Aria Dauntair had been waiting for this night for five years now. She had been fifteen when she had found the solar maps in the back of the town library.

Her eyes had been drawn to a table with a chess set, the pieces stopped mid game across the black and white board. She had walked to the table to examine the game when she had noticed scrolls stacked beneath it.

They smelled of ink and old paper and felt rough against her callused brown fingers. They contained the most beautiful maps and calendars ever, for they depicted the night sky.

Pouring over the scrolls all night she had come upon the alignment of the calendar that portrayed a complete lunar eclipse in five years' time. A full lunar eclipse meant the moon would become drenched in blood and turn an ominous red. And as a painter it was her deepest desire to capture that catastrophic color.

So on the day of the eclipse Aria packed up all of her best paints, brushes, papers, and canvases into her brown satchel. Then with her easel beneath her arm she walked into the fields that separated the town from the Crass palace. In the East of these fields there lay old castle ruins from a time long forgotten. And what better place to use as a landscape? The ruins of royalty and the death of the sky; it would be a most poetic painting.

Her dress was yellow and her breathing heavy as she carried her supplies to the ruins. She set them down to take a rest and pulled her springy black hair into a twist at the back of her head. Noticing a sunflower, she picked it and wove it into the twist of her hair.

It was early April and the air was still cold despite the emergence of flowers. For this reason the exercise felt exhilarating, the chilly air pressed onto her hot skin to create an enchanting contrast. Aria glanced at the Crass palace momentarily before continuing to the ruins. The palace stood taller than a mountain, with buttresses like shooting stars and balconies like jutting cliffs. It was both white and black like a game board and it frightened her.

The Crass’s were the royal family that ruled her town, and the town past that, and many towns beyond. In her mind, they ruled the world. They felt like gods compared to her, an orphan raised by a prophetess, taught to paint and live simply.

The ruins were raised slightly upon a hill and she trudged up it, only stumbling on her skirt twice. When she reached the top she dropped her things and sat down on a piece of concrete rubble, once a great pillar, now a stone surrounded by grass.

She heard a laugh and fell backwards off the stone. She stood up hastily and turned to find the source of the laugh. A girl was laying across an old dining table, her lips open with mirth.

“Why are you laughing?” Aria asked. The girl stopped laughing to level Aria with a piercing stare. Aria shifted her feet uncomfortably.

“What’s funny?” she demanded.

The girl shrugged her bony bare shoulders. “Only that you are here. I did not expect anyone to come up here.”

Aria looked the girl up and down, hoping to puzzle her out. She had unnaturally pale skin, the opposite color to Aria’s warm dark complexion. Her hair was black, straight, and long like a curtain. She was wearing a deep red dress that fell around her in petticoats and ribbons, a pool of blood drenching her slim body. Her feet were bare and her toenails painted. In one hand she held a bottle of wine and in the other her fingers clutched a small velvet purse.

“You, you are very pretty,” Aria managed. “But why are you dressed like you’re going to a ball?”

The girl shrugged. “I do not know. It is a game I must play. I must pretend as if I am lovely and together. It does not do anymore. I quit the game. Or perhaps I lost. I’m not sure.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

The girl slid off the old table to her feet. She tipped drunkenly to the left for a second but managed to stand upright. Then she moved towards Aria.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she remarked. “I could stare into those all day.”

Aria turned her face away, flattered and embarrassed. “Do you always compliment strangers like this?”

The girl laughed again. It was a harsh laugh because it sounded empty. It rattled from her throat, out her pink lips, like a last breath. “You’re not a stranger to me. You’re a subject.”

Aria tried to make sense of this. The girl rolled her eyes at her confusion.

“I’m Lorelai Crass. Or at least I am told that is my name.”

“Oh!” Aria cried and she fell harshly to her knees. They would be bruised in the morning.

Lorelai laughed. “Do not kneel to me. Didn’t I tell you I quit the game? Stop playing it. We are just too girls, that is all. Call me Rosy, that is what my friends call me.”

Aria stared at the flowers that poked up between Lorelai’s dainty bare feet. Bright red wild poppies and blue cornflowers. They wrapped around the princesses ankles and grew stubbornly from the cracks of concrete on the ground. Aria slowly stood up.

“Why do they call you Rosy?” she asked.

Lorelai, or Rosy for that matter, held out the wine bottle in front of her, tipping it back and forth in Aria’s view. The wine was a light pink and on the bottle in gold lettering it said, “Rosé.”

“Why do you think?” Rosy asked, her eyebrows raised and her voice full of satire. Then she took a swig from the bottle, spilling some of it down her front and staining her satin dress.

Aria was unsure what to do in this strange situation so she turned back to the reason she had come to the ruins. She set up her easel on a piece of flat marble, what could have been a ballroom years before, and propped up a canvas on it. Then she sat down on the cold floor. She opened her case of paints, their chemical smell filling the air. Rosy was behind her and suddenly leaned her chin onto her shoulder to look at the paints.

“You’re a painter,” she noted quite obviously, her words tickling Aria’s ear, the alcohol on her breath wafting about. “Have you come to paint me or the ruins? We are one and the same you see. No one remembers a time when we were one piece.”

Aria was becoming more worried for the princess. She glanced sideways at her and their faces came close, Rosy’s pale skin and dark eyes alarming at that proximity. Aria pulled back instinctively and Rosy’s harsh laugh echoed about once more. It was at this moment that Aria noticed something odd. Something in Rosy’s handbag was moving.

“What’s in your purse?” she inquired as she fiddled with one of her ivory brushes.

“Oh!” Rosy exclaimed, standing up with excitement as if she had forgotten. “I brought along a friend! Yes, a dear friend.”

Aria did not like the way it was moving about in the purse, making the velvet material pulse and ripple.

“What kind of a friend?” she asked, her voice trembling. The sun was beginning to set behind the purple mountains. The air was growing very cold. Rosy looked as if she was going to answer but then suddenly turned her head, her mind completely sidetracked.

“That’s right!” she announced to the open air. “I almost forgot. I chose this day on purpose. Perhaps you did too?”

Aria smiled, remembering the excitement the night would bring. “Yes, the blood moon! I am going to paint it. I have wanted to paint it for five years now.”

Rosy sat down next to Aria on the marble, taking another quick swig of her wine. “Five years. That is a long time to wait for something. I presume nothing could be more important than being able to paint it. I suppose you would not miss this for anything.”

Aria bobbed her head, the sunflower falling from her black hair. “I can’t wait,” she said breathlessly.

“Perhaps you could paint me too,” Rosy suggested. “Would I look terrifying in the red light? Or tragic perhaps?”

Aria thought for a second, watching the color of the clouds darken to deep blue. “Why do you say you are like the ruins? What do you mean? It doesn’t make sense.”

Rosy stood up as if the words had deeply affected her. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. “I sense the moon rising, that is what I sense. Do not worry about it painter girl, I mean nothing. I am nothing. Just pretend I am not here.” Then she turned her back to Aria and disappeared behind a pile of rubble.

Aria was not sure how to respond so she laid out her paint brushes, touching them with affection, preparing for the moment when the moon would appear. Something cold and wet suddenly graced her cheek. Like a kiss from a corpse’s lips. She touched her cheek, surprised. The air was icy and she watched her breath billow out of her mouth. Another cold thing landed on her nose.

“Snow,” she whispered, understanding. She watched as small snowflakes fell down around her and the ruins. They seemed to be falling all together, as if one body, one white unstable body. She sat beneath the snow and thought of Rosy's strange words. They became more concerning in her mind the more she tried to puzzle through their meaning.

She stood and walked towards the princess to see what she was doing. She sat against the pile of rubble, the bottle of wine empty and broken into shards on the ground. Rosy had evidently cut her wrists with some of the glass shards because there was blood spinning down the skin of her forearms. The snow settled around her, landing on the bright flowers and her bare feet. The world felt terribly wrong. Rosy had the purse clutched in her hands and she stared at it as if she was about to make a great decision. The look in her swirling black eyes was haunting.

“Rosy,” Aria said, trying to bring her into reality. Rosy’s eyes snapped up to the painter in front of her, clad in soft yellow, skin warm, body steady.

“Rosy, what’s in the purse.”

Rosy said nothing, her eyes fixed on Aria. The smell of Rosy’s blood hit Aria suddenly, metallic and musty, the snow fresh and stark in comparison.

“Rosy, won’t you let me bandage up your wrists? They are bleeding so much.”

“Good,” she hissed. “I love blood! Don’t you see, you lovely girl? I am not just like these ruins, I am them! I am the blood moon, and the clouds. I am everything you have ever painted. I am poetry and I, am, death.” She paused between each of her last words, her voice tense with drama.

“You aren’t making sense Rosy,” Aria said, feeling like a broken record. She began to cry and it felt odd, crying over someone she did not know. But the tears came anyways, warm and heavy. “Let me bandage up your wrists,” she pleaded.

But when Aria took a step forward, Rosy unclasped the velvet purse and pulled out, with one swift motion, a thin black snake. Aria flinched backwards at the sight of it. The laugh came again, echoing against the stone ruins again, echoing back at them. The snow was still falling and it came to Aria’s notice that the moon had appeared. It’s glorious blood light shone on Rosy, willing her to die.

“Know what this is, beautiful painter? It’s my mother’s snake. She keeps a whole tank of poisonous snakes in her room. She likes them. One bite from this one will kill me.”

