A world where everything from nature had collapsed. No one remembers, realizes nature. Mother nature was forgotten entirely. ----- Year, 2964, the era of Science and Universe. Universal Era. Also known as, the age of calamity. There was a young man named, Sora. He had earned a scholarship in his early teens. Now, he is almost 16. However, our young dude is a perfect, charming, and stable person. He is not the person who dies from panic and loses hope because of loneliness. The world was divided into 3 parts; Zess, the only place that belonged to nobles. Durra, the only place ruled by nobles. Although it had its own nobles, they weren't as highly ranked as the others. The last one, Reginia. The most destructive, polluted, and tragic part of Earth. In Reginia, people suffered from climate-polluted diseases and loss of water and food supplies. Many elders died from food poisoning due to a lack of fresh food, so they kept surviving by feeding on expired foods. But they never had hoped for recovery or justice for the world. They knew that it would just stay like that and would never change. And so, the death rates increased with many horrible diseases. Soon, their crops died because of dry land, and rivers of freshwater also dried by the climate pollution. Neither could they eat good, nor could they even drink water now. Were they really fated to die this way? That was the horrible, yet pitiful, tragic apocalypse of Reginia. The climate apocalypse that had occurred in 2950 and still ongoing... Sora saw the endangered humans begging for food. Some of the guys even ate those migrating birds. Yet the emerging hunger from the dead bodies continued. "Ugh," seemed to be disgusted by the pollution and malevolent in the air, Sora sighed in disgust. What could he do, really? Nothing. Just stand aside and watch how those monsters and mad scientists come from Zess to take away bundles of samples from here. And for those Durra bastards, hunters from there would come to just test their rifles on Reginia's death troops. Things went on like that. And not from yesterday or that day, from a couple of years. Now Sora was a loner. His parents were killed in a war between Zess, Durra, and Reginia, where Reginia and its people were treated as the only rabbit in a den of mighty wolves. He thought, "Soon, I'll crush them with my own hands and the world might go back again." but to his dismay, after looking the everyday life, that was... a bit impossible. As for Sora, he wasn't the type of others; fall in love, marry and just wait for your death by a Zess or Durra noble. The highest-ranked wolves were, of course, Zess, so nobody even dared to step there. Sora originally had the goal of crushing them under his feet. The air was already too stiff, dirty and he felt like collapsing suddenly. The air wasn't like today, all white, fresh, and the blue dazzling sky, it was much more horrible than today's pollution. Yellow sky, filled with, carbon air, no oxygen signs in sight, tall towers with puffy smokes. It was as if living inside a yellow world. Sora frowned upon seeing the blended yellow sky. As he was pondering, a young guy came over to him. "What is so beautiful in that tainted sky?" His hairs flew along with the warm, fuzzy air, yet, filled with nitrogen oxide hints. Sora smiled with a slight smirk. "Yeah, right." and closed his eyes by rubbing them lightly, slowly with his wrists. The guy on the other side raised an eyebrow. Sora turned to him. "Who are you?" "Neighbours don't remember neighbors?" Sora frowned and sighed with a quick smile. "Oh, yeah. Murano." Murano nodded. "I was kind of thinking, when will this place change?" Murano slid his face to the dark sky, filled with nitrogen and carbon, emitting from the towers. "I guess.... never. Or at least never, until we try to do anything." Sora glanced at him in question. "What do you mean?" Murano smiled. "Want to go with me on a journey to fix this irrational world? Of course, it won't be instant." Sora returened a sad expression. Murano did not expect any answer from him. "Alright, figure it out till tomorrow. I'll be leaving tomorrow. See ya~" as he waved back the lone rabbit. The next day, Sora unexpectedly packed his belongings and walked to the hillside. The place where he met Murano. He had heard of him before; Murano was an experienced theatre boy. He had been on many journeys and most of them were extremely dangerous, but he had trained well and had extraordinary skills too. Murano noticed him standing. "Oh?" He smiled raising an eyebrow. "So you came?" "What else could I do? I just... couldn't keep up their savagery anymore. I want to help my people and want to be at least, be useful to them. That's why I decided to go with you on your journey." Murano was left surprised, but he didn't show on the face. "Alright, but first fix that your scumbag, ferret face. You have to let go of your soft side; stop that caring attitude of yours. It really disgusts me...!" He frowned with annoyance. Sora frowned too. "What does that concern to you? Am I not helping enough?" His face turned back to normal. Laid out a sigh and said, "You won't fix your caring side and end up in a black hole where even I won't be able to drag you back, alright. But don't expect kindness from me." 