Raul searches through the forest for the origin of that distorted yet beautiful soft tune. The melody hums like a long lost friend, yet he can’t understand the words sung by the feminine voice. Though Raul’s thoughts slip away with each second, he knows he’s been here before. He picks up his pace to a run attached to the rhythm of the song, realizing there’s only so much time he has left to find her before it’s too late. Some moments flow slower than others. It feels as though the dream song envelopes him in molasses within those instants. Somehow, he reaches the clearing in time. She sits on a boulder right in the middle of the circle of trees. Her long, wavy dark brown hair kisses the edge of the cherry acoustic guitar. The pale woman continues singing and playing as though he weren’t there at all, but he still can’t understand the words despite seeing her full lips move. Her eyes meet his for a brief second, and the music stops. “Felicity Sp-” Raul jolts up from his bed, cold sweat running down his forehead. It’s dark. He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, pulling it off the charger to hold it closer. 4:44, the front screen reads over the abstract art image wallpaper. “I saw her this time,” He mutters to himself. “But she couldn’t be real.” Raul unlocks the phone screen and searches Felicity Sp. Brands pop up in the search results alongside many Facebook and Instagram pages. None of the social media profiles look like the woman from his dream. ***** Felicity rushes to the back of house to see if table twenty-three’s order is ready yet. The older woman of their party has already called Felicity over twice to check on the wait time for her Chicken Caesar Salad. “Hey Stan!” She calls. “How’s that chicken breast looking?” Other servers swerve by her, some picking up full hot plates and placing them on trays for their tables. Without glancing at her, the cook says, “Almost ready. The customer probably doesn’t want a side of blood with their salad.” Felicity holds her tongue. She’s noticed some of the other servers giving the cooks attitude after customers give them attitude, and she doesn’t want to add to that. She taps her foot and waits for the order since her other two tables already have their food. Stan smiles as he places the salad next to the two other orders of table twenty-three. “Thanks for waiting doll.” She’s never felt entirely comfortable when anyone she’s not close to calls her by a name like that, but she simply smiles back and places the food on the tray. “About time!” The graying slender woman exclaims as Felicity places the food in front of everyone. A few hours later the last customers finally leave the restaurant, and she lets out a deep breath. Lana, who Felicity barely had a chance to talk to all night, strolls towards her. “So, I saw you have tomorrow off too!” Her friend smiles, short red hair curling over her rounded cheeks. “Yeah,” Felicity replies, merely a small smirk over her tired face. “Let’s go out tonight.” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m so tired tonight, and I’m in the process of applying for grad school. Next time though?” Lana sighs and says, “Fine. But next time really means next time, like next week. Okay?” “Okay. I’m going to work on the application a lot tomorrow, so I should be good after that.” Felicity barely even remembers the drive home as she sits in her apartment’s parking spot. Once inside, she glances at her guitar for a second but continues straight to the bed instead. It’s been a long time since she’s been inspired to write about something anyways. ***** Felicity awakens in a forest, but words flow around her as though on multiple invisible screens. They spin so fast that they’re illegible in the moment. She looks in every direction, and there’s nothing but words and trees. She tries to touch some of the spinning white words, but her hand zips through just the same as it does through the air. “They’re lyrics.” A masculine sounding voice says from behind her. “Whose lyrics?” She turns around and sees a handsome tan man with slightly shaggy black hair. “Yours, mine, ours.” “I’ve never written with anyone before, and I don’t even recognize you.” She replies. “Time isn’t linear in the dream world. Not even so in the waking world, but it’s more obviously scattered here.” “So these are from the future or something?” She glances at the words, then realizes. “Wait a minute. I know I’m dreaming now.” She jumps, trying to fly. Though her leap is higher than normal, Felicity still falls back to the ground. He chuckles. “There are still some rules to this particular dream world. I guess you could say I’m from the future though compared to your timeline. Listen to Mr. Firefly.” “That name sounds familiar.” She says, as everything fades away. ***** Raul shuts the laptop he uses for work, mind still swimming with code. Sometimes he wonders why he studied computer science in college, but then remembers he has to make a living somehow. His music’s started gaining some traction on the internet, so maybe he can quit his job soon. Only time will tell. He walks into the music room. A few electric guitars, one acoustic, and a ukulele lined on the grassy green wall. Today feels like an ambient electric kind of day. He lights the lavender scented candle before setting up a microphone next to his desktop. Muscle memory of each note connects to his soul’s communication, and he makes a new tune in the moment. Longing to know the woman and music of his dreams. The tempo starts slow, curious. Still ambient style, it grows into a faster sound enveloping the entire room. It’s almost as though the fire of the candle swerves to his rhythm. Hours pass without him realizing the time. In the deep night, Raul’s recorded a few takes of the new song inspired by his dream. Still in a focused state, he stays up to edit the music. It’s about four in the morning by the time he finishes, and he immediately publishes it to YouTube along with a few streaming sites. He names the song Felicity. ***** Felicity recognizes she’s awake, but remains under the covers with her eyes closed. It can’t already be the next day, can it? Eventually, she decides it’s futile to try to fall back asleep and gets out from under the covers. The alarm clock says 4:44. A vague memory crawls to her from the other side of consciousness. She walks over to her laptop and searches for Mr. Firefly, opening the YouTube page that pops up in the results. She gasps at the song that was posted merely thirty minutes ago and clicks on “Felicity” on the artist’s page. The video screen is a blue abstract background, reminiscent of the sea. The opening welcomes her into another world, and the music blossoms into a new setting after the first minute. It calls to her like a siren, and she writes the first comment on the video. “This is beautiful, and my name is Felicity. I only have one song posted on here, but I would appreciate it if you would check it out.” Her writing doesn’t do justice to how she feels about the music, but she posts it. A notification pops up on her phone ten minutes later. Mr. Firefly wrote back, “I listened to your song. I would like to do a collaboration if you’re able to. Email me at mrfirefly@music.com.” She stares at the reply for a few extra seconds, is it really possible her dream led her to this? She’d never thought of fate much before, but maybe it is real. Felicity takes a deep breath and types, “Hi Mr. Firefly. This is Felicity. I’m emailing about your request to collaborate. First, what’s your real name? And second, how exactly are we going to collaborate?” His email reply is quick too. “My real name is Raul Garza. You can add me on Facebook if you want. It might be easier to collaborate from there, because we could video chat. Also, here’s a picture so it’s easier to find me, and I live in Cayucos, California.” He actually lives really close to her. Felicity’s in San Luis Obispo. His picture is posted below the message, and he looks just like the man from her dream. Her mouth drops slightly. She logs into Facebook and searches for him. A wave of tiredness washes over her as soon as she hits the add friend button, and she falls back asleep for the rest of the morning. ***** She looks just like the woman of his dreams. Raul tugs at his ear as he thinks of what to write for the first message. He starts typing out, “Hey Felicity, glad you-” then deletes everything. He tries a few more times and ultimately settles with the waving emoji on Messenger. She doesn’t respond right away. After a few minutes pass, he decides to log out and finally get some sleep. ***** They both wake up in the forest clearing, standing face to face. Raul’s eyes widen at the site of her, and she glances down. “Hi,” He says first. “Is it still you from the future?” She asks. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “We’ve never actually talked in these dreams before. Have we?” “I saw you just last night. You said you were from the future, and it’s what got me to listen to Mr. Firefly.” “Well, guess I’ll have to thank future me one day.” His smile is charming, teeth pearly white and straight. Felicity glances to the side and notices her cherry red acoustic leaning against a boulder. “Maybe we could try out our first collaboration here instead of through the internet.” She gives him a grin. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Though, I wouldn’t mind meeting you while we’re both awake one day. Make some music and record it. I noticed your profile says you live pretty close to Cayucos.” “What are the odds?” She asks. He shrugs. She picks up the guitar and starts finger picking. He hears everything clearly in the dream for once, and they take turns singing to her peaceful tune.