“Rosy, put the snake back,” Aria pleaded, afraid to step forward again, glancing up at the blood moon then back at the girl.

“Go on!” Rosy cried, hysteria running rampid along her face. “Go paint your moon! Paint it and these ruins, all these ruins! Paint my ruins! Don’t miss your chance!” Rosy laughed again and stroked the back of the thin black snake. Aria was breathing hard with anxiety, watching those cold white fingers stroking the black scales. Her hair was cold and wet on her face from the snow and her body had begun shaking from cold. Her tears had frozen on her face. She should go paint her moon like the princess said. After all this girl was ruined wasn’t she? She looked into Rosy’s eyes, asking what to do.

“Go on!” Rosy commanded again. “I won’t keep you waiting!”

Aria glanced at the moon and knew she could not paint it. Not now, perhaps not ever. “What about your chance?” she whispered to her. Rosy scoffed, watching the snake coil around her hand and slither between her fingers.

“Now you don’t make any sense.”

“You said I shouldn’t miss my chance. But what about you? You deserve a chance to keep living.”

“No I don’t! What will another chance do for me? Nothing! Nothing you idiot!”

Aria was overcome with pain for the girl, and stepped forward, ready to grab the snake from her hands.

“Don’t move!” Rosy snapped. If I press on the back of this guy's little head he will bite. I’ll do it now if you move again! I will!” Rosy had begun to sob then. Her eyes were glossy and the tears streamed endlessly down her shallow cheeks. Aria stood frozen, feeling the whole world tipping on a scale. Possible consequences echoing all around. “I know you don’t want to die. So don’t. Don’t.”

Rosy shook her head no. “You can’t stop me. You said you have been waiting for five years. Well I have been too! I have been planning this death, my death for five years! For five years I have wanted to-”

And then mid-sentence Aria made a decision. She flung herself forward and stopped Rosy’s words short with a searing kiss. Full brown lips against thin pink ones. Lips frozen and wet with tears. Rosy tasted of the sweet pink alcohol she was nicknamed after and it sent a woozy sensation through Aria’s nerves. Rosy had gone still beneath Aria’s embrace, as if she was a machine, her lips the off button. Aria pressed her lips harder to hers, not daring to pull away. Willing to stay there until the end of time. It was Rosy who pulled her head back slightly, disconnecting their cold lips.

Aria looked down at the snake. Rosy had not made it bite her. It sat in her hand calmly, coiled up in her white palm like a sleepy pet. Rosy’s eyes were still shut and her eyebrows were scrunched up, her jaw clenched. Aria carefully grabbed the end of the snake tail and picked up the snake from the girl’s hand. Then she placed the poisonous creature in the handbag and clasped it shut. She tossed it far to the side. Rosy’s eyes remained closed.

“I still want to die,” she whispered to Aria who sat close on the snowy ground, flowers crushed beneath her thick legs.

“I know. But you don’t have to. You don’t have to die.”

Rosy’s eyes opened to Aria, wide and vulnerable, two open wounds. Then she fell into Aria’s arms, her sobs drenching her neck. They sat there in each others arms for an hour, the snow still falling lightly, the red moon still shining. Aria’s paints were ruined and the canvas soaked through but she had forgotten their existence. Aria realized how hard both of them were shivering and stood up, pulling Rosy’s limp body with her.

“We need to get somewhere warm.”

Rosy nodded against her. “Okay. Not the palace though. I don’t want to go back there. I’m done with that game.”

So Aria scooped up Rosy into her arms and walked towards her paint studio, the town lights in the distance guiding her through the darkness. The wet grasses were shocking on her bare ankles and Rosy felt light in her arms. Rosy watched Aria’s face as she struggled forward. “We hardly know each other,” she whispered to Aria.

Aria nodded, a curl of her hair falling over her forehead and brushing an eyelid.

“And we don’t share any blood,” she continued, clutching onto the fabric of Aria’s yellow dress with her quivering hands. “But we are family now. Aren’t we?”

Aria looked down at the princess in her arms. “Why do you say that? I have never had family in my life. I’m an orphan.”

“Family is people who take care of each other. And save each other. That’s what you did for me.”

“I only kissed you,” she remarked, not sure she could accept such a bold statement, such a word as family.

“No, you brought me back to life for a moment. I was already dead years ago but for a moment I felt alive again. How can that not be, be what family does? How can family be more than that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you not wish to be my family?”

“Of course I wish it.”

“You think I’m terrible don’t you? A mess.”

“No. I think you’re lonely. And stunning.”

“So…”

“Of course I wish to be your family.”

And Rosy’s lips tilted into a tipsy smile as Aria stepped onto the cobble path that led to her studio, the blood moon shining above.


Checkmate. That was the first time you and I met. All it took was one more than the starting move, and just like that, I was already gone. I remember then that I still hadn’t known you by name. You were but an avatar on a computer screen whose existence was as far from me as the sun is from earth. You were there as my first opponent, and the frustration that you hammered into this conceited newbie lingered more than I could admit, but your existence, no matter how apparent it was to me, no matter how close it was for that one moment, was blockaded by the anonymity of a stranger. Back then, I didn’t know who you were, who anyone was—who I was. Being alone in a room that reeked of cup ramen and listening to songs from the 80s were all that I could do. For the 5th consecutive year, I had successfully ensnared myself in a 3 meters by 2 meters tatami mat prison cell which I had grown much too accustomed to, the same way a domesticated dog would much rather be kept as a pet than to roam about freely in the frigid evergreen woods of its predecessors. I kept myself shackled because I was afraid of the outside world, afraid if I was going to survive, afraid of being a burden. Given my inability to do anything useful, it felt to me as if my existence in and of itself was a burden to others. I was never clever, I was never truly passionate about anything. I was a flotsam on stagnant waters reluctant to move, and by that alone, would I not be a dead burden to the world? The fact that I was there stuck in my room by my own volition confirmed me of my suspicions. If that were the case, would it not be better to be a ghost, to be chained to the ocean depths where nobody could see or reach me? So in my solitude, you became a sole source of excitement. I would play you in chess, and you’d always accept. Was it because you couldn’t beat anyone but myself? Even so, I didn’t mind, our matches had provided me with reprieve. After three months, we became rivals, though you were always better than me, so perhaps ‘partners’ would be more apt, or perhaps a better analogy would suffice; You the boxer, and I, the punching bag. I’d lose again and again, but even punching bags could swing back from time to time with a force greater than you expected, and when you missed punching them back, the taste of victory would be immense enough to last me a whole day. When I had nothing and did nothing, the smallest of things would be enough to make a day eventful, and our matches, aside from new seasonal flavors of cup noodles in the convenience store, were most definitely the highlight of most of my lonely days. It was not until a year till we truly grew to know each other. Phone numbers were exchanged and our ties tightened with your face remaining a blank canvas to me. Unlike me, you were a person whose contact with the outside was not only through a mere glass sliding door—You were there on the streets crossing many paths to work. I watched from above on the sidelines, untouchable and furtive. When looking at the glass to peer at the crossing outside, had my eyes met you before? Maybe, but when you were with everyone else, you simply became one of the countless blank faces, and I couldn’t tell you apart. You told me of the world outside, of the morning rush in train stations, of the  gruelling overtimes, of the pollen allergy you battled bravely through summer, of the soft and granular texture of snow on the northern fringes of the country. The more tales you told me, the more I thought of the world outside. Of how much changed since the outside and I had last met, of where that enthusiastic kid in me, ready to see the world, had gone away, though I very much knew the city would be far too much with all its incandescent lights and pandemonium, but I wanted to see your face, just yours and yours alone, as though I were trying to confirm that you truly were real and not just a delusion of mine. And somehow as if the Gods had heard my plight, forgetting that they had already forsaken me, I did. I saw you that day when the ginkgo trees outside had turned yellow, when the air was cool enough that I could cut down air-conditioning costs by simply opening the window without the fear of being frozen still or swimming in my own sweat. It must have been my lucky day that afternoon since I remembered winning a match against you, and you being the sore loser that you were, mentioned taking a breather and letting some chilly air in whilst pulling out a cigar. That was the moment I first saw you. Across my room, just a building away across a narrow alley, you were there with your cigar, a trail of smoke waltzing from the tip. Your white uniform which had gone slack quivered in the gentle gusts and the dying sun shone through your greasy hair covering those dark sunken eyes atop those slender cheeks. You took a deep breath and your eyes met my window somberly, but I doubt you could see me at all. I didn’t recognize it at first, but as I focused my attention on the leaves embellishing my balcony, you returned back behind the curtains, and the message to start was sent. Coincidence? I think not. But I didn’t tell you I knew. Perhaps it was the one road gap between us that allowed me to play you, or were you like me, and it was that too which allowed you to play me? If we knew each other, would you still be willing to play against me, or would you be disgusted by my cowardice the same way that others would? I’d rather not know then, so I did what I was most especially talented in—staying silent, and  I only glanced at your room from time to time half-wishing you’d notice, half-wishing you wouldn’t. Nevertheless, seeing your face was enough. That would trounce new ramen flavors any season. When you returned, you played on in that carefree style of yours. Perhaps it was what made you a bad player and I, even worse, but that was exactly what I felt comfortable with. You were not afraid to be foolish, and that gave me hope that perhaps there were others like you out there, others who would be willing to play a game without much of a care whether they lose or win, because no matter how much of a sore loser you were, you’d always return knowing that you’d still have my company, knowing that whatever the scenario, it would always be fun for the both of us, which made it all the more surprising when you did the impossible and stopped coming when winter came. And when winter came, so did the bleakness it gave off, as where I lived, not a single snowflake would fall from the heavens, leaving the balding trees and desolate streets bare below the dampened sky. Just as I got to spot you among the crowd, you vanished again. This time, with no more matches, no more messages, with no clues but that room ahead of me, still enclosed by those beige curtains. Had my virus contracted you perhaps? Had you castled yourself in your room the same way I did? As days came passing, and weeks soon enough, your disappearance embedded worms of doubt wriggling through my mind. I wanted to know what was happening in that room, and I didn’t think it would get as bad as it did. On that last day of the year, I wondered what exactly ran through your mind. When you stood on the railing wetted by the unexpected rainfall, shoes on the floor, eyes staring blankly at the dark sky shattered by the coruscating fireworks. Your feet and body were trembling, but your face, dead and pale as if ready to accept any outcome. You thought nobody was watching, but I was there, still as ever watching from afar, wondering my next course of action, wondering if I had any say in it. I watched you take a deep jittery breath. Clearly, you were afraid. Clearly,  you were not ready to die. I took my phone, and I called you for the first time. From here, I could hear the ringtone, and I was relieved you hadn't muted me, but the thought soon vaporized into four words repeating in cycles. Please, pick it up! Please, pick it up! My head was cantankerous, but the dead silence outside was numbing, and when you picked it up, you said nothing. “Wanna play chess?” I asked, but in reply, you muttered silence. I couldn’t tell if the expression you wore on your face was that of horror or relief. After a bout of silence, you said, “No, I can’t”. “Why not?” “Because I’m about to jump.” “You are? Why?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know why you’re going to jump?” “Nobody knows anything. I’m just scared of tomorrow. The world has lost its color, does it mean anything at all?” “I don’t know. I’m no Aristotle, but I have something to ask.” “What?” “If I were to stop you from jumping, I want you to try out the new crab ramen from the convenience store with me.” “What?” “Did I stutter?” “Whatever, I couldn’t care less.” “Catch me, okay?” “What?” I went on the balcony and stepped on the railings, still slippery. I knew what I was doing was reckless and stupid, but I did it anyways. I crouched and loaded my plump legs like a spring, my body feeling heavy from the lethargy. As my heart beat as though a percussion, I sent myself flying above the narrow road. I still remembered looking at your eyes wide open, revealing all four white corners of your eye. And when you caught me—what a rough landing it was. But as if it was only natural to me, when our two black marbles met, all I could say was "checkmate".