'How heartless can he be anymore?' thought sora. They both took their bags; Sora had a big one, while Murano just took his guns and a small bullet-proof sidebag and hung it on his waist. "What's that?" asked Sora in interest. "This is a bullet-proof bag with bullets and a bullet-proof jacket," he smirked with closed eyes. Sora twitched. "I see...." They set off afterwords. After the struggling and dangerous situations the two faced in their journey, their bonds deepened and they got too close to each other. Sora became more reliable on Murano, due to his non-stop flirting and pampering to Sora. The last night. After it, they would have been reached to Zess X Durra Human Resources And Nobility Court, aka. HRAN. They were currently sitting under the night sky filled with beautiful shining stars and the dark, black night. That was the only time of the world that never lost its beauty. "Hey, how come you got so attracted to me?" asked Murano, out of curiosity. "Don't know. Might be your flirting and bad habits." "Oh? Damn you..." he giggled and they both snuggled each other under one blanket and one night sky. That was pretty and comfortable. The awaited day. The next following day, both of them got ready and were walking on the empty streets of ZXDHRN. "Is it always this empty or are they really scheming something?" asked Sora. "No, I don't think so." Sora saddened and continued to walk alongside Murano. They reached the door to the court. Inside it would be all the ministers of Zess and Durra. Since Reginia was kicked out from the nobility, they also removed it from the court. As well as killed the minister. Instead of being kind and noble-like, Murano kicked opened the giant door to the court. Suddenly, the camouflaged robots instantly took out their guns and started aiming at Murano and Sora. One of the robots straight shot at Murano which gave him a slight cut on his right arm. He fished out his gun simultaneously and shot at them, however, they were made from heavy metals and were bullet-proof. "Tsk, dammit!!" He threw a heavy machinegun at Sora and shouted at him to aim at the chasers. Sora nodded and with a big bang! both robots got laid down. Murano smiled and was sweating heavily. It seemed he got a fever, however, he still had the urge to complete this task or else his beloved would be disdained and besides, the world will never be able to change. Murano slowly got on his feet with Sora's help and they started walking again. He mumbled in Sora's ear, "Dude... hey!" "What?! can't you shut up! You're hurt so badly! It wasn't just a slight cut, you liar. Look at it, your whole upper arm is slaughtered!" "Oh well, thanks for caring for me, but we got to finish this or...!" his leg tripped and he was going to trip fall, however, Sora caught him. He put his whole strength and picked up his seme-princess and continued walking. "Oii!... Hey, Wh-?!" Murano turned lightly red with fluster. What was he doing? Wasn't that supposed to be the opposite? "Quiet. We're here," said Sora. Murano tilted up and saw they were inside the court already. "Hah, didn't know my own inferior companion would turn out to be my own superior. Great." Pretty ironic. Sora kept walking until he saw a huge room. The door was closed with a few bodyguards outside, guarding with their laser rifles. "May I ask who is in?" "Before that, may we ask who are you ?" They seemed to be straightforward. Sora lost half of his confidence. "Er, I'm Sora and this guy in my arms is, Murano. We are from-" Murano cut him off there. He knew Sora would spit something private. "We are the poor residents of Reginia," as he said that, botth bodyguards lifted their guns and aimed at them. "Haha. I know, but we are helpless. We couldn't think of anything else." Finishing his weird, vague sentence, he got parted from Sora's carry and stood on his feet, putting his arm around Sora. He smirked and whispered into Sora's ear making him blush. "Wha-?" After that, he mysteriously stepped back and left something in Sora's grip by behind. ' be careful,' as he stood far away that he could be seen tiny. What was the plan? Sora was hesitant. He shrugged his shoulders and strengthened up. "if he can do it, then me as well!" he mumbled it and at once, threw a small grenade as he instantly ran off to Murano, fortuitously falling in Murano's arms. "Eh?... Did I do it?!" Murano smiled and said, "Yeah, you really kept up to me." he smirked as he rubbed his hairs. He glanced and thought, ' after this, they should be done for, right?' Sora looked back after snuggling him tightly. Expectedly, both bodyguards were gone. They walked up there. They saw no one. Sora nudged Murano. "Did they run away? after all, they were robots." "No, they can't. There's zero probability, I calculated." as Murano looked down, he saw tiny pieces of rags and metal. Considering it, that trash is definitely the dead robot's sign. "Okay, let's head in." he grabbed Sora's hand and went inside the huge room. It was a conference room for courteous meetings. Once they headed in, only then did they saw everyone panicking. "Why are you panicking?!" Yelled Murano. "Uh,uh,uh,uh!!!!" They all shivered. Of course, no matter how much bravery or power they showed, they were still cowards and had no self-respect. Murano fished out his machinegun and this time, he had punched a guard and stole his laser machinegun. He shot the laser machinegun and sliced off the furniture that was kept. "Surrender yourselves, lowly beings!" Murano aimed at them. "Wait, wait! We-we