No physical compulsion? She signs, baffled by my admission. I shake my head. There is nothing to keep me from telling the truth, save the knowledge that I will lose absolutely everything if I do. Destinee raises a fine eyebrow before nuzzling closer to me. We watch her cousin in open amusement as he begins his daily struggle of wrestling the pink disc from the stubborn clutches of Night. The air shifts, Wind blessing our bodies with her cool breeze as the planet warms. Destinee wills her midnight tendrils to stay impervious to its pull. I carefully twirl a ringlet around my finger, smiling indulgently at her vain tendencies. Not even Wind’s good intentions are enough for Destinee to permit a stray or frizzy strand of hair. We seldom converse in the first hours of the day. Silence may be an obstacle elsewhere, but here, with her, it’s akin to an old blanket—worn and comforting. It wasn’t always this way. I met Destinee before her tongue was cursed. This golden-skinned, petite goddess spoke like she was in constant fear of interruption. Her words collided with one another, stumbling to attribute meaning and profundity to each line of speech. Many gods avoided Destinee, and for good reason. A conversation with her was like performing a play without lines. Destinee had a special affinity for collecting the deepest-held convictions and fears of others. Luxuries aren’t difficult to obtain for immortals, so we barter with something far more valuable: secrets. The future holds no mystery or allure, but the present consistently eludes Destinee. When I asked her if she ever used her newfound information to tinker with the future, she simply winked and said, “That’s the beauty of the future. It never exists. Thus, I’ll never get in trouble for influencing it how I wish.” I sometimes wonder if she knew then how wrong she was. Destinee’s gluttony for secrets was well-known, and regular visitors frequent. Her silvery-grey eyes would alight at the prospect of learning something her visions weren’t privy to, and precious bits of the future would tumble impulsively out of eager lips. It was at Poetry’s first birthday party that Destinee’s words abandoned their safe realm of inconsequential and entered imminently dangerous territory… I don a simple black dress that ends just at the knee. My long auburn hair is pulled into a messy bun, the only style my clumsy fingers can achieve. Destinee enters our room in a stunning floral number. Flora herself had blessed it with the enticing scent and lazily waving energy of a pristine meadow in exchange for the knowledge that her next children would be a healthy pair of girls. I watch a lilac petal on her sleeve shiver in a breeze I cannot feel. She laughs softly upon spotting my hairdo and instructs me to sit on the edge of the bed. She pulls out my pins and begins anew, her gentle hands weaving with the same intensity and practiced ease with which a spider spins its web for an early supper. I feel her touch for an extra spare moment each time she pulls away to pick up another pin. The echo’s sensation makes me grin. My smile vanishes as I catch her reflection in the mirror. Her elegant beauty takes my breath away. Not for the first time, I mourn the fact that I can never tell her outright how she makes me feel. “What will your gift be, Dee?” Destinee asks. “A silver tongue? Perhaps a talent for hearing lies?” She catches my dark expression and returns the scowl. “How dare they reject a godly gift? Hypocrites, that’s all they are. Do Rhyme and Meter not value power? The two of us alone could pit every single god in this city against the other with our knowledge combined.” “A lovely sentiment. I’m sure that would change their perception of me,” I sigh. Destinee gives an unbraided section of hair a sharp tug. “Sarcasm remains one of your worst creations, I hope you’re aware.” I suppress a laugh. My dalliance with Humor had been brief and unremarkable, yet evidence of our relationship could be found everywhere nowadays. I was at once amused and aggrieved by the constant reminders and their enduring popularity. The celebration is hosted by Wisdom himself. His palace is a breathtaking marvel in more ways than one, with an architectural design far and away the most creative and eccentric in the city. Fractals and other impossibilities blanket the floor and ceiling. Twin pillars are inlaid with sparkling jewels yet to be discovered by the human populace. I trace a navy-blue design on a nearby wall with greedy hands, aware that when I return it will be gone, replaced by something even more intricate and bizarre that caught Dom’s fancy. Destinee floats from guest to guest, chattering excitedly. She had confided in me that something important would happen at the party, though the images were still unclear. I’m fairly positive that each interaction is a mining of sorts for clues. Utterly disinterested in small talk and the mysteries Destinee embroils herself in, I hasten to help myself to the impressive selection of wine. Rhyme receives me at a table laden with refreshments. “It’s miles from the realm of perfection but I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself to our collection,” she remarks in a sugary tone. I almost laugh. Lying to the goddess of deceit must be the height of hubris. I pat my heart in response and smile. Ambiguous gestures are safest, especially at celebrations. Participants tend to get too drunk to remember that they must interpret my words. My heart stalls when I spot Candor nearby. I’m about to retreat when Rhyme follows my panicked gaze, a cruel smile touching her lips. “Deceit’s sister, come hither!” She calls, waving my twin over. Candor navigates the crowd swiftly, weaving towards us. Auburn hair hangs limply around her pale, freckled face. She wears a sparkly pink dress at odds with her hungry expression. “A pleasure to see you,” I greet her sweetly. She ignores me, and Rhyme follows suit. “I must admit,” Rhyme starts, an awful twinkle in her eye. “your identical eyes lead me astray. Are you the same in every outward way?” Candor nods. “Of course, it’s awfully simple to tell us apart if you know how.” My stomach hardens to stone. A crowd of well-wishers has gathered near to speak to Rhyme, but they pause at my sister’s words. “It’s so easy it’s laughable,” she continues. Destinee’s gaze meets mine from across the spacious room. I smile stiffly. Her stormy eyes flit to my sister and narrow. “Just ask either one of us a fact.” Candor makes a show of examining the table’s contents carefully before plucking a red apple from the cornucopia. The growing crowd follows every exaggerated movement. She thrusts the shiny fruit in my face. “What color is this?” My face burns. “Blue,” I mutter quietly. This garners several laughs and a few claps for Candor’s ingenuity. “How interesting! What color is the apple?” Destinee asks my twin with fake cheer, brushing past the other guests and linking her arm around mine. Candor looks suddenly unsure of herself, but answers regardless. “Why, red, of course. I’m not confined to lies.” Destinee’s grip on my arm tightens. “What an intriguing choice of words. Forgive me, Candy, but Deceit could have said any color in existence, save for red. She’s not beholden to the truth, which seems to me incredibly liberating.” If looks could kill the nearly un-killable, Destinee and Candor would both be lost to perpetual darkness. Dom intercedes, announcing the commencement of the gift-giving ceremony. The crowd quickly disperses to form a line to little Poetry and his father Meter. Rhyme rushes to join them, her mischief forgotten. Candor bows to Destinee and me with an ill-concealed sneer and rejoins the others. She won’t forget this soon. Destinee sighs irritably and follows the crowd, squeezing my hand in parting. I respectfully refrain from entering the queue, per Rhyme and Meter’s request. “We don’t aim to teach dishonesty to impressionable little Poetry,” Rhyme had explained in a cloying voice that attempted to convey regret she most certainly did not feel. Rather than join the small cluster of similarly rebuffed gods deemed too weak or uncaring to exact vengeance, I opt to leave early. I resign myself to the possibility of never meeting Poetry in person. A shame, considering Destinee’s insistence that he will grow to inspire the lives of many. I’m surprised to see Love loitering outside Dom’s estate. New parents want nothing more than a happy match for their child, and the prospects among immortals are few. No one would be foolhardy enough to eject Love when he has so much to offer. Did he really accept their food and drink only to refuse the most highly coveted gift of all? Perhaps he hates them as much as I. “How silly,” Love drawls, surveying my shock with a wry grin. “Your emotions are quite transparent. Aren’t you tired of the endless obligatory gift-giving sessions?” “Never,” I agree with a stiff head shake. Love pushes himself off of the ivy-laced wall with strong, large hands and steps closer. He towers above my considerable height, perfectly white teeth gleaming against dark, unblemished skin. “Oh, this is fun. Have you ever noticed how often you and your sister give the same answer? It makes me wonder why anyone cares enough to puzzle out which is which.” I turn to leave. Let Love find another plaything. He has billions of hearts to mold before crushing them. “Aha! I see it now. You love another. Candor keeps me for herself.” “Aren’t you clever?” I snap, walking quickly towards the gate. The last thing I need is Love meddling in my affairs. “You wound me!” He shouts in a voice spun from silk. “But exercise caution, little liar! Your lover isn’t the only one who sees the future. And your love story looks positively thrilling!” I don’t exhale until the gate swings shut behind me. What does thrilling look like to a god who has spent millennia toying with different hearts? I really think I would prefer boring. My feet take each step of their own accord, my mind lost. Memories of my sister overtake my thoughts, despite my best efforts. In anger, I had once sworn I would never see her again. Of course, this had only condemned me to more sightings. She posed a larger threat than the others realized, in no small part thanks to me. “But he does love me Mother—and if you really loved me you would just die!” Candy shrieked. What did you do? I wanted to scream. What have you done? Candor trembled in shock, standing rigidly. I fell to my knees, grasping at Mother with unfeeling hands. I press my hands to my head as if to squeeze the image from my mind with brute force. I don’t know how, but despite our identical features, Destinee knew it was I who took the stand in Candor’s place and pledged her innocence. Destinee had promised to keep her knowledge to herself. Of course, she isn’t bound by her words. Candy was never the same. I may have helped, but she had engaged in a deception. She could scarcely look at me afterwards. I became the reminder that Candor wasn’t always truthful. None of us fully embody what we represent; no multi-faceted god could, but I suppose that’s one truth my sister never learned to accept. I fidget uncomfortably, more concerned than ever for my twin’s future. Dusk arrives before Destinee, lazily blotting out every trace of Day’s artwork. I sit on the front porch, a rapt audience of one. I enjoy this view most; there is unexpected beauty in erasure. The chance hues and patterns spared never celebrate the same way twice. The clanging of the gate startles me out of my reverie. I spot the tears first, the defeated posture and shivers. I spring to my feet and brush away a tear, looking imploringly into her eyes. This is no time to say I don’t want to know what happened. I don’t care that she knows I mean its opposite—it would hurt my heart to say it. She grips my hand, squeezes it, then brushes past me into the house. I follow, my worry compounding. A dusty volume on sign language is plucked from a far shelf. We had pledged one summer to study in order to converse with Silence, a god both ubiquitous and profoundly lonely. He was unmoved by our attempts and we quickly dropped our practicing. Destinee flips to the alphabet and beckons me closer, pointing out letters slowly: C-U-R-S-E-D. Concern morphs into rage. My breath becomes uneven as, in an agonizingly slow and piecemeal manner, she briefly explains what happened. Destinee told Candor to leave me alone, threatening her with the truth about Mother. Candy’s response? “Write or utter another word and perish.” I shut my eyes. I never curse fellow gods, but Candor warrants an exception. How shall I do it? Destinee tugs on my hair until I look at her. Her wet eyes seal my fate. I can’t bear to let her down. Over the next couple of days we stay secluded at the house, poring over the book. Destinee becomes extremely fond of the profanity section. I counsel her strictly on restraint. My curse is not unlike hers—nothing prevents me from speaking truth and perishing, only my mind and will. These lessons, I come to realize, are more for my sake than hers. I can’t live in fear for her life every time we go to an event, witness a stunning sky, or bargain with other gods. I put a hold on social visits. No gossip, secret-sharing, bartering—no temptation. For the first time, future is a mystery even among the gods. The more I watch Destinee struggle to adjust, the stronger my wrath grows. I want to preserve the kind goddess Destinee believes me to be. What do I stand to lose by paying my sister a visit? After an afternoon of meandering around Candor’s public haunts, I bump into her at the garden, tending to her hyacinths. Before she can utter a word, I lie. “You will curse a god again.”