It is 7:24 pm. I could see his lips moving but could hear no words escaping them. The silence was deafening and yet, I seemed to be the only one experiencing it. His head tossed back in raucous laughter at one of his own jokes, perhaps to elicit movement from my own lips. Nothing. The search in his eyes was palpable to an unsettling degree. His stubbly fingers curled round the glass, as if somehow trying to escape the last four failed seconds. His eyes flickered instantaneously to the other side of the room, subconsciously searching for the exit in a desperate attempt to escape the discomfort of the moment. He fidgeted in his chair, a whiff of last night’s cigarette mixed with a routine glass of whiskey found it’s way to my nostrils and, at last, a response from my face that was different than the statue it had become since we sat down. He blinked nervously, the realization of a stench coming from his person that perhaps was not there before. Everything about him had a nervous ring around it. The subtle beads of sweat now forming a linear trickle down the left side of his face, the way his legs fidgeted as he crossed and then uncrossed them. So many distractions were necessary for the two of us to get through these painful minutes, before either of us mustered up the courage to call it quits. He excused himself to go to the restroom, but not before using the cloth napkin with slight gold touches to wipe those beads of sweat coming down from the left side of his face, now competing against each other in some strange way. He stood and lightly paused as he fumbled with the buttons on his department store coat, his stubbly fingers struggling now as they attempted the impossible…buttoning his coat in front of me with some sort of poise that he picked up from a third-party vendor. I sat there, quietly observing the safe haven of memories that were being created all around me. The gentleman at the next table, caressing the wrist of his female companion. The girlish best friends in the corner by the door, excited plans and a refreshing giddiness about their faces. The proud parents of a college graduate, their hopeful faces staring into the moment and looking past it into their boys’ future at the same time. And then there was I, in the center of the restaurant. As If the cosmos teamed up with time to hold me hostage in an otherwise pity prison from which I was contemplating a dramatic and epic escape. I glanced at my watch, the seconds moved with relentless and stealthy steadiness. These seconds were my antagonist and my protagonist, mocking me at the realization of His return and at the same time bringing me pleasure as I reveled in his absence. It was a duality of emotions I never intended to experience, although they gave color to an otherwise blank slate of an already dulled and uneventful evening. I continued to sit, frozen in the test of my willfulness to escape. I could feel the jolting essence of muscle fibers screaming “Move! Get up! Walk out the door! Fast!” and yet, I stayed right where I was, like the stony figure this man had so desperately wanted to unmold me from. Suddenly, the stench I had experienced only moments before had crept up into my nose and I knew without turning around that the inevitable had been forced upon me. He was returning; my escape plan now a faded and distant memory. He muttered an apology, something in between telling your children you are sorry for their turtle dying and what you would hear in the middle of a conference after someone burps. He unbuttons his department store jacket, this time with a semblance of poise that was completely nonexistent before. Is it true? Could I trust what I was seeing and hearing? Could this man have changed from the few minutes in his absence until now? Could he represent the single most elevated thoughts that I clung to, a sense of fulfillment and a debonair status that was, with much certainty, never a part of this mans past? This time, I heard him say “What do you think?” He wanted to know what I thought. I could not tell you to whom or what he was especially referring. I can tell you that my reaction was nothing short of the statuesque demeanor I was so dutifully adhering to. I nodded, as if to imply a response rather than actually committing to one. He nodded in agreement, or something that resembled a nod. Then, as if the angels had flown down from the heavens to make a special trip to our time and our restaurant and our table, he looked at me and said with a half-weakened smile, “It was nice to meet you.” He stood up, then as characteristically as before he buttoned his department store jacket with those same stubbly fingers and that same whiff of cigarettes and whiskey filled my nostrils like clockwork, as if to bid me a sarcastic farewell. Without prior notice he snatched my hand, and it felt as comfortable as walking across fiery embers with bare feet. Without notice I felt a surge of hot breath on the back of my hand, and as he planted his slobbery wetness, I felt all the electrical impulses surge to my hand as if it were fighting some sort of infection. I looked up in a state of alarm, trying my best to contain the screams budding in my throat and attempting to escape my lips. I stared at his face, hard. As if trying to look through him, to find some deep sense of worthiness embedded in the catacombs of his psyche. As I continued to stare, motionless and statuesque, only the serendipitous of thoughts had come to mind. “I’m never going out with you again.” By: Melanie Veintimilla


“Ciana, what’s going through your mind right now? As we watch this beautiful sunrise, what thoughts run through your head?” Fiadh was sitting on his haunches, staring as the red-orange sun slowly rose in the sky. “I’m just thinking about how much I enjoy being here with my mate, not a care in the den.” Ciana turned to look at Fiadh. He swiveled his head to look at his beautiful silver-furred companion and barked softly, in joy. Ciana stared into his deep, blue eyes, then pressed her nose up against hers. Now the sun was displaying its beauty, and small yips and yaps sounded from the den nestled in the cliff behind the mates. Fiadh pulled away from Ciana and padded into the den to care for the pups. “There’s a rabbit next to their place!” Ciana called. Fiadh turned slightly and nodded at her. She nodded back and stood up, stretching her legs. Just another day. --- “I don’t care why, Delilah! You should’ve known better than to go out, never answer my calls or texts, then come back two days later! You’re such a brat! I knew I shouldn’t have married you those years ago. In fact, I want a divorce!” Joel stomped to the front door, walked out, and slammed it behind him. Delilah was left standing in the center of the living room, shocked still. Tears ran silently down her face. The sound of Joel’s car pulling out of the driveway reached her ears.