will!! just listen to us first!" Murano nodded. All 4 ministers sat down at the conference table and started speaking one by one. "We... tried our best to save Reginia, but some of the nobles in Zess and Durra got together and rejected! We couldn't go against their decision! They are our people." Murano frowned. "You are such cowards! You don't even get the slightest respect from your people and still be their slaves? Your people, those Zess and Durra nobles are so ruthless, you can't even control them! What type of creature are you? Treating us like we're garbage!" One of the ministers shivered and spoke, "Wait! This! This minister decided to wipe out Reginia!" Another one spoke, "No, this! This minister decided to computer-control Reginia!" They all had a cat and dog-like relationships. Murano frowned and said, "You... all can't even understand each other, how could you even think about forming an alliance?" He softly grabbed his Lazer machinegun and aimed at them. "Listen up! Whatever your plan is, I won't leave you alive. If I do so, surely another disaster will occur!" He shot mercilessly, and their bodies got sliced up in no seconds. Sora was terrified. He covered his eyes in terror and nervousness. He couldn't handle all that bloodshed and sliced bodies. "Murano, that's enough!" she shouted without seeing. Murano flipped back his gun at the back and turned. When he counted all the bodies, one was missing. He knew this would happen, as the probability was 70% He figured it out; one of the ministers ran away when he was ripping all of them, and already had made a secret alliance with Durra's minister and left the other ministers. Now that was quite cunning. "Tch. Let's head to Durra, we will have to shed more blood there, are you okay?" Sora nervously nodded. They left the court with fusing a grenade outside. Murano had attached a timer with the grenade and turned it on. The whole time they were discussing and killing, the timer was ongoing. When Sora heard this, he was obviously freaked out. "eh," They successfully reached Durra's Court. That wasn't as big as Zess. Before going in, Murano handed a mini laser gun to Sora. "For your protection. I cannot protect you everywhere." Sora smiled sadly and nodded. When they got inside the Durra court, Murano did try to place a time grenade outside in a bush, however, one of the guards saw him do that and so, he couldn't. "What were you doing? If I hadn't shot him, he would have killed you!" "Eheh, sorry. That's why I gave it to you." Sora and Murano then went inside the court. They saw only a few people were working and then headed straight to the conference room. Murano kicked the door and shouted with his laser machinegun. "Listen jerks! Surrender and give peace to Reginia! Stop your ruthless things!" Only two ministers. One of them was shocked. But he was at ease already. He thought, if Murano and his companion would find him, he should have finished the plan beforehand. He smirked. "Haha...! you, you won't get extra merits! If you kill me!" Murano tched and shot with his laser machinegun. He turned to the other one. "Ah!!" Murano, "So you're also a coward, huh?!" The minister panicking, called out to his guard, but by the time he had arrived, Murano had sliced his body apart. He killed everyone in the court and in the end what they got were, a  card key and a few documents. He tossed them to Sora. "Read and figure out what they are." Sora nodded. After that, they headed towards the grand tower. The grand tower was where the father was located. The father was a computer board that ruled over the future humans; a man-made god. But the same man-made god had created a hell for them. Now if the two destroy it, everything will go back to its normal manner. All humans can live without someone's ruling and with freedom. However, it wasn't so easy. They killed everyone with their guns, thankfully they had more than enough bullets and batteries. After coming inside the grand tower's Father's room by the card key, it was filled with billions of computers working auto-piloted. They just had to blast the father, the end. Murano charged his all guns to ready them. He even told Sora to aim at the father's brain. They both will shoot father at the same time and finish it. One, two, three...! Bang! Clash! The father's computer board clashed and the count down to atomic explosion started. Murano hurriedly took Sora and both ran out of the tower. When they came out of the borderline of Zess, Durra, and Reginia, the wall that divided them, fell down and everything was destroyed. All the computers were blasted and every human, at that time, saw that scene. "Did we do it... right?" asked Sora. Murano nodded. The fall of the future. The fall of the world that lived on its advancement and died from it. After some years, Sora was now living with Murano and he had written a full report on what happened in the year, 2964. He was surprised from reading it even though he witnessed it all. Over 60,000 people died from calamity at that age. "We are the heroes of that dystopia fall, alright." he left out a sigh of relief. Murano patted on his shoulder. "En, and earned a new age." Not only did they become heroes, but their bond also deepened so strongly that almost their souls were seemed to be connected. The age of calamity, the era of Science & Universe ended, therefore, begin with a new age.