An eerie smile creeps across her face, a twisted semblance of my own. “You told Destinee. I simply covered our tracks. Do you forget how much trouble you’ll be in if anyone finds out you deceived the court?” “Ah, I see. You’re just looking out for us both. I’ll do the same.” Our smiles slowly match. One long pause later, her grin wavers. “I think I finally see too.” Feeling unbearably confined, Destinee and I decide to spend a night on our favorite hilltop. We drag a blanket across dewy grass and wearily allow Sleep to pull us under. As the stars keep watch, Silence guards us both from the curse of Truth. When the inevitable topic of curses arises in the early morning, we openly discuss mine for the first time. No physical compulsion? She signs, baffled by my admission. I shake my head. There is nothing to keep me from telling the truth, save the knowledge that I will lose absolutely everything if I do. Destinee raises a fine eyebrow before nuzzling closer to me. Once the sun has successfully breached the horizon, I descend the hill. At its base runs a burbling creek. As I kneel to cup its chilled waters, a beautiful, horrible sound rings out. “WATCH OUT!” Destinee screams. My head whips around just in time to see my sister cut the air with her dagger. I grab her wrist, shock gripping us both as the blade clatters to the stones below. I can do nothing but stare, breathing raggedly, as my perfect image takes several steps back and flees.

Destinee’s yell reverberates in my mind. I claw at the earth, climbing the hill at a breakneck pace. Near its peak lies Destinee. Wind has pushed her long black curls haphazardly across her golden form. I look into bright, silver eyes. They don’t look back at me. My mouth opens. No cry comes. I pull Destinee’s head into my lap and hold her until the sun stings my skin and the Wind relinquishes its hold on her hair, framing the tendrils around her heart-shaped face as perfectly as she would have liked. My mouth refuses to close. It knows, as I do, that my Future is dead. I press my lips against her forehead and whisper, “I love you.”


We had often heard tell of warm and welcoming climes in the lands south of the English channel. Many amongst us had known those lands for their eternal sunshine, for their beaches of soft, white sand and for the magnificent cities which lay beyond. Yet, our venture into French territory that dreaded summer’s day, was anything but welcoming. On that very day, the sun did not emerge. It hid behind a sky of pale grey. What little sunlight did seep through, conversely, quickly succumbed to an emerging cloud of black smoke which swelled from the beach head. We were welcomed by a sound of unrelenting machinegun fire, of which rained down upon us from every conceivable angle. It struck our Higgin’s boat more times than I could have counted, particularly in that flustered state of mind. If that wasn’t bad enough, we also had to contend with Gerry’s mortar fire, each of us standing helplessly as shells splashed disconcertingly beside the LCVP en route to the beachhead. My superiors had sent us all into a living hell - and we were none the wiser for thinking this call to arms would make make us all heroes. They sent us all to our deaths, crammed within vessels of iron, just like sardines in a tin can. As if suddenly awakening from a deep reverie, I had just become aware of the man to my left owing to the repetitive metallic clanking noises his flask made as he attempted to take a swig from it. The bespectacled youth’s hand were trembling so violently that it begged the question as to how much of it he actually drank. It wasn’t until a stern voice called unto him that he decided to abandon all hopes entirely. “Get a grip son,” said a man to my right, who was taking a drag out of his cigarette. This man carried himself in the same manner most veteran American soldiers had, with an air of confidence which was almost tangible. As he spoke, he stared ahead towards the shoreline, wide-armed and square-jawed; and his undying gaze did not waver even as he addressed the boy who trembled. “If we’re to die today, we’ll die as men, y’hear?” Perturbed, the boy cast his flask aside, instead opting to re-align the round glasses sliding off the edge of his nose. Not that it mattered, the thick black smoke around us was enough to leave us in complete darkness until our eventual touchdown in shallow waters. “If this ain’t FUBAR, I don’t know what is, Mason”, he said. “FUBAR?” I said, dumbfounded. These Americans had such a way with words. “Relax son, air support should’a demolished these bastards long before our coming”, said Mason. He then turned to face me, “and just where the hell are you from, anyway? That accent sure as hell ain’t American,” he added, gruffly. “I’m... I’m from Malta,” I stuttered, not that I expected him to know where Malta was actually located. “Holy dog shit!” he said with a tone of assent. “Ain’t you boys the farmin’ type? The hell y’all doin here?” I hadn’t taken offense. In truth, amid the increasing sounds of machine gun fire and death taking place around me, any attempt at an insult towards my heritage was rather laughable.

Mason chuckled, even amid the darkness and the odd whizzing of bullets. I could not help laugh with him. In my mind, the prospect of death beyond the tall iron doors of the LCVP was a sure thing - no sense being grim about it. He simply held out his arm. “Mason,” he said sharply, “and the maverick beside you is Johnson. For the last time son... get a grip!” The boy with the round glasses did not answer. He merely gulped, hugging his M1 carbine as if it were an enlarged, metallic teddy bear. “Carmelo,” I said, addressing Mason. As I turned to him, I noticed him staring at the iron crucifix dangling from my neck. “Car-melo?” Mason twisted his face. He had obviously never heard such a name before. “Look more like a holy boy if you ask me. Think I’ll call you… ‘Bible’. You a believer, son?” “We’ll see.” I replied. The barge’s rise and fall had begun to die down in the moments which followed. That, coupled with the now-deafening sounds of mortar-fire had only meant one thing. We had finally arrived. In that moment, another American, a Captain, called out to us from the front. His hand remained clasped around the lever of the front door as the landing craft came to a slow and steady halt. He shouted instructions towards us, all-the-while signaling which direction we had to sprint towards with his free hand. I nodded in understanding. Though like many others, there wasn’t much else I could gleam from his orders other than ‘get to safety’ and ‘rendezvous’. Yet, if the unyielding gunfire was of any indication, ‘getting to safety’ was by no means, a plan to object to. Once the sound of gunfire had reached a deafening threshold in our ears, our landing craft had come to an abrupt halt. It lodged itself across the sand of the shallow waters - it was the sign we had all been dreading. To make matters worse, the already malodorous black smoke now brought forth the additional rancid smell of death. With our Higgin’s finally at a standstill, the captain’s hand rose up high. He folded his fingers into a number ‘three…’ Then into a ‘two…’ Then into a ‘one…’ But before we could make our way out, a large bang reverberated from the base of the barge, with it, a powerful explosion launched the entire vessel upwards amid a chorus of panicked screams from the men alongside me. It cast us all out of the boat and into the cold sea of ‘La Manche’. Rifle, pistol, grenades… I watched helplessly as each item I could have used to increase my chances of survival had suddenly scattered into the sea. With them, gone were any lingering hopes I may have had of surviving the ordeal ahead. For a fleeting moment I had wondered whether I was in fact, dead, succumbed to German artillery in the same quick fashion as many before me. Yet, once my body found its way out of the air and into the ice cold water below, I knew that it was all just wishful thinking. It wasn’t until a hand had taken me by the scruff of my neck, that I was able to regain my footing once more.

