tests, how their day was, how they forgot that their lunch was on the stove! They exchanged numbers and addresses; sometimes they even went to each other's houses to have lunch or to study together. Soon, Ava caught feelings for Benjamin, but she didn’t tell him. She was too worried that he didn’t like her back. Sometimes she would show signs, but she didn’t think that Benjamin noticed. In Benjamin’s brain, he noticed everything. He thought it was cute of her to do that. But he never considered that she liked him. One day, Benjamin didn’t come to the Coffee House. She waited all afternoon, just sitting and waiting. She even bought some salad and just stared at the door. She sat there until one of the workers came and asked

Finally she had enough and went to his house.

His parents answered the door. “Where is Benjamin? He always comes to the coffee shop with me, is he alright?” Ava asked. “Oh yes, he didn’t tell you? He’s going out with-” his parents replied, but was cut short. Ava stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her, just as Benjamin’s parents finished the sentence. “I can’t believe I ever loved him!” Ava shouted to no one in particular. She ran to the closest bench, sat down, and cried. She thought that Benjamin was having a date with some other girl. Ava didn’t care if people were staring at her. She was just so mad at Benjamin! “Calm down, Ava. It’s not his fault, you never even knew he liked you or not.” Ava thought. She then buried her head in her arms, crying in distress.

Benjamin was running as fast as he could. When he got back home, his parents told him what had happened. He thought that the only place that Ava could have been to was the coffee shop. So he ran faster than the wind to find her. On the way, he heard sniffling and loud crying. At first, he thought it was just a random kid crying over a lollipop or something. But then when he slowed down, he recognized the voice. It was Ava’s! He found her crouched up on a bench, crying her heart out.

“AVA!!!! It’s me, Benjamin!!!” Benjamin yelled. Ava looked up, wiping away her tears. Then she got up and turned the opposite direction. She didn’t even want to see him, let alone talk to him. “Ava, PLEASE, let me explain what happened!!!” Benjamin pleaded. “What is there to plead about?!?! You were out with a girl who’s got to be your girlfriend! What else is there too?!?! Get away from me!” Ava screamed. “Just let me explain! And please lower your voice down people are staring at us a lot-” “I DON’T CARE IF THEY’RE STARING!!!! All I care about is getting away from you, jerk!” Finally, Benjamin had enough of her. He wanted to explain what really happened!! He didn’t want her to take it the other way! “If you won’t listen to me, I’ll just tell you!” Benjamin replied with the slightest hint of a smile, then grabbing onto her arm. “Hey stop it! Get away from me-” “I was out with my little sister on her field trip! I needed to volunteer because they needed a counselor!” Benjamin blurted. “H-huh?” “Yes, and I’m very sorry that I didn’t tell you!”

“Oh in that case that’s alright, I forgive you!” Ava exclaimed, smiling. “W-w-what? One moment you're super mad at me, and now you're all smiling and forgiving me?!” Benjamin stuttered. “Yeah, but you're just volunteering right? So that’s no problem,” Ava said, “But, don’t, ever do that again!” “O-oh right, yeah!” Benjamin said, putting on a smile even though his brain was whizzing with confusion. Then Ava skipped right down the road, a big smile on her face. Benjamin, on the other hand, was in complete confusion. Ava was just yelling and crying at him a few seconds ago! And now she’s all happy?! “Enough of this nonsense,” Benjamin thought, “It’s time to do my real job now…” Ava stopped in a dark alley. There was a person dressed all in black- black hoodie, black sunglasses, a black mask, black shoes, black pants, black hair, and even black socks!

“Well?” The mysterious person asked. “Did you get him?” “Yes,” Ava replied, “Come on... let's go kill him.” Ava finished with a grin. Benjamin looked around for anyone staring at him. Then he casually walked to a nearby corner behind a building. He took a walkie-talkie out of his jacket.

“Is she ready, sir?” Someone asked through the walkie-talkie. “Yes,” Benjamin replied with his eyes closed. “Let’s go finish her.”