The day started like any other. I woke to the sound of Steve Miller’s "The Joker," the opening drumbeat sending a jolt through my spine. I jumped out of bed, ready to tackle the day. I’m a writer, a damn good one, and this damn good writer has deadlines. After going through the usual routine of bathroom, breakfast, teeth and shower, I sat down to return to the chapter I’d left unfinished. It gnawed at me all night and I was eager to dive back in. Writing was my passion, my religion. It wasn’t easy and it sure as hell didn’t pay well but this novel is the one that would be different. This one would make me a legend. I didn’t care about the money. I wanted the glory. I wanted the name Mark Radcliffe to mean something. I wanted to see my name next to the great American writers. Edgar Allan Poe, Ernest Hemingway, Mark Radcliffe. Now that had a nice ring to it. “Radcliffe!” A voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked, disoriented. “Are you with us?” The man at the head of the long conference table was staring at me, as were a dozen others around the room. Slowly, it started to come back to me. We were in a meeting about the kidnapping that broke last night. The Bedfords, the wealthiest family in town, found their three-year-old son taken from his bedroom. Beat cops got there first, then me and my partner. Shelly. Detective Shelly Johnson. We’d worked together for three years and I’d trained her myself. This morning we had a theory that someone inside the family took the Bedford kid. “Mark? You okay?” Shelly asked, but her voice was softer now. It was different. I blinked again. I wasn’t in the conference room anymore. I was at a kitchen table facing a blonde woman with striking blue eyes. She was staring at me, her face clouded with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle. Confusion hit me like a wave. One second, I was in a meeting about a kidnapping, and the next, I was… here? At a kitchen table, with a woman I didn’t recognize. “Hi, Daddy!” I turned to see a small child in a highchair. He looked back at me, wide-eyed. The recognition was instant, primal, but it didn’t make sense. “Mark, are you sure you’re okay?” the blonde asked again, her voice tinged with worry. “I… I think so,” I said, though I was far from certain. “Maybe I should lie down.” I stood up, heading toward the hallway. The first door I found, I opened quickly and stepped inside. The bathroom. Good enough. A few splashes of cold water might clear my head. But before I could even reach the sink, everything shifted. This time, I could feel it happening. I seem to be more aware of the change. The bathroom began to disintegrate, the walls crumbling into white nothingness. Even the sink disappeared right before my eyes. In a matter of seconds, everything was gone. I stood in a void, completely white, the kind of blankness that made time feel irrelevant. For a moment, it was peaceful. No sound, no pressure, no confusion. Just silence. But that didn’t last long. The tapping started. It was loud and incessant. It was possibly one of the most annoying sounds I had ever heard. Black ink blots began to spread across the white void, transforming my surroundings. The tapping grew louder, morphing the scene around me, until I was standing in a living room. It looked old, the kind of place that hadn’t changed since the ‘70s. There was a floor model television, wooden with beige mesh sides and big silver dials. A record player sat on top, spinning a record. Alfred Hitchcock’s Music to Be Murdered By filled the room, the scratch of the needle looping, Hitchcock’s voice slowly creeping in. “Do you like it?” The voice wasn’t from the record. I turned to see the blonde woman approaching. She looked different. Her once concerned face now twisted into something darker, more sinister. In one hand, she held a hatchet. In the other, a small black revolver. “Do you like it?” she asked again, her tone playful. “Do I like what?” I asked. I could feel the dread building in my chest. “What I’ve done for you.” she said softly, taking another step forward. “I did it all for you, baby.” My heart pounded. The music from the record player seemed to swell, growing louder as her fingers tightened around the revolver. She lifted it, slowly, aiming it at her own head. “You don’t have to do this.” I said, backing away. “Put the gun down.” Her eyes never left mine. “It’s for you.” Before I could respond she pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was deafening. At the same time, the world around me began to blur again saving me from witnessing the devastation of the woman committing suicide. The living room, the woman, the hatchet, they all melted away, faster this time. I braced for another shift. Suddenly, I was back in the conference room. “Mark!” Shelly’s voice cut through the fog. “Are you with us or not? We’re talking about the boy. This is important.” I blinked, the weight of my badge grounding me in this moment, this reality. But something wasn’t right. In the corner of the room was the record player, spinning the same Hitchcock track, as if it had been there all along. “Mark?” Shelly repeated, her eyes narrowing. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?” I stared at her and again felt the dread in my chest. “Shelly, the boy… he’s, my son.” Shelly frowned. “What are you talking about? The Bedford kid isn’t your—”. The lights flickered and the hum of the record player grew louder. In a blink, the conference room vanished again, and I was standing in the Bedford family home. The curtains fluttered from the broken window. The child’s bed was empty. And in the corner of the room stood the blonde woman, the revolver still in her hand. “I told you, Mark.” she said softly. “I did it all for you.” The revolver in the blonde’s hand gleamed under the dim light, her fingers tightening around the trigger as her gaze remained fixed on me. The room seemed to breathe, the shadows flickering like living things. The air felt thick, heavy, as if reality itself was straining to hold together. “I told you, Mark.” she said softly, her voice steady, almost tender. “I did it all for you.” I took a step back, my heart racing, but no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find a way out. The walls seemed to stretch and curve around me, a white-noise hum vibrating in the air. I couldn’t tell if the gun was pointed at her or at me anymore. Her eyes, though, the same blue eyes that once looked at me with concern were now cold, distant. She wasn’t the woman I thought I knew. Or maybe she never was. Suddenly, the lights flickered. Everything blurred at the edges, like ink running off a page. I blinked, and the world around me shifted. The room fell away, and I was back in my bed. Steve Miller’s The Joker blared through the speakers, the drumbeat pounding like an alarm, rattling me awake. I sat up, gasping, drenched in sweat. My heart hammered in my chest. My eyes darted around the room. Everything looked familiar. My room. My life. Just a dream. I tried to calm my breathing, but something felt wrong. Déjà vu washed over me in thick waves. The beat of the song seemed too loud, too sharp. My hands trembled as I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the unease. But there was a knock at the door. I froze. Slowly, I turned toward the sound. I knew what came next. It’s what always came next. The knock came again, louder this time. My heart sank. I stood and moved toward the door, feeling the weight of dread crawling up my spine. I opened the door, and there she was. The blonde woman. Those same piercing blue eyes. "Radcliffe," she said, her voice carrying the same strange mix of affection and detachment. "You ready?" “I… I thought…” My voice cracked as the words tumbled out, but my brain couldn’t form a coherent thought. Everything felt like it was slipping. She smiled softly, almost sympathetically, and handed me the badge that I didn’t realize I was missing. “We have to get to the Bedford case. The kid’s still missing.” The weight of the badge in my hand felt too real to be a dream. But I knew that somewhere, deep down, I had experienced this before. The scene in the conference room. The missing child. Shelly asking if I was okay. The sinking feeling I couldn’t shake. It all circled back. I blinked again, and I was sitting in the conference room. Shelly was across from me, frowning, concern etched into her features. The room felt cold, clinical, the tension palpable. “Mark, you with us?” Her voice was firm this time, but that same edge of worry lingered. I didn’t answer. My mouth was dry. My thoughts spun in a thousand directions at once. The record player was still in the corner of the room. Spinning. Alfred Hitchcock’s Music to Be Murdered By played quietly, its eerie melodies weaving into the background. My mind tried to grasp for something solid, something that could make sense. But the harder I tried, the more it slipped away. “Mark?” Shelly’s voice again, snapping me out of my fog. “What’s going on?” I stared at her, then at the people around the table. They were all looking at me, but their faces seemed to blur, warping into one another. My breath quickened. “I think I need to step outside.” Before anyone could respond, I bolted from the room, my hands shaking as I reached for the door. But the hallway wasn’t there. It was the kitchen again. It was the same kitchen with the blonde woman. The same highchair. The same child with the wide eyes staring back at me. "Daddy!" The boy chirped happily, his voice light and innocent. “Mark? Are you okay?” the blonde asked, her voice soft, the same concern clouding her face. My pulse raced. My throat tightened. No. Not again. I turned and stumbled back down the hall, desperate to escape the suffocating loop. I grabbed a door handle and flung it open, but instead of a room, I found myself standing in the Bedford’s home again. The curtains swayed, the child’s bed was empty. The broken window gaped like an open wound. In the corner, the blonde woman stood. The revolver glinted in her hand. Her eyes, the same, dead, blue eyes pierced through me. “You can't escape it, Mark.” She whispered, stepping forward. “You never could.” The walls began to close in. The air thickened, and the buzzing grew louder, vibrating in my bones. The scenes shifted faster now. Quick flashes of the conference room, the kitchen, the empty bed, the spinning record, Hitchcock’s voice looping and looping and… The day started like any other. I woke to the sound of Steve Miller’s The Joker. The drumbeat sent a jolt through my spine. I shot up in bed, my heart pounding. And I knew, without even getting up, that the knock on the door was coming. This was how it always began.