I want a divorce. I want a divorce. I. Want. A. Divorce. Joel’s words replayed themselves in Delilah’s head, over and over. The worst part was that she knew they weren’t just fighting words. She knew that he meant it. The love of her life was leaving her. “Knock, kno-” Suzie Houper walked into the house, a smile on her face fading as she saw the sight of Delilah. “Dee, what’s the matter?” Closing the door behind her, Suzie cautiously walked to Delilah, stopping in front of her. “J-j-joel. He-he… Suz, we’re getting a divorce!” Delilah howled. She threw herself onto Suzie, bawling. “Oh, no, Dee. I’m so sorry.” Suzie contemplated saying something along the lines of “You were too good for him, anyway”, but knew that it was too soon for that. Right now, Delilah just needed to wallow in her sorrow. --- “This time, Fiadh, I’m going to go with the alphas for food. You’ve gone the last three times. It won’t take long, but still, don’t let the pups out of your sight. They’re tricky. Especially Aurelio. Watch him closely,” Ciana instructed. She padded around the den, making sure that everything was in order. Before she left, Ciana licked Fiadh and barked a goodbye to her pups. Several hours later, Ciana trotted back into her den. Her mind immediately told her that something was off. Fiadh was sleeping in the center of the den with Jazlynn and Kulia climbing on him. Acantha and Breaker were also sleeping peacefully on the west side of the space. And Aurelio was… Where was Aurelio? “Fiadh! Wake up! Get up , Fiadh!” Fiadh jerked awake, throwing Jazlynn and Kulia off of him. A deep growl began in his throat before he realized it was Ciana. “Hello, Ciana. The pups and I did well. What did you kill?” Fiadh glanced behind Ciana, to see if there were any dead animals there. Before he could see clearly, Ciana snapped. “I leave, and you fall asleep when you’re supposed to be keeping a watchful eye over the pups. What kind of wolf does that make you? Not a very good one in my eyes. Oh, and where in the den is Aurelio?!” Ciana’s ears were sticking straight up, and her teeth were bared. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve lost a pup! You know what, Fiadh, you can just leave. The pups and I can manage on our own.” Ciana gestured to the pups who were cuddled in the corner now, ears flat to their head. “Fine. I knew you would just weigh me down, anyway.” --- Delilah’s tears slipped silently down her face. A small bird hummed a sorrowful tune in the distance. Toddlers laughed from the closeby neighborhood. One toad croaked in the pond. The wind rustled leaves on the ground, and on trees. Through her tears, Delilah sang an emotional song that she had written. “ No one sees her pain; it just happens again and again. She puts on her brave face, but she really needs an embrace. ” Delilah sang it softly, but with just as much power as she normally would in her studio. “ She won’t let them see, no matter how hard she wants to. She hides it with her crazy. This is nothing new. ” The bird had gone quiet now, listening to Delilah’s melodic voice. The toad had also gone silent, stopping on the edge of water and land. Delilah only stopped when she heard someone or some thing step on the edge of the forest. She snapped her head around and saw a silver-furred wolf with piercing indigo eyes. --- Never. Never had Ciana heard a voice like that. So, unwillingly, she was pulled by a trance away from her den, to a part of the forest she had never explored before. There was a clearing, and man was sitting there. This man was female, with dark brown fur and light green eyes. The female was singing. “ She won’t let them see, no matter how hard she wants to. She hides it with her crazy. This is nothing new. ” Ciana stepped on a twig, and it snapped in half. She winced as the female man stopped singing and turned towards her. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. It felt like hours, though it was probably only thirty seconds. “Hello there. You’re pretty far from wolf territory. Are you lost, sweetie?” A feeling began deep down in Ciana’s stomach. She could feel it. It was a good feeling; it told her it was okay to go towards this female man. Of course, Ciana didn’t know who the female was, but trusted her. Ciana could tell the man felt the same. As Ciana inched forward, the female man began to sing again. It was a song that meant a lot to her, Ciana could tell. Why was the question Ciana couldn’t answer. --- “ I built a friend out of three pieces of plastic and a pen. I made him on the table in the den. I gave him my old cell phone for a head, for a head. ” Delilah sang slightly louder than the time before, hoping to spike the wolf’s attention. It worked, because the wolf continued to proceed towards Delilah. Right up until the wolf was next to Delilah where she was sitting, cross-legged, in the clearing. The wolf sat down next to her as Delilah continued the song. “ And we spent holidays at my house and we left presents in a stocking. And we bought bolts and things and strings and a new watch, that’s what he got. ”

--- For the next hour, Delilah sang different songs to Cianna. The wolf was a great listener, intently watching the entire time. While this was happening, the sun was setting and the moon was rising. A silver glow covered the clearing, enhancing the light of both Delilah and Ciana’s eyes. Delilah finished up the last verse of “Hallelujah”, then stopped. She reached over and wrapped her arm around Ciana. A message passed between the two, silently and sneakily. You’re alright.


'Good morning Ms Miela!' announced a high-pitch cheerful voice. I opened my eyes and the world was still a blur. I still felt lethargic and I could doze off again if i stayed in my bed. My warm, cosy cotton comforter wrapped around me making me feel like a child again. I glanced at my bedside clock, 7.30 A.M in red lights glaring at me. 'Good morning Hadie' I responded sheepishly to Hadie, the lady that has been catering to my needs for the past following months. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and took a second to evaluate myself. I have aged significantly throughout the years. Strands of silver white face framed my once chiselled face, my eyes still piercing blue and the crow lines around my eyes were much visible. Although age has very much catch on with me, I've never hated the lines I gained. 'The itinerary for today will be breakfast and we have a special visitor for you later on' piped Miela as she propped me up from the bed. Miela was wearing her blue uniform and her hair was neatly bun up as always. Immaculately neat. 'A special visitor?' I frowned in confusion. while dwindling with my silk pyjamas. 'Yes, you'll see later on. Breakfast for today will be bacon and eggs, just the way you like it. Now off you go to shower' she responded as she ushered me towards the bathroom. I locked the bathroom door and thought about what she said. Who was the special visitor? My husband, Elijah, should be at the day room at this timing. Elijah and I have been married for 43 years. Today is 1 st September 1991, which marked our 44 th Anniversary. We've decided to spend our golden days in this retirement home, Sunny Heights. We have two beautiful children together, Ezikiel and Bella. Both of our children are studying abroad and since the pandemic, they were unable to see us. Ezikiel and Bella are both a year apart, just in their early twenties. I miss them dearly and was hoping to see them soon. I got dressed quickly and headed towards the dayroom to look for Elijah. Hadie was busy preparing breakfast for the seniors and the smell of freshly fried eggs wafted through the white hallways. Next to Hadie was a blonde hair lady wearing a blue apron, assisting her with breakfast. She looks vaguely familiar but I can't seem to remember her. 'Hi there. My name is Miela. It's a pleasure to meet you' I said while extending my hand for a handshake. The woman looked at me with her kind brown eyes and paused for a bit. 'Hi Miela, I'm Rosette and I am the caretaker here. It's nice to meet you too' she replied while giving me a gentle handshake. Hmm, a new caretaker? That's nice. Miela could use some help around here especially with the new elderlies arriving. I realize I was still holding her hand thinking it through. I released my hand and scanned the room to find Elijah. Strangely enough, he was not anywhere in sight. 'Hadie darling, do you know where is Elijah?' I enquired politely. Hadie stopped tossing the bacon in the pan and turned to look at Rosette. They exchanged quick glances, almost a look of panic I would say. 'Well you could have your breakfast first Ms Miela, Mr Elijah is out for a walk' she responded while she tossed the bacon once more. Elijah loved morning walks, he was always the first to get up from bed before me and get about his day. I smiled to myself thinking of the flowers he would pick out for me at the sidewalk or the little stories he would share coming back from his walk. My sweet Elijah, my soulmate and lover. I first saw him when I was at the young age of nineteen, at the yearly carnival near to our hometown Chicago. He was the epitome of men to me. His dark hair grazed gently above his eyes, his dimples set so deep in his cheeks whenever he smiled. His laughter could be heard from a mile away, the type of laughter and smile that could end wars. I was mesmerised by his existence. We had a mutual friend who introduced us to each other and from that day onwards, I fell heads over heels. Soon enough, Elijah proposed to me and the rest was history. We had our trials and challenges throughout our marriage but I have always felt so much love for this being. As we grew older together, we never had a day apart. Days turned into months, months to years and I wish we had an infinite lifetime with each other. ‘Ms Miela, your guest is here. If you could make you way to the guest room’ whispered Hadie next to me. I was startled and jumped out of my seat a little bit. ‘Why thank you dear child’ I hurriedly replied as I was being scooted in the guest room. As I entered the guest room, my eyes wandered to the lilac walls and finally settled to the table where my guests were seated. There was a woman and a man whom look like they were in their mid-thirties I presume glancing at me, with a small child nestled in between them. ‘Hello mother’ the woman's voice was gentle yet stiff. Mother? I glanced around and back at her. She must have mistaken me for someone else. I caught her piercing blue eyes staring into mine and I couldn’t help but notice the pop of yellow she had on her nails. I had always painted my nails yellow in my younger days too. This was starting to feel odd. ‘I’m sorry sweetie, you must have mistaken me for someone else. I’m Miela. I’ll get Hadie to sort this out’ before I could turn away to find Hadie, I felt a small pull from beside me. ‘Grandma, it’s us! Did you forget us again?’ squeaked the little girl that had her hair tied in a ponytail. I froze in disbelief. Who were these people and what were they saying? I could feel my body tingling and my world was starting to spin. I sat down and stared at them in confusion. 'Sweetie could you please get Hadie? I think Mother is having one of her days again’ the blue eyed whispered to the man next to her. The man nodded briefly before disappearing to the hallway. ‘Mother it’s me, Bella. This is Laura, your granddaughter. We’re here to bring you home’ she said to me while reaching out for my hand. ‘What on earth are you talking about? My daughter Bella is much younger than you and she is away for school. I don’t find this amusing at all and it’s not very nice of you to do this to me, in fact I-‘ ‘Ms Miela, let’s get you to your room first shall we?’ Hadie interrupted as she brisk walk into the room. ‘Yes I would like that very much. I think these people are confused Hadie, they’ve mistaken me for someone else’ I half laughed while holding on to Hadie as we walked to my room. Hadie let it out a sad sigh and sat me down on the bed. ‘Ms Miela… I have something your diary here for you. You wrote in it every day. I would like you to read through your latest entries, I’ll be right here for you’ she whispered while handing me a tattered pink book. This was starting to feel familiar and I could feel my heartbeat thumping fast in my chest. I felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to understand what was going on but with the intuitive feeling that something definitely was not right. I flipped the journal to the latest entry. Wednesday, 12 December 1999. Dear Diary, Today the pain hurts too much. I feel like I’m drowning, the more I breathe the more breathless I get. It has been 3 months since my beloved Elijah has passed. I still see him in the hallways, his silhouette and shadows lurking in every corner. I don’t think I can do this anymore. Living feels like a burden to my old soul – why did he have to go before me? I remember everything about him every day, some days I forgot he has passed. My family has been trying to get me to come back to them but how could I possibly leave Elijahs memories here? My love, my soul, my heart. My heart is broken into pieces, into ashes and I have no hope to live on. I’m fading away and I want to be away. I want to be with Elijah. My love, my time will come soon and we will be reunited once more. Please wait for me. Always and forever. I gasped in shock and I could feel my cheeks getting wet. I felt the world caved from underneath me and somehow through this ordeal, Hadie was holding me together and that was the only thing that connected me to reality. I read more and more of the pages until I heaved into a helpless sobbing heap. I was diagnosed with dementia and I have had these days repeatedly. My journal entries felt like they were written by different people on different occasions. I have been living in 1 st September 1991 the last anniversary Elijah and I had together before cancer stole him away. I have had this day too many times, as my entries foretold. I stared at the photograph at my bedside table and my eyes drifted to the calendar next to it. 13 December 1999. I felt my head spinning, the world spiralling and I drifted into unconsciousness and darkness.