She was caught off guard. The waves of emotion rushed through her like an electric current. "This cannot be." she thought to herself.  Perhaps she was feverish. Winter was, after all, clutching its ugly claws; ready to kick the autumn blues away. The change was imminent. Nature had always been changing. It perplexed her why human nature seemed to be afraid of change even though it was needed for survival. "If we don't change we die", she recalls reading in one of her psychology books. Perhaps it was the reason why she felt dead inside; her refusal to embrace change. Her feelings felt like a total overhaul. An evolvement. They were erratic. She had never felt this before. Not for any man, no. She wasn't sure she could contain them any longer. At first, they seemed fleeting. Soon to disappear into thin air but they never left. They seemed to be camping right inside her heart, threatening to be heard, to be felt. A burning furnace. They left her feeling awkward every time she came close to her. Her. She looked like a drop of sunshine. Shining so bright she could bask in her glory. Her smile left her feeling warm inside. Enough to melt the cold inside her. The cold that had been there for years. She didn't imagine she could, once again, feel the way she did about someone else, let alone a woman. The end of her marriage had been a shock to her system. She never could have foreseen the impact it had in her life. She thought she had it all mapped out. It had been a mutual agreement. She had spent years feeling suffocated, Trapped, like a fly in a bottle. She had put her dreams on hold. No one asked her to. She did because she thought it was what was needed to be a good wife. She tried. She tried to live a lie. The truth was that she was dying inside and he could see it too. They both couldn't stand living in unhappiness. Divorce was no child's play. It stripped her apart and left her naked in the open for all to see. At least that's how she felt. She ran for cover seeking shelter. On the sidelines, it seemed that people were staring at her, shaking their heads. Some laughing and some whispering. She was scared to stop. Scared that if she did, someone would ask her what had been done to her. She didn't want to answer because she knew. She knew she was part of the problem. Finally, she found shelter. She was freezing. Luckily there was a fireplace. She was so cold that all she could do was to throw herself into the fire. She started burning. This is how she had felt. She realized that divorce could kill if one was not careful enough. It almost killed her many a time. She was left in a constant feeling of misplacement. Not knowing where she belonged in the world. At times she had thought that feeling misplaced was worse than death. Things were changing. She was excited yet afraid. These conflicting feelings had always been a part of her. As necessary as it was, change was not easy. She came from a religious background. The scriptures said that women who sleep with women would not inherit Gods kingdom, that they belonged in a fiery hell. She had believed that for ages and embraced it as the truth. She had judged others so harshly. Her judgments had come back to haunt her. It all changed. She remembered the day as if it had happened yesterday. The memory was still vivid. It was the day she had the worst flu. The kind of flu that sucked the life out of a person. The kind that crushed the bones. Seasonal flu. She had forced herself to attend the book fair, only to satisfy the nagging feeling that was in her. It was the last day, a beautiful Sunday. Spring was approaching. She recalls feeling alive. Happy even. As fate would have it when she saw her for the first time,  something inside her shifted. A surge of mystical feelings had flowed through her. She was mesmerized by her. Her confidence was alluring. There was something enigmatic about her. She wished she could be let in on the mystery. Her feelings worsened every time she saw her. It made her sick, though not painful. It was painstakingly wonderful. She wasn't sure if she was good enough for anyone. She could also be missing the mark. Her mind drifted a bit as she remembered that according to the bible, to sin was to miss the mark. Back at her senses, she thought of how her attraction could mean nothing to the other woman. It might be wise to ask her out. Her friend had suggested. That had never crossed her mind before. It sounded logical. Perhaps not. Perhaps she wasn't supposed to be entertaining the feelings. Perhaps she was insane. Perhaps she was going to burn in hell for missing the mark. These thoughts ravaged her mind. Her friend had said it wouldn't hurt to try. "You need to loosen up a bit, we don't live in the stone ages anymore. Think of all the multiple orgasms you would get," she had told her. They laughed at this. Her intense feelings for the other woman made her feel excited. She wanted to kiss her every time their eyes locked. Perhaps she had gone berserk. She thought about waiting for a while. Waiting was her forte. It was easier to run. She had been escaping all her life. She needed no practice. It was a new season, however, and change was beckoning. She could wait forever, or she could act. She had been pouring her feelings out in her writing. Her emotions translated into her words. "I didn't imagine you to be a queer writer," her niece had told her after reading one of her stories. Neither did she. She thought about the backlash from her family if she were to act. She continued to dream about her. She recalled the words of a poet: "the how and why will reveal themselves in the making because ready is never a question, just a reminder to bring and jump." Jump? She still wonders if her feelings would be reciprocated. Perhaps it would really be best if she stayed away from her, but maybe it could be the beginning of a new season. A season full of sunshine.