What had happened to her master? This question was the obsession of Thalia’s mind as she watched the sunset fall beneath the horizon. Her name was Verna, and she had come to Thalia at a time when she had lost faith with the world around her. Thalia had grown up in Manhattan and had a nervous habit of letting her thoughts wander from one social issue to the next. Her mother, who saw only what she wanted to see, would always chastise Thalia for the failings she had in school as a result of this. At all of these chastisings would be a further disconnect between Thalia and her mother, and Thalia’s seeing her mother as more of a shadow than a person. She believed her mother had once had the same thoughts as herself, but now after working a nine to five job for two decades, those thoughts no longer existed; and Thalia believed after she worked a nine to five job for two decades, her’s wouldn’t either. Verna came to her then. She had roses growing from her hair and sunlight shining from within her complexion. She was the goddess of spring, and with her help -- being similar to Thalia in many ways -- Thalia had the chance to be happy as a ward beneath Verna’s service. When they weren’t fulfilling their duties, which only had to be done throughout one quarter of the year, they busied themselves as sisters to all sorts of antics and hijinks. They gossiped, they made hideouts, they kept diaries, they swapped dreams and ambitions and all sorts of things. They even told each other secrets. which was Thalia’s favorite part. Oftentimes Verna and Thalia would visit the other seasons and their wards to go to human diners or have picnics with each other, often discussing the world and how its goings-ons. On one of these picnics Thalia was introduced to Pagonio, who had become the ward of Psychra the goddess of winter and death. She introduced herself to him despite the longsword at his hip and layers of armor adorning him and he responded with a smile and nod. If it weren’t for his appearance, she would have never guessed him to be a warrior. After this picnic as Verna and Thalia headed back to their home, Thalia’s eyes met Verna’s. It was the winter season and Thalia had been Verna’s ward for some time, so seeing a furrowed brow when spring was just upon them concerned the young girl. Verna felt herself being analyzed and masked her face with the youthful expressions Thalia knew her for. “Friends stick together no matter what, okay.” Thalia nodded her head in compliance but felt long forgotten feelings well up inside her. As the sun knelt beneath the horizon and the question of her master’s whereabouts echoed within her mind, Thalia felt the cold of winter assault her from outside the open window. She looked upon the fields and a blizzard of hail and snow appeared from nowhere and consumed the blossoming flowers of spring. Trudging through the tempest was the shadow of the warrior she had met mere weeks before. From her master’s keep she could see his face holding steadfast against the winds and hail buffeting his body, as if he felt nothing. As she opened the door to allow him and the screams of freezing wind inside, he spoke. “Your master, what secrets did she share with you?” This confused Thalia. Of all the things he could have said regarding the events transpiring, what he chose made the least sense to her. What did a goddess of spring have to do with a blizzard? Besides, Verna was her friend and their secrets were theirs to share with each other and nobody else. Her silence seemed to anger Pagonio. “Winter has gone mad, and no one is around to control it! Where has Verna taken my master?” His face contorted with fury as he spoke. What seemed so obvious to him was lost on Thalia, evident by the worry on her face. He seemed to notice this as he spoke softer. “I don’t understand it either, but it must be. Her duty is to counterbalance winter and summer as well as manage spring, but she is nowhere to be found now. Please help me.” As thoughts to the variety of futures that might occur consumed her mind, Thalia gritted her teeth as a tear streamed down her face. “Promise me you won’t hurt her and I’ll do what you want.” The young man’s pale face softened as his eyes tired with sadness. “Aye. I can do that.” At first, she had no idea where her master might be, but upon being told she might have a prisoner with her, there was only one place to look. As the two hiked through the ocean of snow and hail, reaching a cave they had to dig an opening into, they at last found their bounty within the dungeon. At the sight waiting for them, Pagonio abandoned any promises he made and rushed towards Verna with his sword drawn. Deafened to Thalia’s screams of protests, he lopped off her head and put an end to her rebellion. As the blizzard began to clear up outside, Thalia looked upon the sight of her master. Tears had streamed down her face while she was looking upon a television screen. Upon it flashed images of factories spewing smoke and forests being leveled. While tears were present, her face had hardened. The sunlight that had once poured from her complexion was gone. The roses that grew from her hair had now lost their petals in place of more thorns. In her hand was a dagger made from tempered bark and dripping a golden fluid. From within the cell beside her with a slice across her throat was the goddess of winter. As she watched the television, a smile had grown on her face as blizzards blanketed what appeared on screen. In her heart of hearts, Thalia knew she would not have allowed life to perish. However a culling of sorts had become necessary in her eyes. Spring is the season of rebirth after all, which must be preceded by death.