‘Ms Miela? Ms Miela?’ I felt a hand shaking me from my slumber. ‘Hello Hadie’ I smiled. I had the strangest dream, I couldn’t remember much of it. My head was throbbing too. ‘How are you feeling Ms Miela? Did you remember what happened?’ Hadie asked looking worriedly at me. ‘I had a bad dream. Could you get Elijah for me?’ I replied while yawning. 1 st September 1991 begins for me yet again.  [a1]


I entered the main lobby of Sparrow Hospital at a near-sprint, and nearly crashed into a surly looking nurse who was stationed at the front door next to a big metal sign that read “All visitors must be screened for COVID19.” “Hold still while I take your temperature,” she said through gritted teeth. Displaying a forced smile, she rubbed the tip of a small digital thermometer against my forehead. “Thanks, now don’t forget to pick up a mask.” I followed her gaze to a box of masks which was located on a nearby table. I pulled one and put it on. “Can you tell me the fastest way to the ER?” “Yes, down the hall and to your left. You can’t miss it.” “Thanks.” I finished adjusting my mask, and started down the hallway. It had been a crazy morning so far which had started when my friend, Wendy, called me to tell me that she had been released from jail and transferred to the local ER. I knew she was going to be attending a protest in front of the state capitol, but never expected that she would be arrested. Around one o’clock in the morning,, my phone began buzzing with the text messages she was sending. “Being detained, currently in a minivan surrounded by men with guns, fml,” it read. Then, forty minutes later, “We’re pulling in front of a police station. Dunno if I’ll be able to keep my phone.” I made arrangements with work to take a half day, then worked on a project and attended an important Zoom call with a client. By eleven thirty I had wrapped up everything I needed to get done for the morning, and I left home right at twelve o’clock. I stepped through a set of double doors and found myself standing inside the waiting room for Sparrow Hospital’s ER. To my right was a window through which patients could talk to a receptionist. On the left were rows of chairs, some which ran along the wall, and one row which ran down the middle of the room. About half of the chairs were occupied, although it was hard to tell if this was due to the current load of patients or COVID19. I was getting comfortable in a chair next to a table full of dusty magazines when the door next to the receptionist’s window opened, and Wendy appeared alongside a nurse. I could see that there was a bandage on her left arm. She was scanning the room with her blue eyes as the nurse was talking to her, but before I could catch her attention she was distracted by an older couple who were stepping into the waiting room from the hallway. “Wendy, dear, are you alright?” The stout, grey-haired woman was asking her. I assumed that this must be her mother, and the dapper gentleman in the suit and tie could have been her father. Although we had known each other for nearly three months, I realized as I watched the three interact that I really didn’t know much about her family, other than she had one which included two siblings, a cat, and two dogs. I often sensed that she was reluctant to say too much about her father, and just let her share as much as she was comfortable with. I silently watched from my seat as her parents fired a multitude of questions at her, many of which she deflected with a wave of her hand or rolling of eyes. I had always appreciated her self-confidence, and willingness to speak her mind no matter what. I felt uncomfortable, as though I had crashed somebody’s party. I thought about getting up and slipping out of the waiting room. But, Wendy had called me too, and it was a whole hour long drive back to Alma. My hunch was that she was counting on me to drive her home. Finally, she spotted me. Even the mask couldn’t hide the smile that spread across her face. I recognized the creases of skin which peaked around the edges. She waved me over. “Scott, you came!” She said, reaching out and giving me a quick hug. I hugged her back, but tried to keep it as nonchalant as possible considering that every person in the room including her parents were watching. “I had to come. I’ve been worrying about you all morning,” I said, sounding far more sappy than I had intended. I motioned towards her arm. “What happened?” “It’s a cut, it only needed, like, twelve stitches,” Wendy said. “Oh my God,” her mom exclaimed. “I fell as those guys were pushing me into their van, and cut myself.” “What guys?” her dad asked. Apparently, Wendy had not shared her experiences with her parents via text like she had with me. “Policemen, Daddy,” she said. “I was arrested. Well, not arrested so much as detained for questioning. When they were done, they let me go. I asked if someone could take a look at my arm, because it hadn’t stopped bleeding.” A red haired nurse stepped to the circle we had formed around Wendy. “Here is the prescription for the antibiotics,” she said, glancing at each of us. We seemed to all take this as a signal for us to take our conversation elsewhere. Wendy’s parents followed us out into the hallway. This when her parents shifted their focus to me. “And, who are you?” her dad asked. “This is Scott McLean,” Wendy interjected. “We’ve been friends since May.” “Oh,” Her dad said, extending his hand. I accepted, and shook it. “I’m Alan, Wendy’s father of course. This is her mom, Eleanor.” “Good to meet both of you,” I said. “How did the two of you meet?” Eleanor asked. I hesitated, as I tried to think of the best way to explain how we happened to become friends. “We ran into each other at Meijer,” I said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them. “Scott is being modest,” Wendy added. As soon as her parents weren’t looking, I began making the “cut it out” gesture in front of my throat, but it was completely in vain. “There was this guy who refused to wear a mask while he was returning bottles inside the bottle return area. I asked him to either leave or put on a mask, and he refused. Scott stood up for me.” I held my breath as I waited for her to reveal the most embarrassing part of this story. “Or, at least, he tried to. The asshole turned around and punched him in the stomach.” I winced from the memory of that evening. Her mom muttered “oh dear.” “I offered to buy him dinner as a thank you, and we’ve gone on a few more dates since then,” Wendy shared. I made a double take when I heard her reference our nights together as “dates.” I thought we were just hanging out. “Are you a student at Alma College?” Alan asked, snapping me back to the conversation. “No, Central Michigan.” I answered. “Oh, I see. What are you studying?” “I’m undecided right now, but I’m considering Communications as a major.” “He’s the co-owner of a tech support business,” Wendy said, with a wry smile. “Called ‘Nerd Corps.’” “That’s certainly . . . different.” Her dad said. We had drifted out to the hospital’s main lobby, and it was beginning to look like we were about to part ways. “Do you need a ride back home?” Her mom asked. “No, I asked Scott to drive me home. It would be too far out of your way.” It didn’t seem to bother Alan, but her mom seemed a little dejected when she answered, “Oh.” “Just drive safely, and make sure you call us when you get home,” Alan told her. He looked at me. “Good to meet you Scott.” “Thanks, likewise,” I said. We exited the hospital as a group, but her parents split off to find their vehicle. I guided Wendy towards the center of the parking lot where I had parked my blue Cobalt. “Thanks for giving me a ride home,” Wendy said. “I didn’t know who else to call.” “What happened to the friend you rode down with?” I asked. “Stacy texted me while I was in a holding cell. I told her she could go back home. There wasn’t anything she could do to help me, and I knew I was going to be there for a while.” I paused before I climbed into the car. “It all sounds so scary,” I said. “I can’t imagine what that was like.” “Not anything I”d want to do again,” she said. I fastened my seatbelt and started the car, and removed the mask I had been wearing. Wendy had already removed hers. “Are you hungry?” “Starving,” Wendy said. “I’ll buy you lunch.” “No, that’s okay.” “No, seriously...it can be my thank you for driving me home.” “You don’t need to do anything,” I said, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Wendy told me more about her experiences during our drive north. Things between the protesters and police had gotten a little heated, but it never seemed to escalate very much. The two had actually been heading back towards Stacy’s car when a van had pulled up. Four armed men dressed in army uniforms poured out of the van, grabbed Wendy and then drove away. She was taken to a city jail, processed, but never really charged for anything at all. They asked her questions and searched her purse, but didn’t find a reason to keep her. As we neared Alma, I brought up her parents for the first time since leaving Lansing. “Your parents seem nice,” I said. “Yeah, well, with the way they treat me you’d think I was still twelve.” “I’m sure my parents wouldn’t drive three hours to come see me in the hospital,” I admitted. “And, if they did, it would be to also lecture me on all of the things I’m doing wrong.” “Don’t worry, I’ll hear a comment or two about being arrested the next time I’m home. Probably over Christmas dinner. ‘Uncle Frank, please pass the cranberries and also were you aware that our twenty-year-old daughter is a convict?’” She chuckled. “Seriously, though, I know mom and dad love me, but sometimes they look at me like I’m Peter Pan, or something.” “You’re definitely not Peter Pan,” I said. She turned to me and scowled. “Really? Who do I remind you of?” “Hermione, minus the frizzy hair.” “I was always partial to Ginny,” Wendy said wistfully. “Only with brown instead of ginger hair.” I pulled off of the expressway, and turned left towards Alma. “Does that make me Ron Weasley?” I asked. Wendy was quiet as she thought for a bit. She looked away from me, out her window. When she faced me, I could see that she was blushing. “No, if I was Ginny, you’d have to be Harry Potter.” “And why?” I thought she might say it was because I was too short, or not smart enough.. “Because Ginny and Ronald are brother and sister, silly.” She said, adding quickly, “I hoped we could be more than that.” It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and my stomach was growling so loudly that I was pretty sure that Wendy could hear it. As we cruised down Alma’s business section towards Wendy’s apartment, I thought back to our conversation about Harry Potter. I had only invited Wendy to ride with me to the nature preserve because I had such a good time eating dinner with her that day I got punched in the gut. And, almost everybody had gone home for the summer, so I didn’t have very many other people who I could ask. But, my first impressions of her were that she was strong, compassionate, smart, and funny. I started to appreciate these traits of hers even more when we went on our walk, and now during a drive that should have felt stressful she helped me to feel more at ease, just by having her seated next to me in my car. “Do you want to pick up food from Applebee’s and bring it back to my place?” Wendy asked.