“Look at him He’s been at it for an hour now” Elly tells me as she rolls her eyes. We both were seated on a high ceiling beam of a studio apartment, our home, a risky move if so. Only concentrating on the boy seated on the floor below, it would’ve been a fatal ending for us if there was a possibility of that in the first place. I looked hard at Elly, She was most definitely one of the most distinguished of the lot, having hung around for more than thousands of years, and the signs of being a ghost had barely touched her light skin. I on the other hand, one strong gust of wind and I’d return back to ashes. Elly flew and scooted closer to me. Barely touching the wood, she waved her wispy fingers around as she mocked poor Liam below. The mortal had been flipping through the pages of the “Fancy New Home” catalogue, stopping for five minutes at each page of the wallpaper color section and then moving on to the next, the exhaustion on his neck growing by each turn. “Bright and white, you are quite the amuser if you still describe yourself with such colors Elly Not to alarm you but shady and fading would suit you better” Elly stares at my comment. i point to her swinging toes and laugh. The fast wind was erasing the thin outline of her translucent feet; immediately lifting them up, she crosses them instead. A bit offended, she explains herself “Bright and white is the most common color one selects for their new home. You know we are not going to habitat here any longer Marge. I need to leave this place knowing that this incompetent man has listened to us and colored it a peaceful white.” We had moved in here around three hundred years back. Looking around, it teemed with our memories and our living. The ceiling was quite high up still accommodating us with a lot of room for us to fly around. The cool wind from the tall windows every morning was our favorite friend in keeping us a crystalline fresh. But as the days had grown shorter, my longing to touch the room had grown that much more painful. The walls which we had once shyly ordained with our marriage portraits and the window-sills where we once watered our sweet lily plants, they filled my mind with short lived memories. Elly still had the same moral look from back then, A little less opaque and a little more translucent, the bright white light from the windows shone through her and her outline grew invisible. We had been too brave back then, I look at my own fading limbs. Liam let out a long groan from below as he stretched beyond his length. Four whole days and still unable to decide on the color white among all for us to confirm. He would surely have been considered as one of the local idiots during our time, I realize suddenly. Elly spoke to herself “despite not having us around from tomorrow, it’d be nice if our home carried on feeling like the ghosts of its first ever owners” She looked concerned now, furrowing her eyebrows at Liam. I look down and see him now splayed across the floor still stretching, and staring high, right past our presence, at the ceiling. I laughed at her pun. Liam is in pain. It’s too bright of a day, the harsh humid wind slapping across the pages as they flip furiously. Liam lets out a short sigh. Closing his eyes, “This house is starting to feel more haunted day-by-day”. Speaking aloud, he catches the ears of Marge and Elly. It’s indeed a dilemma. He had started to notice small things changing magically at every turn. “Every single time I call my building manager about the renovation of this place, the calls get cut. Whenever the renovation labourers start painting the walls a bold golden, the paint gets magically erased and I’m left with a lot of awkward explaining to do. Rumours have started to go out that I’m a shape shifting witchess. Personally I liked the goblin rumour better.” Liam laughs to himself and then goes silent in hindsight. The empty grey aesthetic of his studio room contrasted heavily with his bright pink-blue outfit which contrasted again with his rugged boyish hands. Looking at the mess of magazines at his folded legs, a cool breeze surprised him and he scrunched his freckled nose. Right then several pages of the catalogues folded themselves into dog ears. All pointing to a brand of furniture infamously known to use white. A swift movement but Liam blames it on the cold wind from earlier. He wasn’t half wrong. Faithfully closing each magazine so as to not cause a mess, he got up to clear his head. He stretched his arms out to the wall in front and squinted through a tiny square he made with his thumbs and forefingers. “There seems to be a very particular color this haunted house wants me to select” Several dog eared pages opened right below on the floor, all showing the beauties of a fine white aesthetic. “Why is it so windy on a summer afternoon?” Marge looked at him amazed. Amazed at his parody of dialogue. He lazily looks across the room, a color that would make it look bigger would be a suitable choice for its damaged walls, something of a lighter shade. Paying homage to the previous owners he thought, maybe a boring brown or a mellow lemon mint. Elly rolled her dry eyes. Liam took a sip from his bold grey coffee mug which unnoticed by him had turned whitish during recent days. “I really am not going forward if I don’t make the correct decision right now” sulking he rested his hands on his hips. Another long reading session in and Liam was done.  Its 4.30 pm now, the suns still high and glaringly white. Liam picked up his coffee mug, now with just ghostly white milk in it, odd, and sipped it as he cooled down from the reading session. Carefully avoiding the now individual sheets of the winter wonderland special of the Wallpaper World magazine placed over the carpet, he thought deeply about his dilemma. He Walked up to the kitchen, hoping for a quick snack, and opened the fridge when right then his cell rang. “Little White Lies” blared and he picked up in 2 seconds. Funny ringtone. Bending his neck as he balanced the phone, he swung the fridge door open, “hello?” Why are there just eggs in the fridge? “Yes hello Liam, Calling to ask if you have finished deciding a shade for your wall painting already, I’ve arranged an appointment with the building manager, he’s bound to come around in an hour or two” “No no no ... Wait” frozen, he spoke to his reflection off the silvery fridge door The caller continued “Finalize the decision with your sister and call me back, oh also do you happen to know where I can buy some cheap Christmas gifts? My girlfriend’s coming to town and I am in trouble, hope it’s a white Christmas, fingers crossed?” Liam ended the call. He hurried back to the catalogue after banging the fridge shut dramatically throwing Elly into a startle. She flew towards Liam, who was frantically looking for that one yellow mint page he had bookmarked, when right then a wind blew across the page, turning to section W3, a spring collection inspired by lilies. Liam fell cold at this sudden breeze near him and stared hard at the page that was in front of him. The bright white couch and a Persian cat framed photogenically in the glossy magazine sheet, thinking harder he raised an eyebrow. Elly now practically enveloping the boy with her cool presence, struck her arm across the page, preventing it from flipping to another one. The dusky warm wind grew in pressure and the walls grew moist. Marge sighed as her opinion of Liam and his IQ was now pretty low, she observed Elly with hopeful eyes. Looking around at the mess, she snapped her fingers with magic and glancing at the countless white mugs in the counter, she turned yet another mug white. “Did he just say it was Christmas? Can’t be, my birthday was a week back, April 24th.. Or was it on the 25th?” Speaking softly, a shiver ran down his spine. “I am pretty sure it’s April and not December” He slowly shifted his eyes to the wall calendar. 2 days till Christmas. A huge cross marked the 24th of December, ‘Bound to snow!’ written in bold. Gulping down his confusion, his head went blank. Unable to think and unable to speak, Liam felt trapped under an invisible presence. Marge, now extremely hopeful looked wide eyed at Elly. Elly looked back at her, both nodding in synchrony at each other’s confirmation. A whole minute and Liam closed the catalogue, dusk had fallen and it was sunset now. A decision made by him, for the house, for Marge and Elly and for everyone’s sanity involved in this situation, probably even his sister’s. “Hi Paul yes, I’m calling back about the building manager, I’ve made the decision, you can ask him to come by in about half hour now”. Elly flew back into Marge’s arms and they embraced each other. Liam obediently cleaned up the mess, the mugs scattered across the carpet and the kitchen counter, the countless sheets of magazine paper flying and most importantly the several volumes of the “fancy new home” catalogue. He smirked as he thought back on his day. It had been so obvious all along. Hesitant to admit to himself, Liam realized he had been pretty slow in catching on. The building manager arrived. A group of noisy labourers, eager to catch a glimpse of this rumoured shape-shifting goblin, accompanied him. Marge and Elly, also curious, checked Liam’s demeanour. He stood confidently in front of his labourer fans, ordering them to neatly cover the furniture before doing anything to the walls. Marge had begun to turn back Liam’s belongings to their original colors. Bringing back life into the white house, she looked at Elly’s bitter-sweet expression. However harsh she might have been to poor Liam, she knew in the end he was only a mortal, she felt proud now. She thought to herself, her strong presence combined with Marge’s magical abilities was better than any Ouija board on the market. “Pastel red” Elly blinked twice. In a moment of 2 seconds the labourers whipped out their paint mixers and combined red with white. Elly blinked again. “The spirit of Christmas. It’s a beautiful time to curl up on your poofy sofas and watch classic Christmas movies. What better way to pay respect to the magical time than to paint your own home with red” the labourers hurriedly plastered the paint onto the walls, expecting the fabled magical erasing of the paint to take place. No such thing occurred. Marge fearfully looked at Elly, she was in shock. Liam smirked at the labourers. I guess my dilemma is solved. He felt satisfied. Elly felt smaller as the clock ticked. The night had fallen and she had grown almost transparent. The street lights from outside shone right through her and lit up the studio room, a bright white.