“On your feet, Bible!” Mason’s voice bellowed as he dragged me to a sandy shoreline. “Get your ass behind some cover! Now!” He needn’t have told me twice. With as much haste as I could muster, I dived behind the first thing I could find - one of the many rusted hedgehogs lining the beachhead. I ducked under it, without so much as a second thought, all-the-while attempting to shrink myself down to the size of a mouse in hopes that no bullet would make its way through one of the many openings. In my attempt, I caught sight of a familiar object sitting neatly beside the hedgehog - a pair of round spectacles, broken and drenched in blood. I was shortly joined by Mason, who simply jogged to my position whilst callously firing his weapon in the direction of the enemy. “Where’s Johnson?” I shouted. Mason did not answer. Instead he inclined his head, nodding to my left. Johnson, or what was left of him at least, was indeed lying there. “We gotta make our way there!” Mason yelled, as more men convened to our position, each among them returning fire with the same tenacity as that of the enemy. Mason pointed towards a low, grassy ridge to the west of the beach. Many of our boys had already established a foothold there. That, it would seem, was the rendezvous. I wanted to agree, though try as I might, words could not escape me. Between the whizzing of bullets, the sound of explosions, the smell of death and Johnson… it was all too much for what Mason correctly termed ‘a farmer’. Thought it wasn’t until he caught me by the throat once again, this time staring at me with a look of pure rage, that I began to understand that there was hope yet. “Get the fuck up there!” He cried, “Move!” Taking Johnson’s bloodstained rifle, I turned on my heels and fled, hurtling through mazes of barbed wire and running as fast as I could towards the grassy platform Mason had previously indicated. He remained close behind me, taking shots with his heavy machine gun. Sure enough, we had come by a sward of tall, green grass which stretched out as far as the eye could see. In better days, one could easily admire the beauty of the open plain, though in that moment, the beauty of the beach was overshadowed with scenes of violence emanating from a network of trenches which lay just below. Regardless, by reaching that position, it had suddenly dawned upon me that we were clear of the black smoke which occluded our view of the German defenses. Our boys, of which were mostly American, had already flooded the trenches in great-a-number. They were shortly joined by myself and the gruff American who had callously pushed me over the parapet and into the trench. He followed, discarding his weapon in place of his handgun. As he took point, I followed too. I followed behind him through a dense network of passages and towards the sound of gunfire, taking my first shots at what seemed like a fleeing German guard. It had all seemed to be going well, almost uncomfortably well. From well beyond our position, Mason and I could even hear American soldiers breaking into song. Had it been over already, I wondered? As we swept through the trench, I was distracted by an ominous glint which shone from the sandbags behind the parados. Rifle in hand, I attempted to take aim, but I was too late. A German sentry emerged from behind the wall, aiming his pistol towards me. There was a loud ‘bang’. The last thing I could remember, was falling into complete darkness amid a sensation of excruciating pain in my chest. It had to be it, I thought. Death, such as it were, had found me at last. Though if I were truly dead, then how was I still able to hear the exchange of gunfire around me? How was I still able to hear the sound of song emerge from the west? How was I able to hear Mason muttering curses as he exchanged fire with the man who shot me? My eyes had opened once again. This time, to the blurred sight of what seemed like Mason wrestling with a man in a grey coat. As my vision slowly restored, I was able to see that they were fighting over a Luger, presumably the last remaining loaded gun they could get their hands on. I blinked, repetitively, until the image of their tussle came into full view. Then, in silence, I drew Johnson’s rifle, aimed and fired. Gerry was dead before he hit the ground. I half expected Mason to turn around and thank me. Hell… I had just saved his life. Instead, he just stood there… grinning. “Sun’s out,” he said, looking towards the now-clear sky, a sardonic smile gracing his blood-stained face. He was right, the Sun had indeed emerged. It illuminated the green fields behind the Utah beachhead in a manner which I had yearned to see ever since learning of my involvement in operation ‘Overlord’. I couldn’t help but heave a heavy sigh, turning to face the tumultuous chorus of song breaking out as the American’s sang victory at the beach head. Soldiers carrying the star spangled banner drifted past me, carrying their rifles on their shoulders as if mere faggots of wood. “Think it’s about time I ask again, Bible,” said Mason, “you a believer, son? But before I could realize what he was on about, Mason gestured towards the iron crucifix around my neck - the one which now had a bullet lodged within it.