“ Alla människor är på låtsas. De är gjorda av metall. Men jag tycker om dig. Och det är inte på låtsas, liksom.

All the people are fake. They’re made out of metal. But I like you, and that is not . . . it’s not fake.” - Young Royals , Episode 4 All the people are fake. When one laments that “everyone’s fake”, or proclaims they are "done with fake friends”, “fake” has a particular meaning that is commonly understood. Insincere, disingenuous. A cheap, flimsy facade. Maybe the person in question is two-faced, a wearer of masks, of thinly veiled disguises. Maybe they are a snake, venomous and shifty, slipping away underfoot.

I am not the prince of Sweden, crushed by the expectations of being royalty. But I do put myself on a pedestal, hold myself to an unreachable standard. I am not concerned with legacies, but I am concerned with impacts, with how I come across. Though there are different reasons for our isolation, I am host to a similar anxiety, and a similar yearning, to know people in a way I seem incapable of.

The fakeness I am familiar with is not the kind that follows me like an uninvited guest, it’s the kind I choose to follow in spite of myself. I know it will lead me nowhere, but I can’t help revisiting it. I retrace good moments, successful interactions, glimmers of hope. I return to those scenes and scour them for answers, only for that too to fall apart. I don’t find people to be two-faced, I find them to lack faces altogether, at least ones I can recognize and relate to. I can never meet anyone’s eyes, and when I do, they look right through me.