It was some giant, cosmic joke. It had to be. Somewhere, up in the stratosphere, whatever deities were still watching over us mere mortals were cackling . It was, ironically enough, hilariously unfunny.  And, on top that, it was stupid, on my part, to let it go on as long as I had in the first place. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known what I was getting into. I read the brief; front to back, back to front, and in German (for good measure). I could recite it from memory. Captain Rhiannon Ellis, the pride of the Greendale Police Department, was known for her habit of closing cases while seemingly doing nothing but goof off and flirt with everything that drew breath. It was why I’d been hired in the first place. I needed to figure out exactly how much she knew; throw off her investigation; and not get seduced in the meantime.

I’d done two of those things. Which is a D+ at best.

“Did you actually write a report this time,” Ellis asked, her voice dry as kindling and cutting through the almost peaceful silence that had followed me barging my way into her office with nary a how-to-do, “or am I going to have to fake one. Again.” “Better practice forging my signature,” I said, tossing her my wickedest of grins, the one that promised a myriad of things to come, and flopped down onto the unfairly comfortable sofa Ellis kept by the window. It was perfect for napping -- or pretending to nap, as the case may be, “And don’t forget my distinctive flair for the dramatic.” Gods, this was stupid. I should get out while I have the chance. My employers were already up my ass; my turnover was usually rocket fast. It’s what I was known for . My whole reputation rode on the ability to get in, get the information I needed, and get the heck back out again. It was there, in heavily encrypted plain English, all over the dark web.

I hadn’t had to advertise my own services in years, the proof was in the pudding. And, honestly, I’d had enough information a month ago, but I was still hanging around like an idiot. It was easy to play it off as long as I kept the information coming. No one really had the time to delve too deep into my continuing ruse. Though at this point, I wasn’t entirely sure who I was pulling one over on. “I let you get away with too much,” Ellis lamented, overdramatic and with a smile on her face.

Gods, she was gorgeous. “If that were true you wouldn’t push my feet out from under your ass while we watch T.V.”

“And you wouldn’t get any enjoyment out of it if you didn’t have to try, you absolute cretin .” Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? Ellis had snarked, and snapped, and shrugged me off; I had given back as good as I’d gotten. Ellis had sent me on bullshit beat after bullshit beat; I had delivered every time, petty criminals practically gift-wrapped. Ellis challenged my decisions; I screamed in her face (arguably not my best decision). The point was, for some reason, I kept trying.

Ellis started calling me Thorn; I called her Stevie until she cut it the heck out. Ellis said, “ Call me Rhiannon, when we’re not at work ”; I had just laughed because I’d never see Ellis outside of work, right? Right? Ellis -- Rhiannon smiled at me across the table in some dimly lit bar after a case that had gone surprisingly smoothly; against every alarm bell shrieking its fool head off in the back of my brain, I smiled back and held out my package of sour Skittles .

A peace offering. Rhiannon had kissed me, in an even dimmer corner of that same bar, her hands tangled in my hair; I kissed her back, the whole world dissolving into whiskey and the tang of citric acid and pure, unadulterated stupidity . I went home with her.

It was only supposed to be the one kiss, the one night, the one time.

But I’d woken up, so early that it could still be called late, with hazy moonlight streaming in through the open curtains, and rolled over. The darkness threw the parts of Rhiannon’s face that I’d thought I knew into shadow and brought out all of the things I’d never thought to look for.

The exact angle of the slant of her eyes; how long her lashes were; the scar across her left cheekbone.