Mom always said life is not like the movies no matter how bad we want it to be.  But why not?  Why can't life be one big adventure? "Madison are you day dreaming again? I told you to set the table." "Sorry mom." "Your dad will be home soon. Get your head out of the clouds child." "My head is not in the clouds." "Yeah its at the movies.  Kids today need to be more responsible." Ignoring my mother's comment I started to set the table. My dad had come home from work and I was sent upstairs to get my sister. My sister Darcy was a year younger than me. but she always acted like she was already grown. You know fourteen going on thirty.  For me being fifteen was old enough.Also whatever I liked she hated.  But we were sisters and it was time for dinner. "Mom can I go to the movies this weekend?" "Not the movies again. Why do you waste your time at movie theaters?" "Nobody was asking you Darcy. For your information its entertainment. Have you ever even been to a movie?" "Girls not at the dimmer table." "But mom!" "You heard your mother no arguing at the dinner table. I'm sure there are other things you can talk about." "Yes dad." I said sticking my tongue out at Darcy. " Yeah real mature  Maddy." "If you girls are finished you can get started on the dishes. " After the dishes I went to my room and Darcy went to hers. I was finishing my homework when my came in my room to say good night, "Good night honey." "Mom can I this weekend?" "I suppose. Just remember." "I know its just a movie." At school the next day I asked my friend Brianna if she wanted to go to the movies with me. "I would Maddy, but I'm going shopping." "With who?" "Vicky. Eleanor and Hannah.  You could come with us. My mom is going to drop us off at the mall." "No thanks I really wanted to go to the movies." "Well, why don't you ask Arthur to go with you." "I don't even like him." "He likes you." "I would rather go by myself," "Have fun." She was smiling all the way to math class. Teasing me about Arthur. I was listening to the teacher when I looked around and saw Brianna whispering to Arthur. Brianna you need to pay attention there will be a test on this tomorrow." "Sorry Mr. Richards." I looked over at Brianna and she just shrugged her shoulders. After class when we were standing by our lockers Brianna started complaining. "Mr. Richards is just picking on me. I always pass his stupid tests," "What were you whispering to Arthur about anyway?" "Madison I'll go with you to the movies." I looked at Brianna . She just smiled and walked away waving goodbye. "What time are you going>" "I don't know Arthur," "Well, here is my phone number. Just call me." He handed me a piece of paper and I just smiled at him. After he left  I bawled it up and stuffed it in my pocket. Brianna is not going to have to worry about passing her math test because I am going to kill her. The next day I hardly talked to Brianna. She had told all her girlfriends I was going to the movies with Arthur. "Have fun on your date'" I turned around and they were all standing there laughing.I closed my locker. As I walked away I could hear them laughing. Brianna ran to catch up with me. "Why so glum Maddy?" " Bri did you have to tell them"? I have to get home." I didn't want to talk to talk to her or anybody. And I didn't want to go to the movies with Arthur either. I walked into the house staring at the floor  I went up to my room and locked the door. I didn't even come down to eat. Crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, Silently crying went to sleep. "Maddy if your going to the movies you need to get up and get ready. So your father can drop you off."  I walked over to unlock my door, but it was already unlocked. "I don't think I'm going today I changed my mind." "What Maddy not going to the movies?" "Darcy leave your sister alone.  What made you change your mind honey?" "I just feel like doing something else. "Okay, your father and L are going to the store you can come with us." "No I think I'll just stay home." Are you okay honey? You seem a little down." "I'm fine mom." "If your going to stay home you can get started on the laundry." "What about Darcy!" "Darcy is going to the mall with her friends." Mom and dad left for the store.  I was still lying in bed when Darcy came in the room. Okay , they're gone . What is the real reason you don't want to go to the movies? And why do you look like somebody just stole your favorite puppy? I told her all about what happened with Brianna and Arthur.  And the girls laughing at me at school. And they were also going to the mall today. "Cheer up its not the end of the world. Hey , if I see her maybe I'll spill a drink on her or something." I started to laugh. Imagining her reaction. "She smiles. Stop moping. You and the laundry have fun. Oh by the way, you might want to call that boy and tell him what happened." I laid in the bed for awhile longer.  Darcy was right I  should call him and tell him something. I got up to find the pants I wore that day,But I couldn't find them in my room.  So I went downstairs to the basement to search the baskets.  I searched every pocket of every pair of pants in those baskets. But i couldn't find the piece of paper with his number on it, Then I remembered it was bawled up in my pocket.  Maybe mom threw it away. Since I'm down here I better do at least one load,  I  picked up a pile of clothes and as I was stuffing them in the washing machine something fell on the floor.Looking down I didn't see anything. Without noticing I kicked something under the washer. I started the washing machine and went back upstairs. L kept looking for it though. After awhile mom and dad came home from the store.  After helping with the groceries and with lunch I forgot all about calling Arthur. Then Darcy got home ftom the mall. I was sitting on the couch watching tv. "Want to see what I got from the mall?" "Sure." I followed her up to her room and she took out this pretty blue dress from her bag. Then she pulled our a couple of tops that she bought. "These are cute." "Yeah, but I could't find any shoes to go with them. I did buy some perfume though. Wanna smell." She grabbed the perfume bottle out of the bag and sprayed some on my wrist. "That smells good." "By the way Maddy did you ever call that boy." "I forgot all about that. Couldn't find his number anyway. Probably got thrown away." "Well, did you call any of your friends and asked them if they knew his number? What about Brianna?" "No until you came home I forgot all about it," "How could you forget?" "Well  I was washing clothes and then mom and dad came home with the groceries. And why am I explaining this to you!" I stormed out of her room went into mine and slammed the door. I sat there on the bed playing games on my phone when I heard mom calling us down to dinner. After dinner mom and Darcy did the dishes so I went back to my room. I thought about what Darcy said. I started to call Brianna .but I just hung up the phone. Then I heard mom calling my name. When I got downstairs they were sitting on the couch and they didn't look happy. "Maddy have a seat." "Whats going on?" "Your mother and I want to talk to you." My hands were starting to sweat. "Who is Arthur?" Mom pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. "He's just a boy from school." "Why do you have his number?" My hands were really sweating and my heart was pounding. Dad looked angry. "Is he why you didn't want to go to the movies today? For a minute I couldn't breathe. :The truth Maddy." "Okay , Brianna told Arthur I was going to the movies this weekend. So when I was at my locker Arthur stopped by and gave me his number. He told me to call him and tell him when I was going,but I lost the number." Lost?" "Yeah." "Looks like you were going to throw it away. Your lucky I found it under the washing machine." "Maddy  you know the rules. No going out with boys until your eighteen. You should have told him that." Its late now ,but you can call him in the morning." Mom handed me the crumpled piece of paper and I went back to my room. I could kill Brianna she started this mess. I was in trouble all because of her. The next morning I called Arthur,but he didn't answer. Well, I tried I told myself. I don't like him anyway. He will get over it. When I went downstairs for breakfast my mom was waiting for me. "Did you call that boy?" "Yeah.but he didn't answer." "Well, you can call him later." "You found his number?" :No  Darcy mom did." "Thats why they called you downstairs last night?" Darcy whispered. "What are you girls doing today? "Don't know mom." "You can help me clean the house. But stay away from your father's study. He is doing some work in there. After we finished cleaning I called Arthur again .but he still wouldn't answer. So I sent him a text explaining what had happened.He never texted me back. I will just tell him everything tomorrow at school. When I got to school the next day I found him at his locker. When I tried to explain myself he just ignored me. Then I saw Brianna. "How could you do that to Arthur?" I told you he liked you. You didn't even have the decency to call." "I called him yesterday." After school I went by his house. but when he saw it was me he just slammed the door in my face. I went home feeling rejected. "Whats wrong Maddy?" "He is never going to forgive me Darcy." I didn't understand.  In the movies the man would forgive the girl, And they would even kiss and make up. But this wasn't the movies . It was worse.


 “Thanks, Rose,” the words shiver down my tongue, like they never expected to come out.   My sister smiles at me. “Don’t thank me. It was nothing.”

You don’t know what you mean to me. You’ve taken care of me since you were old enough to walk, and you’re still taking care of me now.   “I’m going to miss my car,” I tell her. “And you...”   She laughs as I run out the door, waving. “Bye, queen !”   I don’t look back. I need this break. It will not start and end with me not being able to leave her.   “Jennifer, is that correct?”   I nod, barely able to cover up the excitement of having a - supposedly - beautiful view from my hotel room window. I try my best not to snatch the keycard and fly to my room. “Thanks,” I whisper, “Rose.”   The room is as pretty as I had imagined. It’s sunset, and the sky outside looks like a painting, impossible colors bleeding into the clouds and covering the ocean below. The blue is Rose, her relaxing presence and kind attitude. The purple is me, because even though I’m calming like she is, I’m more complex, I have a spark. The red is my best friend since middle school, Ellie, who will easily flame and is just as cold as she is hot . The orange is my ex, Kyle, who is like Ellie - hot on the outside, cold on the inside, but unlike Ellie this was all the time. I didn’t figure that out until it was too late. The yellow is everyone I know. Soft and sweet but emotional and complex.   I study the room. It has a big glass door that leads to a balcony, on which is a wooden chess set. There’s a bed in the middle, with a small bedside table on one side and a desk on the other.   On the opposite side of the balcony is another door, the entrance one. There’s a closet next to the desk and a bathroom door next to that. I open the closet. There’s a pole on which are coat hangers, and in the very back is another door. I reach out hesitantly. I pull my hand back. It’s probably a storage closet, I reassure myself, reaching out again. The knob turns with a whine, and the door creaks as I open it.   “What the hell!”

Crap , I think. There’s another person right there? Rose didn’t tell me this!

“Can’t a guy play chess in peace?” Says the person. I peek around the door. His room is pretty much symmetrical to mine, with the exception of clothes covering practically everything. He’s playing chess with himself, and he seems to be winning.   “ What the hell yourself,” I reply, not exactly knowing what I’m doing. “What is with this hotel and chess?”   He tells me chess is awesome and challenges me to a game. I accept. While he’s making his move, I take my time to look at him. He’s handsome, with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles. He looks like he could be biracial. I change my mind, he’s not handsome, he’s hot.   Over the next few days I develop a crush on him - his name is James - and became the first person to beat him at chess. I beat him eight times, which isn’t very much to his record of thirty-two. I don’t care; he’s everything. He’s perfect.   We eat together a couple of times, and he introduces me to his friends. One of them adores him, calls him a “chess god”. At first I think it’s cute, but then I remember that James is hardly even an expert. He’s advanced, sure, but not as good as the grandmasters. They are experts.   I try not to love this boy but every time I try I end up being pulled deeper into this void.   Sometimes I wish James had never come into my life. Sometimes I wish that people would recognize me, too, and not just him, for being good at chess. Sometimes I think that he didn’t remember I’m the first person to beat him when another friend beat him. Sometimes I wish I weren’t so selfish.   Even though James is the one who introduced me to the thing I love most, he is also the one person I love, and hate.   He is the King, and I am the Queen. He is everything to everyone, he is the heart of the game for us - for me and his friends - and I am powerful but not as powerful as he is. I am the Queen in the fairytale, the one whom no one knows the name of, the one who did just as much as the King, and yet the King is remembered. The King is cherished and as precious as one’s life. I need them to notice me. Tonight I have dinner with him and the others. I can’t say I’m excited to tell him how I feel.   “Jennifer, you okay?”