“Sounds good.” I made a left hand turn into the restaurant’s parking lot and pulled into a parking lot. It looked open, but there was a big sign which announced that they were accepting take out orders only. Not a surprise. Wendy pulled up her Applebee’s app, and we placed an order. It was while we were waiting for our order that Wendy’s cell phone rang. She picked it up to answer it and, while I could only hear her responses and bits of words from the other end, it became clear after a while that she was receiving some bad news. She hung up her phone and clutched it firmly against her chest. I waited for her to say something, but she remained silent. Tears dribbled down her cheek. “What’s wrong?” I asked. She looked at me. “That was a nurse at Sparrow hospital. One of the protesters that were detained last night was diagnosed this morning with COVID19. She said I need to quarantine myself for fourteen days, and watch for any symptoms of COVID.” “Oh, I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” I said. “Everybody was probably wearing masks, so there’s a chance you didn’t catch it.” “Yes, but I was with my mom and dad, and I’ve been spending time with you.” “Your mom and dad wore masks,” I pointed out. She looked up at me with wide eyes, then glanced at the mask I had taken off before we left Lansing. “If I have to go into quarantine, it’s not a big deal,” I pointed out. “I work from home anyways.” “That’s the other thing,” Wendy said.”I can’t quarantine inside my apartment, because I’d be contaminating the apartment.” I thought for a bit. It seemed pretty obvious that the best solution was for her to stay with me, so we could quarantine together. Besides, there was no way that I would let her quarantine alone. I was about to tell her when a notification popped up on her phone saying that our food was ready. “Listen,” I said. “How about if we swing by your place to pick up some of your things, and you could stay with me for the couple of weeks?” “No, Scott, I couldn’t--” “It makes total sense, Wendy,” I insisted. “We’ve both been exposed, and we can ride this out together. It keeps your roommate safe, and if anything happens we can take care of each other.” “Well . . .” “Please,” I said. “Think about it until I get back with the food.” When I returned with our order, Wendy told me that she thought my idea was a good one. “If it becomes too much of a bother, I could always move back in with my parents for the remaining days,” she said. “We can hold on to that as an option, but I doubt it’ll come to that,” I said, then smiled. We stopped by Wendy’s apartment. She texted her roommate, Carolyn, with a list of the things that she would need, and then I went inside to help pack and then carry everything out to the car. Wendy stayed in the car to avoid contaminating anybody. I drove the rest of the way to my apartment in Shepherd, and then we ate our dinner. I gave Wendy a quick tour of the one bathroom, two bedroom apartment before I carried her things inside. Wendy called her parents from the kitchen to let them know that she had made it home safely. She didn’t mention anything about being in quarantine, or temporarily moving in with me. When I asked her about it, she shrugged it off. “There’s no need for them to worry if I don’t get sick,” she said. “And, the rest is none of their business.” Next, she called her manager at Meijer to let them know. They asked a lot of questions, but seemed appreciative of the head’s up. Always the gentleman, I offered to sleep on the couch so that she could have the bed, but she insisted on taking the couch instead. I knew that it wasn’t going to be worth my trouble to change her mind. The first four days were pretty uneventful. Even when I was in my office working, I was comforted by the idea that she was somewhere in the apartment with me. Then, on the fifth day she developed a persistent cough, and definitely had less energy. She was eating less, and complained once or twice that the spaghetti I made tasted weird. She was sleeping a lot, and on Sunday she developed breathing problems. I called 911, and then I called her parents after she had been admitted to the hospital in Alma. Tears running down my cheek, I listened to doctors as they told Wendy that she had tested positive for COVID19. I stayed at the hospital until her parents arrived before I headed backt o my apartment. It occurred to me that I was still under quarantine for another six days, only now I’d be totally by myself. I thought a lot about that day when we met. I did want to support Wendy, but only because that guy was a douchebag, and I really just wanted to take back my empty bottles so I could go back home. It was only a coincidence that Wendy was also kind and attractive, or at least that was what I had repeated to myself for days after that happened. Thinking about Wendy laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator, I realized that I might have discovered too late that our friendship was the beginning of something that could be really special and long lasting.


This has something to do with the novel that i'll be working on soon that i think that i'll be calling 'demi-god savior?' this isn't the exact stuff that will happen but eh. I'm just trying to make some stories now and i hope that you enjoy. Mika. Ryder. The two of them had been friend's for as long as they could remember, almost since birth. At least that's what Ryder liked to tell her. Though in a way he WAS kinda true about that. They had met after a week after birth, that was close enough. They had met each other that early because they shared a...future. Mika's parent's had someone come into the hospital right after her birth, she was kind of like a fortune teller. Even then the fortune teller lady had also done this with Mika's mother and even father. Though it was nothing interesting for them. Though she had a really...interesting future. "What do you mean by that? She CAN'T go and do that!" Her father didn't like it. It had been this way in the world for over two decades, their daughter wasn't going to ruin it. The Fortune Teller sighed and spoke again, "I've told you, your daughter...Mika will grow up to free the demi-gods. I don't think there's a way to stop it." "What about the god's?? Like Zeus, Athena, all of them! they're also keeping the demi-gods like this, our daughter can't possibly stop them to help the others." The fortune teller remained silent as she started to walk out of the house. She turned around and stopped at the front door then she spoke, "Even them." Mika's parent's had waited a while, maybe some other kid had the same future. Or maybe the fortune teller was wrong with this one thing, They didn't always have to be right with things. They could make small mistakes. It had been a while until her mother got a call from one of her friend's. Their son, Ryder, apparently had the same future as their daughter. This was bad. The fortune teller told the same future to different people? They wanted to believe that it wasn't their kid's but they just couldn't. It would have been good if the future they learned wasn't with their kid's, but even then the future would be bad. Who would want to FREE the demi-gods? Who know's what they would even do if they were all freed. They could go after the mortals. Well, even if it wasn't a bad thing like that, they still weren't going to let them be free. They knew what they could do. "Mika, come on! We don't need to listen to that thing the fortune teller told us, we can do whatever we want. We're both eighteen!" Ryder told her. He HATED that someone was telling him what to do. Ever since the both of them were around two years old, their parent's were kind of controlling in a way. There were areas nearby where demi-god's were being held to do whatever the lead mortal- or maybe even what a god said. No one was going to be able to enslave a god. They'd probably get killed from attempting it. Though the mortal's AND the god's reached an agreement a few years into the demi-god enslavement. The mortal's AND the god's didn't really like the demi-gods- even if they WERE a kid of one of them. They still didn't like the demi-god child, especially Zeus. The god's and goddesses agreed to help enslave the demi-gods while not enslaving or killing the mortals. The mortal's agreed not to try and really do anything that came to mind to the god's and goddesses. What else could they even promise? They were just mortals, they didn't really have a lot. "How do you suppose we even stop our FUTURE, Ryder? and come on, don't you feel at least a small bit bad for them?" "Come on, we don't HAVE to listen to a stupid fortune teller, she could even be wrong about it!" While they used to not be allowed to go to those demi-god areas their parent's were letting them go to SOME small areas with them. Though only if they'd tell them or something. They didn't wanna be so strict and they still thought that the future could possibly be with someone else. Though still, even if it WASN'T them, they'd still need to try and find out who the future belonged to. Maybe they could go get rid of them, or keep them locked up in their house. This was still a bad future for them. Mika sighed as she pushes Ryder aside and starts to dig through a drawer nearby. He watched in silence as she wrote something down on a piece of paper and then set it down on the kitchen table. She waved back at him without saying anything and ran through the front door of the house. He already knew where she was going but he took a look at the note. 'going to see the demi-god's, be back soon. -Mika" "Wait, Mika!" he called out, "You don't have to give in to that future! do whatever you want, don't listen to it" why would anyone want to even free the demi-gods?? The nearest demi-god area was actually really close, while the two of them were still running, they could see it up ahead. A bit far back from that one they could see a much smaller one. Maybe around ten demi-gods there. He managed to catch up with her and grab her hand before they reached the entrance. No one saw them yet luckily, the entrance was a large metal door that had a scanner you needed to use to get in. "Mika...come on! you don't have to do this just because of a stupid fortune teller said so." "i'm not doing it because of the fortune teller, i'm doing it because i WANT to! they shouldn't be enslaved, i feel bad for them because i want to. not because of that lady." She then slapped his hand away and put her hand onto the scanner. They watched as a purple light appeared and scanned it, then it turned into a light green. The door began to open up for her. She looked at him and said, "I'm going to do this WITH or WITHOUT you Ryder...and i have a feeling that it's without you" She entered it. Ryder didn't follow her inside. oh boy, this is probably bad. what do you all think?