She slept with her mouth slightly open and her dark hair spilled across the white pillow like spilt ink. She slept with a knife carefully under her pillow and her arm thrown carelessly across the most immediate threat in her life. I could have killed her. That night or any of the nights after. It wasn’t, technically, in my job description. I was supposed to neutralize the threat that Rhiannon and her team posed to the arms dealers who had hired me.

No one said anything about killing her.

It wouldn’t be frowned upon , per say, but it wasn’t a part of my contract. I would still get paid if Rhiannon lived. I would still be able to pay for Everly’s treatment if Rhiannon lived. When Rhiannon lived. “What are you thinking about?” Ellis-- in the office she was Ellis. In every report I’d ever drafted, for the Greendale Police Department or for my employers, she was Ellis. In every moment of my joke of a life not spent curled in the corner of Rhiannon’s sofa with a book in my lap and my feet tucked firmly underneath the other woman’s thighs she was Ellis -- asked, setting her pen down on the desk with a quiet click. If there was ever a time to lie my ass off --“What you look like underneath that uniform,” while not exactly true, it also wasn’t entirely a lie. There was something about being in the same room as Ellis, something electric. Something that felt like breaking a rule and knowing you were going to get away with it. Outside of the office, when she was simply Rhiannon, when she favored t-shirts so old and loved that they were practically see through and worn jeans with holes in the knees and frayed hems, she softened. Her smile came easier, her eyes were less calculated, and the soft flutter of her hair around her face blurred her usually jagged edges.  Ellis, with her razor wit and sharp gaze, tight braid, and starched uniform, was something else entirely. She was dangerous; ex-military, an expert marksman, she could slit your throat before you realized she was even in the room. And honestly? That kind of did it for me. “Why do I put up with you?” Ellis laughed, leaning forward across her desk and planting her chin into her folded arms, “Your name literally means trouble.” The alias I’d chosen for this job did, anyways. Briar Queens. Rhiannon called me the Queen of Thorns, sometimes. She called me a lot of things, actually. Things I should have hated. Honey. Baby. Sweet Pea. Usually in the bedroom. Sometimes in the kitchen, with the lights dimmed, as I stirred exactly the right amount of sugar into her tea. Sometimes in the living room, when I mindlessly unspooled her wool for her as she knit and I read, Santa Clarita Diet on in the background. “Well,” I started, swallowing around the soccer ball that had formed in my trachea when Ellis had laughed --every laugh in the office was hard won and far between-- and trying valiantly not to think about what that meant, “I’m beautiful, brilliant, charismatic, and very, very good in bed.” I added in a terrible, overdone wink just to earn another of her quiet, smoky laughs.

“You are all of those things,” Ellis agreed, her smile soft, too soft for the office and too much for me to deal with before nine in the morning.

It wasn’t the kind of smile you threw around; not the kind you let just anybody see. It certainly wasn’t the kind of smile that you offered your coworker with benefits. “What?” I asked, “No ‘but’ in that sentence, Captain?” I expected sarcasm; something witty and maybe a little sexy. I didn’t expect her smile to just brighten, “No ‘but’.” I had to go . I needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Dangling twenty five feet above a pit of venomous snakes in the middle of a hurricane would be preferable.

“Coffee?” I squeaked, because it was the easiest excuse in the book; find me a cop without a near crippling caffeine addiction and I’ll out-do that guy from the movie with the annoying yellow things and steal you the damn moon.

Ellis’ eyes lit up, “Yes, please ,” she reached for the drawer in her desk that I knew housed her wallet, phone, and keys, but I waved her off. “I got it,” I said, “no worries.” I should really look away; she’d settled her desk in front of the large window, so she could feel the sun on her back throughout the day (because the woman was honestly just an overgrown housecat at the best of times) and the hazy morning light hung around her like a glow and it was doing concerning things to my blood pressure. Ellis relaxed back into her chair; her eyes were blue. It was easy to forget since they were so dark, but the second the light hit them just right it was like watching a raven’s wings unfurl, “Thank you, Briar.” Oh. First names. In the office. My hand stilled in midair as I reached for the door handle. “I said no worries,” I told her over my shoulder, because looking back would be a mistake , “Rhi.”

The door clicked shut behind me and I pressed my back against it, for lack of anything else solid and sturdy including, apparently, my spine .

“Damn, Queens,” Sergeant Walsh, a tall, kind looking man with glasses and approximately seven thousand pictures of his toddler ready to accost an innocent bystander at any given moment, whistled, “What’s got you so hot and bothered this early?” My skin was naturally, blessedly, a little on the darker side thanks to my useless father, but I don’t think all of the melanin in the world could have hidden my blush entirely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I said, silently praying for an isolated lapse in the structural integrity of the building that would crumble the floor below my feet and send me to the floor below and therefore away from this conversation, “I’m just going on a coffee run.” “Oh, a coffee run,” Walsh’s grin only widened, “is that what we’re calling it nowadays?”