I look up from my food to see his eyes peering, concerned, down at me. We are alone, it’s nearly night, and I know this is my chance.   I open my mouth to say no. He presses a finger to my lips before I can say anything, before I can even make a sound. Then he leans foreword, his hand moving to the back of my neck. My heart beats faster, his fingers warm but cooling with the air.   He’s an inch away from me. I can’t move. How can I tell him to stop, that he is looking at someone who doesn’t deserve him?   “Do you mind..?” The unfinished question lingers in the air. His hand is trembling now. I have to remember that he is only human, too, I think. It’s not fair to judge him like this.   “I’m sorry.” I push him away gently.   “I thought…”   “I like you like that ,” I inform him, scared to see his reaction, “but I’m not the one for you. I dislike your friends, for one.”   “She’s hot and she’s cold,” he mutters, surprised.   “I’m sorry, but that’s the nicest way I could say it,” I protest. “They only have eyes for you.” I’m such a hypocrite.   When he walks away from me, not saying another word, I know I have lost an amazing opportunity. The last thing I see of him are tears being held back. I don’t watch him leave. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.


Imagine a world without people. In this world, concrete buildings stand tall against pale blue skies, their interiors left completely vacant. Streetlights flicker when dusk emerges, but the illuminated streets remain silent. Living rooms, kitchens and bedrooms become time capsules, preserving the remnants of a once lively human race.

Now imagine, you wake up one Sunday morning to the sound of your alarm clock; the rest of your house deafeningly quiet. You make your way through the corridors, expecting to be greeted by someone you love. But nobody ever greets you. In fact, nobody will ever greet you again. You don’t know how long it has been since you woke up alone that morning, but it has been long enough to forget the sound of shared laughter, bustling traffic and overhead airplanes. Everyone you knew is gone and everything you ever thought was important no longer exists. At first, you convince yourself you’re dreaming, paralyzed by your subconscious mind. But you soon realize it’s not a dream. At least not one you can wake up from. Deep down you know that things will never be the same, but you find ways to adapt to a new way of life. When society still existed and borders defined countries, you lived somewhere in middle America. Now, you spend your days exploring new cities and rural landscapes, relying on worn billboards, and highway signs to tell you where you are, or where you once were. You need these remnants of mankind because nothing looks the same as it did before. Landmarks are overgrown by luscious green trees. Flowers sprout from cracks in the highway pavement. Clean rain collects in streams that flow through pristine woodlands. Without humans to impede, Mother Nature quickly regains her throne.

Humans were the only animals to vanish. In the weeks and months following humanity’s departure, the birds, four-legged creatures and marine animals began to thrive. Their natural habitats restored quickly, despite the once highly developed wastelands around them. Every breath you take of the atmosphere is refreshing. The water is pristine. Strikingly blue and pure enough to drink. Every day, you are overwhelmed by the world’s unwavering beauty. In this new world, time is a mere suggestion. The cyclical nature of seasons indicates it has been at least a few years since that day, but you know nothing precisely. The blooming flowers rising from the soft soil and warm sun rays on your exposed skin provide an inkling of summer. The weather is temperate, and you find yourself without clothing. You feel completely free and at ease; one with nature. But if you try hard enough, you can remember the poisonous haze that once blanketed skylines across the globe. Mostly, you remember the unpredictable and tumultuous state of the world, where good news stories were few and far between. Whether it was the looming threat of nuclear war, financial collapse or an indiscriminate virus, you, along with many others, had little hope for the future. Your whole life, people had been predicting the end of the world, but no one could have predicted this. No one could have fathomed the beauty that lie beneath the earth’s toxic soil and layers of floating debris in its oceans. Despite the beauty that surrounds you, you still fear being alone. Often, you wonder how different your situation would be if you had a partner; just one person to share this peculiar journey with. Before departing an area you’ve explored, you leave behind some semblance of human activity. Whether it’s writing on the dusty windshields of abandoned vehicles or scrawling chalk against barren sidewalks, you make your existence known. You know nobody will ever see these messages, but the minuscule chance that they might is enough to keep you going. If you can, imagine now that this world you’ve come to know will change once again.

Unlike your previous life, you now have the freedom to do as you please, when you please. Before, your ability to enjoy life was stifled by routine and the shifting expectations of society. But now, freedom is a guiding principle of your existence. This freedom leads you to follow the steady rising sun for what feels like several weeks until eventually, you reach the once-booming metropolis known as the Big Apple. You wander through the empty streets surrounded by towering buildings; their walls covered in resilient foliage. A skulk of foxes emerges from the undercarriage of an abandoned vehicle and prances through the empty streets; the once feral animals are unbothered by your presence. Your bare feet stick to the hot pavement as you take a moment to appreciate the peaceful ambience of the city’s skeleton.

Eventually, you encounter a massive, magnificently diverse park nestled in the center of the urban landscape. A large olive-green placard, partially shrouded by overgrown trees, reads ‘Central Park.’ The scenery is expansive with a canopy of tree leaves stretching as far as your eyes can see. Small critters hurry up and down thick tree trunks as birds glide high above, chirping melodically. In the forest ahead, you see a small spotted fawn frolicking beside its graceful mother drinking from a fresh stream. This is not the Central Park you remember. As you walk through the park, your hands graze the vibrant shrubbery, occasionally picking a flower to smell. The aroma is intoxicating. Eventually, you reach a small meadow in the middle of the forest. In the center, a colossal apple tree casts a shadow over the lush green grass. You sit beneath the tree, resting your naked skin on the soft grass. Relaxed by your surroundings, you begin to drift off. You are awoken by the unusual sensation of someone watching you. Your eyes open to the sight of a rugged, middle-aged man crouched in front of you. He stares intensely into your eyes while gently touching your shoulder. His face is the first you have seen in years that’s not plastered on a billboard. You realize that the man is also naked, but neither of you feels compelled to react. You sit up swiftly and return his stare, once again questioning the boundary between dream and reality. But like last time, you know there is no dream to wake up from. After years of solitude, you are no longer alone.

The man is utterly stunned by your existence. Tearfully, he describes his many days and nights alone, convinced he was the last remaining person on earth. That is, until he saw the messages you sprawled in chalk in the otherwise empty Time’s Square. Naturally, you sympathize with the man. You understand exactly how he felt, alone in a vast yet empty world for countless days and nights. You're immensely relieved to have someone to confide in. Your once uncertain future begins to unfold before you. The two of you sit comfortably in the shelter of the towering tree and talk for hours. You discuss the perils of mankind - its fragility and increasingly hostile nature before all of this happened - a stark contrast to the serene paradise before you today. Although neither of you can explain what happened on that fateful Sunday or why you were spared, you both agree that the world is a much different, albeit nicer, place now. You both yearned for someone to share this life with and against all odds, it became true. Together, you share a boundless utopia. You sit next to the man in peaceful silence until suddenly you feel a tickle on the top of your foot. Your heart begins to race. A small yellow garter snake slithers quickly across your skin, disappearing into the tall grass. Startled, you jump to your feet. As you try to catch your exacerbated breath, you look up to see an abundance of shiny, red apples hanging from the picturesque tree above you. Your mouth begins to salivate at the sight of the perfectly ripe fruit. You want to ask the man if he too would like an apple, but you realize you never had a proper introduction. Feeling rather foolish, you ask him for his name. “It’s Adam,” he replies, looking up at you with a smile. “Nice to meet you Adam. I’m Eve,” you say as you take a bite out of the succulent red apple in your hand. The man, still sitting beneath the tree, returns your gaze. His eyes scan your fully exposed body and his cheeks begin to flush, turning a slight shade of pink.