THE BOOK THAT CHANGED MY WORLDVIEW How do we know when something unexpected and momentous has happened in our lives, something that will change our thinking, our belief system, our understanding of the essential nature of things? Such things do not usually come with a flashing sign that says: This is it! Pay attention! But, sometimes, rare times, that is exactly the way it happens, and if we are truly paying attention, it is as if a door opens and we plunge through that door, and our lives are transformed. For me, one of those rare times happened one day when I was thirty years old in a small library in the town where I was then living and working as a substitute teacher. I have always loved libraries. They are magical places to me, capable of taking me anywhere. The smell of them coming from shelf upon shelf of books has always been almost intoxicating. The thrill of running my eyes along the titles on the spines of those books was the same thrill I felt gazing up at the stars and wondering. The flash in my mind when pulling a book from the shelf and upon opening it to a random page finding myself stunned by words on that page that call forth thoughts, questions, feelings of such intensity that I know beyond all doubt that I must read the book I am holding in my hands. Sometimes the feeling has been so strong that I would collapse into a nearby reading chair and begin to imbibe the book sip by sip: First, the tile page; second, the table of contents; third, the dedication (if present); fourth, the epigraph (if present, and always hoping there would be); fifth, the introduction or preface. At that point, with my appetite whetted, I would tremulously turn to the first page of the text and begin reading. What happened next would always depend upon the book itself. If it enchanted, intrigued, promised new vistas, then, I would know I would check it out of the library and take it home to read. There I stood on that day in that small town library when my eyes fell upon an intriguing title which was The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism (1975). I knew very little about physics or the Tao. But, that mind-spark had happened, and I knew enough to pay attention. I pulled the book from the shelf and did my usual survey of title page, dedication, table of contents, epigraph, becoming increasingly intrigued. Then, I started reading the preface and intuited I was possibly on the brink of some sort of transformative experience. I continued reading. Fritjof wrote: “This book is intended for the general reader with an interest in Eastern mysticism who need not necessarily know anything about physics.” (Capra, 1975, p. xvi) With a jolt, I realized he was describing me. I immediately rose, walked to the checkout desk and checked the book out, hurried home and devoured it, only stopping once to fix myself something to eat and make coffee. I stayed up most of the night. When I finished the book, many big thoughts and questions were swirling in my mind, and I knew I wanted to own a copy. I returned the library book and spent the next couple of weeks haunting 2 nd hand book shops and garage sales until I found a used copy in good condition that I could afford to buy. The year was 1976. I still have it, forty-five years later. Recently, and many life experiences later, I find myself avidly rereading it and thinking about the transformation of my worldview since my first reading and the ways that transformation developed and manifested over all that time between then and now. My first reading of The Tao of Physics when I was thirty planted many seeds. I had begun meditating a couple of years earlier, but was very much a novice. Reading Capra’s words about meditation as part of the Eastern mystics “tool kit” affirmed a deeper commitment within me to persevere with the practice, and I have done so right up to the present. Meditation became a life-long tool to use to probe and understand the connections of body, mind, and spirit in order to navigate daily life with all its ups and downs. Now, I cannot imagine living my life without the practice of meditation. I continue because it makes me feel calm, centered, and gifts me with unexplainable flashes of knowingness by developing within me the intuitive way of knowing. Capra makes the point that the essence of the worldview of Eastern mystics is the concept that all things and events are interrelated as part of one unified whole. This same concept is also one of the basic elements emerging from quantum physics (p.89). In my personal belief system, the concept of the unified whole has played out in efforts to ignore efforts to fragment and divide people as debilitating for the common good. Thus, I have tried to make decisions in my life that lead to harmony rather than disharmony. For instance, I strive to learn to listen to those who have grievances born of fragmentation and respond in such a way that does not feed those grievances. I also have learned that for me it is important to understand where and when to put attention on my thoughts, words, and actions because I realize that from both an Eastern mystic and quantum physics perspective, placement of one’s attention can actually aid or destroy manifestation of whatever it is upon which one is focused. Thus, intentional attention placement is a skill worth developing. Reading The Tao of Physics also lit a fire in me to know a lot more about Eastern mysticism and quantum physics. Over the years, I have steadily added more and more books on both topics to my personal library to read and ponder, to learn and grow in my understanding. I’ve inculcated the understandings I’ve gained into my personal belief system which has supported me in both good times and bad on my life journey. Continued study has brought deeper understandings of the writings of Eastern mystics and quantum physicists. I have become able to ride the waves of change so inevitable in life because the boundaries of my worldview have been expanded and are expanding still.


“Jesus chris’ Chrice, jus’ do it already, why don’cha?” “I dunno man, I don’t think I’m ready.” “What d’you mean you don’t think yer ready? What d’ya think is gonna happin’?” “Well, it’s kinda a lot of pressure and I just...I don’t think I can do it yet.” “An’ why the heck not?” “Well it kinda looks hard.” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, it’s s’posed to be hard. But s’not so difficult once you get the hang of it y’know?” “Maybe not to you it’s not! But I never done this before.” “We all, one point or ‘nother, never done this before. Only way you learn is jus’ go fer it an’ hope it works out ok.” “But what is ‘it’ that I’m goin’ for?” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, how many times I gotta tell you? S’not so complicated.” “But what if I do it wrong?” “Naw, you can’t do it wrong. You jus’ stick it in, and twist it ‘round a lil.” “You sure though?” “Course I’m sure!” “But what if I twist it too hard?” “Then you might break it! Don’ do that. You gotta be gentle, but firm.” “But what if it hurts?” “Whatchu means ‘what if it hurt?’ S’not gonna hurt.” “How d’ya know?” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, ‘cause I done it before! Don’ you trus’ me?” “Of course I trust you! I just….well I’m scared I’mma muss it all up.” “Stop worryin’. Don’ overthink it so much. Jus’ stick it in, an’ twist it. You can go slows you like.” “What if I go too slow?” “Yer can’t go too slow. Goin’ slow jus’ means yer makin’ sure it fits in nice.” “Can you show me?” “I already done shown you!” “I know, I’m sorry. I jus’ don’t wanna muss up and look stupid. Show me jus’ one more time? Fer me, please.” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, ok. One more time, but that’s it ok?” “Ok. Gosh bless you.” “So, yer gonna take it in your hands like so. You follow?” “Mhm yesssir.” “Good. Now, you wanna take the round end in your hand like this. Got it?” “Got it.” “An’ you wanna stick this end in an’ up, like this. See now?” “I see.” “It should line up just right with the hole there.” “Uhu.” “An’ ya slide it right in.” “Oh wow, would ya look at that!” “Go slow though, right.” “Right. Why slow?” “Cause f’you go too quick and it don’t fit proper, it won’t twist none.” “Ah, o’course not.” “Right, then you twist it gently, like so, till you feel it click.” “Click? Why click though?” “Cause if you don’ feel it click, then tha’s how you knows it don’t work proper.” “Right, and it’s a waste e’erybodies time if it don’t work proper?” “Xactly!” “Wow, an’ where’d you learn how to do it?” “My brother o’course!” “Really now? I wish I had a brother to teach me useful stuff like this. An’ where he learn it from?” “Our cousin.” “You don’t say? And where’d he…” “C’mon now Chrice, quit askin’ so many damned questions and jus’ do it, now won’tchu?” “Right right, sorry! So I take it like this and… which hand should I hold it in?” “Either really. But most find it easier to do, more stable, ya see? holdin’ it with their dominant hand. Which hand you write with?” “My left.” “Right. So take it in yer left hand then. Careful now, don’ drop it!” “I got it. An’ I go like this?” “Mhhm, aim careful now. You want it to align so it goes in the hole smoothly now. Don’t force it.” “Awe damn. It won’t fit. I think it’s maybe too big.” “Now that’s a common misconception there. I know plen’y folks who think their’s