“That is what we’ve always called it when someone leaves the office to acquire coffee .” I hissed -- God is fake. God is absolutely fake; God is a figment of humanity's constant need to feel like there is something bigger than them at work, because if God was real either Walsh or I would have dropped dead of a spontaneous coronary at that very moment. “You don’t have Cap’s card, though,” Walsh pointed out; the absolute bastard. He was loving this! “Which means it’s not a coffee run for the whole team. Which means it’s just the two of you. And since you don’t have her card that means that you’re buying the both of you coffee. Probably from that stupidly expensive hipster place down the street that you both love. Which means you’re also going to buy two pastries, which you’re then going to eat together in her office.” Could I kill Walsh and make it look like an accident? No. I scratch out that idea as soon as I think it; the jerk had the audacity to be Rhiannon’s best friend. She’d miss him if I killed him. She'd be sad . “Which means ,” but then again… “it’s a date.” I stared at him in stunned, horrified silence for several long moments. I knew exactly what my face looked like; Everly had snapped a picture once and it now hung, framed, in the living room of our shoebox apartment and acted as a reaction image when someone said something particularly stupid on the internet, “You’ve lost your mind,” I said, faintly. “I have not!” Walsh crowed, clapping his hands and beaming down at me, “You and Cap have a breakfast date. You’re buying breakfast to eat with Cap. This is Girlfriend Breakfast.”

“You shut your whore mouth right now, Anthony Walsh,” I warned, pointing one finger at him -- my other hand was still clutching at the door jam to keep myself upright, “it is not a date. It is…” what, exactly, was it? Two friends having breakfast? That could work, except usually ‘two friends’ didn’t mean ‘two people who had sex three to four times a week and spent the night together even more than that’. Friends With Benefits: Now Including Americanos And Gluten Free Muffins!

“It is what?” Walsh asked; eyes glinting behind his glasses the way they did when he knew he was winning.

“It’s nothing ,” I spat, pushing away from the door and stalking passed him, “bloody detectives!” He danced in front of me, walking backwards and weaving through the bullpen with an ease I refused to envy, “ Don’t you have work to be doing? Go detect something. There’s nothing to detect in my relationship with Rhiannon.” Shit. “ Rhiannon !” Walsh lit up like a Christmas tree and stopped walking, forcing me to either do the same or crash my nose into his sternum, “You come in early,” he held up one finger, “you buy her breakfast,” two fingers, “and now you call her by her first name!” For the love of -- “Yes! Okay, yes. I am sleeping with her. Is that what you want to hear?” I threw my hands in the air like an exasperated mother of four, “I am sleeping with the captain. I have been sleeping with the captain since the drug bust back in freaking August.” “I knew that already,” Walsh looked at me like I was stupid (I’m not stupid), “what I want to know, is what your intentions are towards my best friend?” Thank the freakin’ fake gods I’d shown up early and no one else had managed to stumble their way into the office yet because the pitch my voice took when I shrieked “Intentions? ” back at him would have busted some ear drums. As it was, it lured Ellis out of her office. “Briar, is everything alright?” She asked before she’d even surveyed the scene, “Oh. Tony.” She looked between the pair of us before sighing; too sharp for her own good, that one, “Intentions. Tony, I told you to leave it alone.” I told you . She’d told Walsh about me. She’d told Walsh about us . There was an us . “What?” Walsh’s eyes got all big and innocent, like he wasn’t in the process of actively terrorizing the villagers (the villagers being me, myself, and I.) “I just want to know--” “My intentions,” I repeated dryly. “Exactly!”

Ellis looked like she was on the brink of a migraine -- on one hand, awesome , this beat my record by a whole fifteen minutes, on the other I added that fancy migraine medication that was literally just Tylenol and caffeine to my mental shopping list because I knew, for a fact, that she’d taken the last of her supply on Friday.

“Incredible,” she sighed, “why I put up with either of you I’ll never know.” She grabbed Walsh by the upper arm, her grip leaving no room for interpretation or struggle -- he was going to go where she wanted him and he was going to do so with minimal whining -- and dragged him to her side, opening up the way to the elevator for me. “On your way, Briar. I’ll handle the peanut gallery,” her hand was gentle between my shoulder blades as she lightly pushed me forward.

“Thanks,” I said, darting into the elevator and slamming my hand against the close button until the office was hidden from view by the thick, shiny metal doors and Walsh could no longer somehow manage to get away and teleport back into my personal space.

That was a nightmare, to put it lightly. My intentions .

He didn’t want to know my intentions.

I didn’t want to know my intentions. Hell, I doubt I could tell him if I wanted to. Nothing had gone as I intended. I was a spy , okay? They could throw out words like ‘covert’ and ‘espionage’ and what have you all the livelong day but that didn’t change the fact of what I was. I was the damn spider, cocooned in my web of lies, spinning them one after the other. Everyone else was just a fly; they didn’t matter . Nobody mattered, except for Everly. Which is why I’d intended to do my job, collect the paycheck, and forget the whole thing had ever happened, like I did every time. I didn’t intend to kiss Rhiannon. I didn’t intend to sleep with her, and once I did I never intended for it to become a thing . I never intended to stay the night. I never intended to google how to make gluten free pancakes at six AM on a Sunday.

I never intended to fall in love with her. Oh . The elevator doors slid open. Oh no.


The weather upcoming to Halloween can be unpredictable, from a summer time day to a blizzard. Today, the weather was summer like. Requesting a personal day so one of my favorite pastimes is reading horror around halloween. I savor a good old scare feast. Downloaded a new horror EBook to my reader, it was a collection of down right scary books.       Taking my E-Book, lounge chair and coffee cup to my balcony,suddenly I was stunned by a car alarm going off.