They say love is the thing that kills a man. Love makes the brain turn to mush. Love makes bad decisions seem like the best there is, and forces man to abandon logic. They say love is blind, but perhaps the meaning of that is not that love transgresses the physical, but rather that love can make man blind to what lures him to his fate. But yet, every man will eventually fall in love. Large walls flanked the towering, gilded castle on all sides. Walls high and low, walls thick, walls with small portholes through which archers could fire arrows at unsuspecting attackers. Walls fortified with iron. Impenetrable, unless one were to walk towards the eastern corner and find the loose brick, and shimmy it out… there, one could gain access. Or, one trapped within could gain exit, could gain freedom. The castle itself was tall, as strongly-fortified as the walls which kept the boundaries, but where the walls had seen battle and were therefore pockmarked in places, the castle walls were the same smooth marble they’d always been, exuding the luxury the royal family lived in. The king and queen were unfair rulers, taking taxes from the surrounding villages in exchange for fair trade deals and protection. The royal army was magnificent, and the barracks kept among the many different villages, but the world knew it was to keep the villagers in check, rather than to protect them. The king and queen were rarely seen, for they were not of the people, but rather were of a much higher standing. The wrought-iron gates to the castle were therefore never opened, unless it was to allow entrance to the other esteemed royals of the land, those who had travelled from far and wide and beyond. The people were aware of three significant royal events: the marriage between the current king and queen; the birth of the Prince, announced via royal caller; and the birth of the Princess, announced via placards placed around each village. But, the people had never laid eyes on the Prince or the Princess, and the King and Queen had only been seen once. There was mystery surrounding the family. For some, they were demons which walked the earth to ensure those who sinned were taking to hell. For others, they were vampires, unable to come out into the light. Most simply detested the idea that, while they themselves lived in squalor, unable to feed children or themselves, the king and queen and prince and princess lived in luxury, afforded to them by the people. Taxes were high, morals were low… the gleaming marble beacon on the hill was a daily reminder of just how little people had. Yet, through the struggle and the daily trepidation, there was still love in the air. Spring had finally sprung, and that meant a little more food in people’s gardens, more meat, better times ahead. And, for one young woman, it meant freedom, for she had finally turned eighteen. Felicity Baker was, as is obvious, the daughter of a baker, a gentle, round man named Peter. Her mother was a seamstress, and work was plentiful in the changing seasons for her. Felicity herself knew how to sew, but her fortitude lay in the garden, where things grow. A keen florist, she could make even the simplest of flowers bloom into something quite stunning. And, as she’d turned eighteen, it meant that she could walk unchaperoned as she wished to the gardens just outside the village, where the flowers grew unkempt and free. As she walked, her father’s words echoed in her ear. Make sure you don’t see the castle wall. They’re not kind to villagers . Yet, despite such a warning, Felicity found herself quite mesmerised by the beauty of the untouched paths winding their way through the forests. In the quiet, away from the loud soldiers in their barracks, her mind was free to drift and think and wonder. Her basket quickly filled up with bulbs and blooms, and greenery… and then, she met the wall. A queer sight among such a natural background, the rough-hewn brickwork pockmarked from attacks. Suddenly, all around her became cold, and she felt sick with fear. Something moved to the left of her, and Felicity felt her heart hammer in her chest. Queerer still was the sight of a hooded figure running its hands along the rough rock, pushing a large brick in. Felicity watched with bated breath; her eyes huge. The figure had not seen her, but she had seen it. She crept closer. Behind that wall was the castle. Who could possibly come in and out of the castle in such a manner? She hadn’t been prepared for the sight before her as she rounded the corner. As the brick was pushed back into place, her eyes met with a pair of crystal blue ones. She froze in place, entranced. And then, a shout came from afar. The brick was shoved back into place, and Felicity turned. Four soldiers, on foot, bearing shields and swords, had found her. “What are you doing here, then, miss?” one of them asked, breaking rank. He pinned her against the wall. The brick wasn’t fully in place. Another guard pushed it. The brick fell inwards, and the guard got a full sight of the man on the other side. “It looks like there’s a way into and out of the castle, Decanus .” “What were you doing, miss? I won’t ask you again. Who was that person?” The soldier stepped forward again. “I d-don’t know, sir!” Felicity squeaked. “I really do not know!” “Where do you come from?” “The v-village of Byram.” “Then we’ll just have to take you back home, won’t we?” ** “We found this by the castle wall.” Felicity was shoved forward so roughly that her knees were skinned by the cobbled stones by the Decanus , the leader of the soldiers in Byram’s barracks. Her basket of flowers long forgotten, the only hint that she’d even been collecting was the mud around her nails, and the grass marks on the hem of her dress. The soldiers hadn’t been so kind to her. They’d cuffed her with tight iron shackles, almost too heavy for her slender arms to lift. They’d dragged her through the forest back to her village, tripping her. And then, they’d dumped her unceremoniously at the feet of her father. “Felicity?!” Peter Baker gasped, collecting her up. One soldier removed her shackles. His wrist was so heavy-set from wielding a steel sword, it bore the same thickness as Felicity’s thigh. “Whatever did I tell you – why did you go by the wall?!” “I l-lost track – I’m sorry, papa!” Felicity whispered, trembling in fear. “I’m truly sorry…” At the hands of the soldiers, she’d been questioned. Who was the person on the other side of the wall? How did she know them? Were they man or woman? Eventually, they’d given in and taken her home. “Ensure your child doesn’t leave the village boundary again,” the Decanus growled. “Or else you won’t have a home or a business.” “Right you are, Decanus ,” Peter Baker nodded. He waited until the soldiers were out of sight before he picked his daughter up and took her inside. Felicity told her parents everything, and in the end grew catatonic with shock and fear. The soldiers could have killed her. But while Felicity’s fate seemed poor, nothing could be said for the castle guards who were slaughtered where they stood. Just hours before, as the sun sank lazily past the hills, the commander in chief of the legions of soldiers surrounding the castle – and protecting it within – had been summoned to the King’s throne room. The young prince sat beside him, nervous. The alarm had been raised about an intruder in the castle. A loose brick had been found in the eastern side of the wall, large enough for a slender man in no armour to fit through. A young peasant girl had been seen interacting with someone who’d just climbed in. “What was the girl’s name?” the young Prince asked. “The peasant girl?!” the King turned to his son incredulously. “Whatever do you care about that for?” “Well, perhaps a name would aid us in finding out her intentions.” “James, I fear you’ve lost wit,” the King growled. He hid a cough in his handkerchief. “Well? Is there a name?” Prince James held the commander’s gaze. “My Decanus in Byram informed me that it was the daughter of the village baker.” The commander looked nervous, answering to the Prince. “Very good. Perhaps it is worth questioning the staff, father.” “I will handle this, James. Go on, away with you, to your studies. Pray you find your mind on the way.” “Yes, father.” Prince James stood. He had only a little amount of time to hide his cloak. He knew the girl, the baker’s daughter, had seen the colour. It had been hard to miss. But he was too late. The events that unfolded that afternoon were bloody. A miscount of the guards had delivered to the King the paranoid notion that the ‘extra’ guard was in fact the intruder, and as all of the castle guards would therefore have to be in on the intrusion to have orchestrated it, all of them would be put to death. And so they were. Under the fall of night, each guard standing watch had their throats slit. The bloodied corridors of the castle did nothing to stop the young Prince James from finding a way out of his father’s clutches, though. He quickly sought out a different exit, back into the forests of freedom, the local villages where he was known simply as ‘Tristan’. He was an orphan, one with enough coin to purchase bread, or apples, or a slice of cooked meat. He was charming and witty, and spoke in an educated tongue. He had stories, an excellent orator, entertaining children and adults alike with his tales. Prince James made his way to Byram once again, skirting past the guards. The Decanus would no doubt have been told to stand down, now that the intruder was dead. Or, presumed dead. Every guard in the castle was dead… but that was by-the-by. Prince James had one mission, now. To find the girl, so innocent a pure, who had stolen his heart. For without her, life was not worth living. Despite his marriage to the Princess of the Kingdom of Fii secured, he did not want it. In fact, his life in his gilded tower was nothing short of torture. He knew nothing of the world beyond the kingdom in which he’d cut his teeth, and he ached to be free like the birds which wheeled in the sky, taunting him. As Prince James wandered through the busier square of Byram, he laid eyes once again on the one who held his heart. He watched her through the window of her home, forlornly sewing a ream of fabric with soft and gentle fingers. His life began again with her. She looked over at him, aware of eyes on her, and blushed. The sun was warm, and so he removed his hood. She stopped her sewing and stood. Her mother – perhaps it was her mother – admonished her for something, but soon enough, Felicity appeared in the doorway to the bakery which she called home. “It is you,” she breathed, once Prince James had drawn close enough. “I – your eyes –“ “It is indeed you,” Prince James said softly. “My heart has been yours since we met… tell me, what is your name?” “Felicity,” said Felicity, offering her hand. Prince James took it. “And yours?” “I… am known in these parts as Tristan, but my true name is James.” He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I must know if you are promised to another…” “I am not,” Felicity whispered, a blush touching her cheeks. “Though my father would not think it proper if I were to be seen with you so close.” Prince James stepped back. “I –“ “Felicity?!” Peter Baker’s voice carried across the way. Prince James returned his hood. “I will find a way to come back for you, dear Felicity! Know that my heart is yours!” He pressed something cool into her hand. A small medallion of sorts. A large hand closed around her shoulder. Prince James had vanished. Peter Baker was not pleased. “Inside, Felicity. I will not have the soldiers returning for your reluctance to follow rules!” “Yes, father.” ** As the moon bathed the castle grounds in light that evening, Prince James wandered around the rose garden, deep in thought. His wedding had been announced. His father approached death, the scent of it was ripe in the castle. The young Prince felt mutinous. His younger sister had been dispatched to a far-off Kingdom as a deal, and he hadn’t been given the chance to say his goodbyes. Instead, he’d seen her leave in a carriage pulled by six black horses. And now, his own marriage approached, to a woman he did not even like, never mind love. His heart belonged to Felicity. His entire being yearned to be free of his marble cage!