is too big to fit, but you go slow now, an’ see how it fits perfectly fine. Jus’ go slow and aim it nice an’ careful now. “Now see, it won’t fit! It’s too big.” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, I just done it and it worked. Weren’t yeh watchin’? I can’t just whip it out an’ show you every time yer confused. You gotta get it on yer own eventually now. Try again now, but go slower. Be patient. There ain’t a rush to finish quick. Unless you gettin’ paid to go quick o’course. But yer not, so take your time.” “Ok, ok. Here, like this?” “There ya go. See there now, the tip aligns right with the hold. There ya go. Slow now, don’t shove. It don’t work better if you try an’ force it. ‘member? Might break it an’ yer don’ want that. My cousin accidentally did that an’ had to get a whole new one.” “No kiddin’? It broke so bad he had to get a new one? Now that’s jus’ crazy bad luck there” “No such thing as luck. Good or bad. Jus’ was too impatient, but he was also gettin’ paid by his neighbors, so maybe he felt he had to do it quick.” “Can’t get paid to go slow for a better job?” “Sure you can, but usually only for bigger ones.” “An’ why’s that?” “Cause smaller ones are usually quicker to finish.” “Really? Now why’s that?” “Jesus chris’ Chrice, cause i’s smaller. Bigger ones is bigger, heavier. Takes more time to align it accurately an’ all.” “Right right. That was a silly question.” “Sure was.” “But what happened to yer cousin?” “Well I guess he done a good enough job that satisfied his neighbors well enough ‘cause they asked him to come again.” “No kiddin’? Even with a broken one?” “Well he got a new one o’course! They’d never let him bring a broken one into their bedroom. Can’t finish nothin’ proper with a broken one hanin’ ya know?” “No, course not.” “Now get back to yers. How’s it goin’?” “Oh right! Like this?” “Right, now a little to the right. Careful now. Slow it down, no need to rush. A little further. There!” “Here?” “Yes, slide it in, slowly now.” “Like this?” “Yes, yes! Now twist it gently.” “How much?” “You’ll know. Jus’ take it slow. There you go. Keep goin’. A little more. Don’ stop, don’ stop! Almost there. Do you feel anything?” “No, it jus’ keeps twisting.” “Well it looks right. Just keep twis…” “AH! Was that it??” “Did ya feel it? How was it?” “Satisfying!” “I told you it would be! That’s why you gotta keep tryin’ till you finish!” “I wanna do it again! “Now don’ be so hasty. Go on over by the wall.” “Why’s that?” “Gotta make sure ya dd it right?” “But it fit and it clicked.” “So there should be nuffin’ to worry ‘bout. Go on now, go turn it on.” “Look, It works!” “And tha’s how to fix a light bulb!!”


Melting glaciers being my source and power for downstream follow. I am born, because of the ice mountains giving in to the heat and pouring down, creating me. Passing through smaller hills, jumping off the mountains, rushing at the bends, quenching many species thirsts, and resting a bit during my journey between valleys and mountains, carrying numerous varieties of inhabitants within and allowing the huge population to utilize me at the surface, I travel restlessly taking note of everything that I touch.          Unlike living beings, I don’t get to sleep. Constant movement carrying mud, soil, clothes, or rubbish that’s forced into me, is how I survive. Over my unpredictable ebb and flow of existence, I am accustomed to a routine as well. Every morning, the paved road running parallel to me carry’s kids in vehicles, and we part our ways at a bend. Locals trek their way top to the mountains on any day other than a  rainy day, in search of herbs or animal hunt, they wash parts of themselves in me and put out their thirst by having a bit of me. I can easily track anything because the hills share tales of the people that climb them. The mud speaks of the quiver it must undergo, wind flows over us carrying the pride of owning freedom for being unrestricted and uncontained, and finally, the mountains roar now and then sharing their mood and situation. Few times humans hunt animals other times it could be the opposite, anyway, they all reach out to me to clean themselves as if washing their sin by utilizing me.          It’s fascinating to witness the flocks of grayling, Dace, and Minnow moving around in groups sticking to each other and trying hard not to be caught by a net or eaten by Rohu and Catla. The little fishes tailing the group, in the end, are the most frequent victims of big fishes. Just like any other day a big fish tried to chase them and feed its hungry stomach, I do not involve in their life cycle but once in a while indulging in such activities is fun. When the Catla almost caught on to the smaller fish, I raised my tides and force landed it making it hard to keep the balance and help the smaller one scatter in various directions. Few times they need a little push to find new alliances. I thought. After flowing a long way down the mountains and hills expanding myself by merging everything that disrupts my extension. I slow down at a point where there isn’t any bend but still land. I am neither deep nor fast at this point and people cross through me stepping on the river stones that are well polished by me over years making it too smooth to hold oneself straight on it. Elders carry bags on their shoulders and hop on rocks as if dancing for a tune, but the kids slip drop into me after every couple of stones. Their parents leave them behind knowing they can trust me with their kids at this depth. Kids grow reckless soon after their guardians leave them behind. They push each other into me, splash drops of me over one another, they seem to enjoy this every time they do it, they chase and catch, trip and fall, splash and laugh. Finally, drink a little and run along with me, on my shores, reaching my falls. The falls aren’t too high but not too short to attempt a jump. I watch them over, trying to keep up the trust of their parents, but they all jump into me one by one, I try hard to hold them but the falling bits of me can only drench them further rather than hold them. They dive deep into the falls and float back to find their friends and swim for a while.          The kids experience indescribable joy. They hum in jubilation as they walk back to where they belong.          From here I flow calm and cool for a while. Women washing their clothes at my shores, girls helping elders half-heartedly, men swimming, stretching out their arms and kicking their feet, pushing themselves forward every time they repeat it.          As I descend bit by bit, I pick up the speed, and when I encounter a bend where I find no humans nearby as it is too deep and few times my sudden turns create a spring wave that sucks anything into it quick. And finding their way out of it could be nearly impossible. I could turn dangerous at times you see.          Brushing myself over the edges of earth and roots of the trees, cobble settled within me, fungus and algae that grow in me. I displace a part of them every time I run by them, scattering them in various directions, providing them a new path to survive and grow.          One day it rained cats and dogs and I kept increasing my levels, conquering the land, running into houses, submerging objects and things, moving vehicles from place to place. People try to run away from me this time, as the rain grows, with it does my height endangering their life, I was wild that night, hunger for life and new land. Conquest blinded my eye and every droplet added to me stimulated me to feed myself and annihilate a little more. I feast on street animals that had nowhere to go and few elders who couldn’t make a run. I was outrageous with no source to cool me down. It was cool that night, not much of my water is following down from the hill. But I reach the height of a middle school kid making it difficult for survivors. People run to their rooftops, few stand-in shelters, and rest drench in the rain.          The night passed with my rage taking many with it. By the next morning, with the sun came relief for few. I returned to my confined path and kept flowing as I always do. The lady who washed clothes in me now swears at me for the loss I brought upon them forgetful of the profit they availed using me. Roads are now clearly visible, though too slippery and filthy. Homes filled with mud, fungus, and stinking smell. I left a big impression behind that night. People did not turn up to me for a while. Fewer boatmen came by to check the condition of their boats, others to catch fish, soon the fisherman was only one that visited me often because I destroyed their harvest, all they can eat is that is available in me.          After cleaning and mourning over their losses, people returned to their routine. Allowing me to return to mine. The weather is gloomy, and locals suspect rain, including me. The sky had been that way for a while. Unlike other parts of nature, it hardly communicates with us, leaving us in the same assumptions and estimations as humans.          It isn’t just the humans, but nature too blamed me. The land criticized me to make it wet and slippery. Glaciers were glad that they were not inculpated. Breeze questioned often if it was a joint plot of sky and me.          Still hearing all accusations, I witness people returning to me, for food, wash, and play.          A season passed and I was happy that people could be at peace, no longer being cautious over their presence around me. The ladies dry their clothes on the rocks, kids dive into me and swim, men pull out their fishing net from their boat at my shore. While I calmly witness all this, I know I am bidding them my goodbye silently.          That day the glaciers melted more than usual, pouring down to my bogs, at a speed which I had no control over, and being a part of it, I couldn’t rescue anyone either. I watch them in joy for the last time and devour them into me, rushing towards them all of a sudden, giving them little time to escape my assault. Very few proved to be lucky that day, a small kid near to tree branch, hung onto it at the right time, a mom who went back to fetch more clothes returned to watch her friends drown. Fishermen, who were yet to step out of their boats, others who tossed stones into me, kids who came to explore me, I took them all into me. The boats collided, peopled or bodies rushed following my cord, one of the boats hit a lady who sunk deep into me.          People struggled to swim and breathe and finally, they all gave in gradually. They float in various directions, a few hitting the rocks and redirected to elsewhere and a few touching the bottom of me.          This time it isn’t exactly me, it’s the glaciers to blame, whom shall I reason with when they hardly have time to know it. After few days of dangerous flow, I calmed down. As soon as I stead myself, a search began for the people that sunk in me. They found a couple of them and out of petty, I threw a few onto my surface, there are rest whom I didn’t want them to see as I know the human heart can’t take the picture of these bodies in a hardly recognizable condition.          That year many bide goodbyes to their near and dear ones, blaming all on me once again. I found little traffic over me for fishing and even a little population around me. No playing kids or hovering ladies. It's me and my flow and the path I choose.          Soon, I found men around me trying to construct something over and in me. They call it a dam, a method to control my follow and secure their kind.