Looking down at my E-Reader the battery was exhausted, it was dark looking at my watch it was nearly midnight. Thinking to myself must have fallen into a very deep sleep. I skipped my usual cup of caminal tea. I was meeting with the illustrator of my new children’s book later that day. I said to voice activated device “turn off the lights set alarm for 6 Am. Its response “done” I turned to my side made myself comfortable pulled the cover up falling asleep quickly.     The morning sunlight peeking through the curtains woke me up before the alarm when off. I got up worked out on the treadmill mill about forty-five minutes. I was training for a five kilometer race that I had scheduled for late November. The rest of the morning was my regular routine with time to spare. I had to pick up some photos enlarged for a show I was in at the local gallery.      I snatched up my keys,wallet ,bus pass and a few dollars to get a cup of coffee on the way to the printer. Heading out the door walking toward the elevator, standing in front of the elevator when a another gentleman is standing near me on the side of me I said “How’s your morning?” He neither turned his head or responded. Maybe he has ear buds in and could not hear me thinking to myself shrugging it off.      We both went to press the down button touching it at the same time. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the gentleman had this panicked look then wiping his hands with a tissue as if he touched something gross. The door open I went in first the other gentleman was right behind me in a vertly brushed up against the man once more, His face went pale began sweating.

As the door opened, he ran from the elevator screaming. Holding the door calling out after him “I’m sorry to startle you! The lobby guard came over to the elevator seeing nothing that could have caused the man to go screaming from the elevator.

Walking through the lobby waving to the other security guard he did not return the wave, maybe he didn’t see after all the confusion.      Walking toward the printing shop saw bike messenger come torrowed me attempting to move quickly to get out of the way. I thought he would miss my but the rider fell off the bike going to offer my help another person helped him up, I said to the messenger “sorry,” but all I heard from him was talking to his good Samaritans telling him he felt he bumped into something both looked around seeing nothing, that could have caused the rider to fall. I was standing right in front of them something wasn’t right. I don't understand what had

happened to me. Letting my imagination run rampant “What if people can’t see or hear me?” I thought should this be  genuine what amusing fun it could  be     I stood behind a young man waiting to cross the street. He was wearing a large cowboy hat I knocked it off causing him to turn around shrieked at the women closest to him for pulling his hat off. “Excuse me,” the woman said, in a pissed off voice, “I didn’t touch you ludicrous hat!” walking away indignantly. The man looked puzzled, with hat in hand, looking back over his shoulder with puzzled and frightened face.   “Oh! this can be fun.” I thought I must be invisible but how not a question to answer for now.

  Arriving at work there was a number of my co workers waiting for the elevator, pushing through the crowd each moved back wondering who started shoving and pushing. The group started to argue about who was pushing mean while the elevator door opened, jumping into the elevator, pressed the up button the door closed without the group even aware it arrived. As the door opened to the fourth floor I was egore to see what mischief I could get in.     Feeling a little hungry headed for the break room opening the refrigerator finding my coworker lunches. Helping myself to sandwiches,soda, a piece of cake left over from yesterday's birthday party. Sitting there awhile with my feet on the table, to witness what would happen when it was

lunch time. There were several people complaining  using some language I can’t repeat some were yelling down the hall that someone had eaten their food and it was not funny. They wonder who in the office had a sick sense of humor lacked manners to do such a thing. Some suggested maybe a lock may be needed to prevent this from occurring again. Going next to an office, which door was opened, set up for a managers meeting, the secretary had neatly put the papers at each seat. As she left and when out of room and her sight, scatting the papers all over the table, the floor turned some chairs over. The group came into the room, finding a huge mess looked around who did this the bosses were dismayed yelling at the secretory how she let this happen she was speechless and truly distressed.     Going over to another co-workers desk, putting my foot up against the wheels of her chair’s wheels prevent the chair to move. She stood up took my foot away the chair moved freely. Sitting down again putting my foot back the chair could not be moved, of course. The secretary could not figure out why when she stood up the chair moved and sat down would not move.    I know it was nasty to cause all this mischief but to be honest, I was really having fun but I was beginning to feel a little guilty.

I asked for the day off so I was not expected to be in the office that day.       I moved things around people desks when they returned looked around asking who had touched the supplies on the desk of course no one replied . Starting to get tired so deciding to go back home. I stood by the elevator door not allowing the door to close people in the elevator banged on the button panel and complaining they were going to miss their trains. I moved into the elevator door closed when getting out I stood in front of the door with my arms straight out people were pushing against me the just continues to push each other I moved out of the way causing some hard feelings.       Walking home restrained myself from further mischief. Opening the door to my apartment made coffee watched TV for about an hour then hopping into bed tell the automated AI to turn the lights off. Suddenly, I sat up, finding myself still sitting out on the balcony, the Ereader was fully charged in my lap. Getting up saw my neighbor coming home from work, I called out “Hi How are you doing?” She waved back. I was visible well could it been a dream or did it really genuine? I guess when you are reading the Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison anything can happen.       Next day, I heard about all the creepy things that had happened yesterday, so was it a dream or real I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Happy Halloween Boo!