“Tell me what you need, young Prince.” The sound of a gentle woman’s voice startled Prince James, and he drew his sword and turned. “Now, now, I don’t come bearing threat… merely to give you what you so desire.” “Who are you? How did you get in here?!” “Questions which have no answer you could comprehend.” The woman moved like a cloud of fog, gliding across the dewy grass. The moonlight illuminated her features, which – while human – did not appear natural. Despite the fear Prince James felt, he found himself entranced, and thus began to lower his sword. “I… I don’t… desire anything. I don’t desire a thing.” “Oh, but you do… your heart aches, and nothing within these walls can soothe it… there is no balm in this castle… not for your wounds.” The woman sat herself on the granite bench from which Prince James had just risen. “Tell me all, young Prince.” “My sister,” Prince James whispered. “My sister has been pulled from our embrace to marry a man old enough to be her great-grandfather. And… and I am trapped by purpose! By the need to marry one I can barely stand! The Princess of Fii is not…” he shook his head. “I do not love her.” “Who do you love?” “There… there is a peasant girl… but to love her, to claim her for my own would be sure suicide…” Prince James sat down. “Yet she offers me freedom. Freedom and joy… my life began truly the day I laid eyes on her.” “And you have sought her out several times over.” Prince James did not ask how the woman knew he’d scaled the wall to meet his love under the cover of night, and had done so for many weeks. “She has my heart. She is the other half to my soul. She is my purpose.” “And you would do anything to have her?” “I do not want the life of a Prince,” Prince James said softly. “I long to join the happy lives of the villagers. Not waging war on realms and kingdoms which have not wronged me.” “I can offer you your freedom.” “How?” “To leave the shackles which bind you to the world you do not wish to inhabit further, for your freedom, I require an item of value. A single item of value. Upon your agreement that I may take it, I will give you your freedom willingly.” “What are you?” Prince James whispered. He looked at the woman’s hand, a beautiful hand, not unlike Felicity’s fair hand. “I am not of this world, young Prince… but I can manipulate it for payment. So, what does your heart truly desire?” “Fe… Felicity’s hand in my own…” Prince James whispered. “Felicity’s lips against mine… my child against her breast… my name upon her lips…” he closed his eyes and imagined those things, of Felicity as his wife, her hand in his, gripping tightly, her lips caressing his name in love and desire… her stomach swollen with his child… and when he opened his eyes, his hand was held in the air, as though gripping hers. The woman’s face a ghost behind his eyes, bearing a sinister smile he had not seen before. Desire compelled him to his feet, and he found himself unseen by the castle’s servants. He found himself unhindered as he walked through the castle; not a single person questioned his intentions for being out of bed so late. He found himself freely able to leave the castle via the front gate, for the guard was sound asleep. And, he found his path straight to Byram lit perfectly by the moon. The sun rose as he neared Byram, yet he had been sure it was midnight not an hour before… yet, as he neared the village, he heard only silence. For the morning had not risen the villagers yet. It was not long before the first signs of life began to show. The market opened in the square, and villagers milled around as normal, doffing caps to him and bidding him good-morning. The sight of Felicity held his gaze; accompanied by her father, they set about opening the bakery shutters. “Felicity!” Prince James cried. Felicity turned. Her face lit up beautifully with an angelic smile. “James!” she called, and made to run to him. And then, the thundering of hooves. Screams of women and children. Metal slicing through flesh. Soldiers tasked with decimation. Before him, a soldier plunged his sword into Felicity’s chest. He could not move. He could not breathe. He screamed, yet his voice was silent as Felicity fell to her knees and succumbed to her wound. In his ears, a voice echoed. My payment is taken. Freedom is yours.


“What is the color of your soul?” — Hh…?! A voice called to him. He turned his head toward it, yet a sharp nothingness filled the room once more; a deep quiet, a silence almost cold. In the quiet, he sat there, at his desk, head looking as if to somewhere far away, as he waited for the voice once more— for that clear, bright, melodious voice of a young girl; so clear, so beautiful, it was almost sad… But no matter how long he waited in the silence— her voice resounded no more… He was alone in the classroom, sitting at the only desk in the middle of the room; wearing his black, junior high-school uniform, his hair slightly unkempt. There was nothing else in the classroom, it was all empty— the blackboard clean, yet seeming dusty; the boards clear, without a note or anything pasted on it; and every desk and chair except his vanished from the floor, including the teacher’s desk in front. It was just him, and him alone— and there, his head turned to his left, gazed upward… The cold sun glowing pale over him— he stayed there. Waiting… “Um, Morita…?” “… Hm? ” A voice called him. A different voice. It was softer, with an air of shyness curled into her little chest; and, just hearing it… it filled him with a sense of warmth, a sense of closeness and comfort, of familiarity… His vision flickered— as if rippling blue— as a blue butterfly crossed his sight… But just then— “Morita?” She called again. “ Huh? ” He’d just woken up… Glancing around, he saw that the desks and chairs had all returned, lined up in fine rows, front to back; the teacher’s desk was in front, and gathering near it was a group of girl, laughing, gossiping— as the sun, a deep, warm orange and gold, colored the room even through the still curtains… “Ah, Morita. You’re awake.” As if just noticing her, he turned to her— but, looking up at her; he couldn’t see her face… It was as if it were just too dark… as a shadow hung over her features… He tried concentrating, but her features remained hidden; the girls in front were the same… All he could see were their lips… Just then, the girl in front of her parted her lips and spoke, “It’s late. Come on, let’s go home.” And, with just that, she turned away and walked toward the door. Blinking, shaking his head— he stood up from his seat and grabbed his bag. Then, pushing his chair in, he went after her out the door… Had he been dreaming…? He wondered so, yet couldn’t find an answer. He simply didn’t know. He tried going through his memories— yet his mind was blank; it’s as if the concept of ‘memories’ itself had ceased to exist— no, it’s as if the concept had simply never existed in the first place… He didn’t know what happened before, nor did he know anything else. All he knew was that his name’s Morita… Even then, it was because that girl had called him so; though he didn’t know her or who she is… The furthest extent of his knowledge of her was that she knew his name, and that’s it; besides that, he could only assume that she was a shy person from the sound of her voice… Just then— her voice returned to him… And, at once, he remembered her words and froze in his steps as it sounded through his mind once more. What is the color of your soul…? In his mind, it sounded blurrier, sounding as if muffled in the folds of his ‘memory.’ But one thing that truly came through was that feeling… It was as if some distant bell had sounded— its weight reverberating in the air, feeling like a cold wave sending shudders up his back… Even now, he could still feel it even in his feet… The moving, soul-bending effect of her voice… resounding, like metal, of emotion… Of feeling… “Morita?” “Ah-” Returning to reality, he looked up and saw her standing there, meters away from him, turned toward him… founding him there, frozen still… “Come on.” “Ahh… yeah…” Feeling a cold sigh escape his chest, he shook his head and went on after her. Walking behind her, he couldn’t help but gaze at her back— at the movement and gentle sway of her black hair, left and right, as she walked; at the hem of her skirt, quietly tinged in the soft glow of the sun; and at the quiet, little sway of her hips to every step. Somehow, here, painted against the light, against the unknown— she felt moving, as if just looking at her were enough to sway his heart… It was, in a way, like watching a strip of film move through a projector, seeing each still frame move into the light; he didn’t know what the film looked like and he wouldn’t know unless he looked up to the screen, and yet he kept looking on at the moving pictures speeding through, frame after frame, as if he were bound in its spell and mystery, in its movement. And, somehow, he liked it that way… It was like watching the world move round… Still, he didn’t know who this girl was— her name, her person, her family: nothing, he still didn’t know a thing. And yet, even so, he was looking at her— looking as if, just by observing her alone, he would soon, somehow, piece together the whole of who she was… But just then, in a blink— she turned a faint, scarlet red… And disappeared into the light… And before he knew it— — Hh-?? He was back in that class; everything empty, everything quiet… And somehow, he felt as if he had lost a part of himself somewhere in a distant world he didn’t know nor could reach… What happened…? Had it all been just a dream…? Eyes blank, unfocused— he seemed to be about to pass out, as his skin, quickly, turned pale… But just then, he hears that voice once more… “ What is the color of your soul…? ” His vision blurred and faded— everything turning blue; along with his pupils… A bright, azure blue… But at that very moment— everything turned black… as a distant sound pierced his mind… Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing——!!!! “ Hh—?!? ” Waking up, Morita found himself in bed, cold sweat all over his forehead, as he hid his face in his palm and shook his head…