The final evening of our vacation on the tranquil beach, where the setting sun made me ache for summer to last forever, Beside me, my friends and I sat on a weathered wooden bench, our toes buried in the cool sand, watching the fiery orb’s descent. We were a tight-knit group, bound by years of collective experience and an endless supply of laughter. This trip has granted us a much-needed respite from the pressures of our daily lives. Like a dancer ending a lovely performance, the sunset symbolizes the passing of time and bidding farewell. Similar to a ballerina’s bow at the conclusion of a spellbinding performance, the descent unfurled with beauty and poise as it bid the world farewell. The waves lapped at the shore, synchronizing with our hearts. Seagulls soared overhead, their cries a symphony of freedom and longing. My partner, Denise, nestled close to me, her hand entwined with mine. Her eyes, the color of the ocean depths, reflected the shimmering hues of the setting sun, like two pools of liquid amber catching the last drops of daylight. We had found love in the golden days of summer, and this vacation had been our secret garden, where our love had blossomed and thrived. Our closest friends, Reggie and Gina, sat next to us and quietly stared at each other for a while. Reggie’s unwavering commitment to Gina was evident in how he held her, like a knight protecting his beloved from the world. As the sun touched the water, the sky turned a beautiful shade of orange and pink. The scene was even more magnificent in its reflection on the ocean. I wished our laughter would forever resonate on the shore, time would stand still, and this moment would endure eternally. As I made my silent plea to the heavens, something extraordinary happened. The sun hesitated, caught in a moment of indecision. It lingered in a celestial pause that seemed to defy the laws of nature. The world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in this enchanted stillness. Gasps of astonishment filled the air as we watched the celestial spectacle. Unexpectedly, the sun, the wellspring of all existence, withdrew as though time had enigmatically reversed its course. It ascended with a newfound vibrancy, casting a brilliant blaze of colors across the beach as if the universe had granted us a second act. Metaphors spun through my mind like fireflies on a summer night. As the sun rose, it brought with it a tune long forgotten, one that had returned to serenade us. This melody reminded us that, while we often long for the past to remain, the future holds the key to hidden treasures. Denise’s fingers tightened around mine, her eyes brimming with wonder and a touch of mystery. “It’s like a hidden revelation,” she murmurs. I nodded, caught in the moment. “A waltz with fate,” I replied. Reggie and Gina, equally awestruck, exchanged a knowing look. “A romance scripted among the constellations,” Reggie pondered. As the sun continued its ascent, the hidden meanings of this extraordinary event unraveled before us. It was a reminder that time is not a relentless river but a winding path of possibilities. It urged us to cherish the present, for it held the power to reshape our future. With newfound resolve, we left the bench behind and ventured towards the water’s edge. The waves welcomed us, like the embrace of a long-lost friend, into the ocean’s depths. Laughter filled the air as we danced and splashed in the waves like children caught in a world of enchantment. Experiencing the rush of excitement sweeping over you is undeniably exhilarating. A shadow passed over the beach. The sun, which had burned so brilliantly, dimmed. Panic gripped us as we watched the sun’s light slowly fade. “What’s happening?” Gina cried out. The sun, now a mere ember, appeared ensnared by fate. It was a cruel twist, a reminder that even the most bewitching moments could be fleeting. Amid our despair, a voice, soft as a whispered secret, reached our ears. I met a woman with eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of countless sunsets. She said, “Life is like a fleeting moment, and we must cherish every precious second”. She reminded us we cannot contain time, no matter how much we long for the past to stay, as her words lingered in the air like a spell. The sun, once again, began its descent, sinking below the horizon and leaving behind a trail of stardust in the twilight. We returned to the bench with a sense of acceptance, like explorers who had glimpsed a hidden treasure destined to return home. The sun’s final descent was a poignant reminder that life is a gallery of fleeting moments, each a masterpiece of its own. As darkness settled over the beach, we huddled together, our hearts heavy with the weight of our revelation. The diamonds of the stars shone brightly against the canvas of the night sky, bringing solace and strength to our hearts. Our vacation last night has brought us full circle, from wishing for a never-ending summer to accepting the passage of time. Every star had a story to uncover as we observed them. In their shimmering light, we found the promise of fresh starts. It occurred to me as I lay on the sand and looked up at the many constellations overhead that the sun’s unusual reversal might have been more than a coincidence. Something in the air—a whisper in the wind—suggested a profound truth was waiting to be exposed. As the night wore on, we drifted into a dreamless slumber, the echoes of the evening’s enchantment still reverberating in our hearts. Upon awakening, the sun rose, renewing hope. We gathered our belongings, preparing to leave the beach behind and return to our everyday lives. As we left the hallowed shore, I could not help but carry the memory of that extraordinary evening with me like a cherished talisman. The sun’s cycle left us with a gift: appreciation for the present and wonder about the universe’s mysteries. We departed from the beach filled with gratitude for the time shared and the mystery of that unforgettable night. The truth that life itself is a dance made up of transitory, one-of-a-kind events is what we ultimately remember, not the sun’s quirky waltz. I could not help but smile as I took my last look back at the vanishing shoreline. The warmth of that special evening will remain in our memories, inspiring us to cherish every moment and dance gracefully amidst the symphony of life. Memories endure, illuminating our journey even after holidays and sunsets, reflecting the beauty of each step we take.