One night, a drug-induced Wilhelm flees his elitist "friends", who are only concerned with titles and wealth. He returns to the football field where he and the boy he loves once watched a friend's match together. He crashes into the chain link fence, pressing his face into the metal wires. He climbs the goalposts. He turns his face upward to meet the downpour, raindrops illuminated by the floodlights like minuscule stars. “You think you know me?” he asks the metal free-kick mannequins. “You don’t!” He cradles pieces of plastic turf in his hands, and licks them up. He calls that number he has deleted but knows by heart, and says in a whisper, “I really like you.” To the viewer, it is disgusting to consume turf in this way. To put something you know is fake into your body. To crave satisfaction from something that will do nothing for you.

Sometimes fakeness is not the snake in the grass. It’s the grass itself, everywhere, constantly underfoot. It’s the soil I sink my hands into, only to find that nothing I could plant would take root and I would look like an idiot for trying. But still I hunger. I’ve gotten drunk on my surroundings before. I’ve caught my own reflection and wished, if only someone could see me like this right now. Even if it was just through a screen. They’re made out of metal. Fake friends are made of plastic, mass-produced in the economy of petty drama. You collect them and discard them, lamenting their poor quality. But you have to have had them first. I am familiar with a different kind of fakeness. It runs deep and stays strong. It stays with me and only me, persistent, so ever-present that it’s practically a part of me. Less a disease plaguing the masses and more an injury affecting my own body. A metal mesh, a mess of chain mail I experience the world through, so now it is the world too that is fake, at least my world, a world of people I might be able to connect with if not for this chain-link fence built around my very nature. All I want to say is “WELCOME”, but “KEEP OUT” is all my mouth seems to know. There are various cages imposed on Wilhelm. Reputation. Legacy. Wealth. Heteronormativity. The fakeness becomes more than a pliable inconvenience, becomes literally galvanized into something strong and cold and hard. The people around him become like armored guards to enforce it, like robots carrying out a preordained automation.

Metal, unlike plastic, is rigidly resilient, unfeeling, and cold. It is not as easily broken, nor melted. Even those who are faceless and narrow, like the metal free-kick mannequins Wilhelm attacks in the football field, have a tendency to bounce back up. But I like you. In the English dub, Wilhelm’s voice hushes, acquiring the quiet urgency of a secret. Those last three words are not quite the three words typically romanticized, but each of them is rich with emphasis. I . Admission, vulnerability, a window inside. A declaration, and a reclamation. An opening up to the elements.

Like . A word that is often fluff, just feathery filler, but in this case it is heavy with meaning. A verb as a vessel of so much emotion. Some mysterious combination of conscious decision and natural phenomenon.

You. Extension. The “there” in “put yourself out there”. A bridge to a shore I’ve only ever gazed upon from a very far distance. Edvin Ryding’s delivery is a stream of alcohol pouring slowly down my throat. It intoxicates me with desire. Desire for something I’m afraid to admit.

And that is not fake. I want a love story like this.

I guess I’m not afraid to admit it here, with the protective semi-anonymity. But I would rather never speak again than admit it to someone I know in real life. It’s like wanting it only reveals how incapable I am of attaining it. I want to make the discovery that I am in love, not the decision. Sometimes it feels like I am bursting, practically overflowing with feelings to give. I just don’t have the right person. Crushes, sure. Not like there’s anything substantial. It feels like a process of elimination. My age. Physical attraction. No personality red flags. And then it is that simple. A new face to picture when I stare out the car window. A new name to grant that little rush. A new character to populate my dreamscape. Of course, it means I am no longer capable of being caught by surprise. It is impossible to have that rom-com moment where it was the kind, funny, quirky boy who was there all along, and you see him in a new way. I see everyone.

But it always starts to become a construction. I get bored, I get creative. Succumb to fantasies. That is why it’s still fake, and why this hurts so acutely, because it forces me to admit that it was never remotely real.

It’s not unrequited love. It’s unfulfilled love. Wilhelm was captivated the moment he first heard the boy he loves sing. It was infatuation-at-first sight, which I am an expert in.

But then the stars aligned. It grew into something more, luckily, or maybe not luckily, given the turn of events, or maybe it’s just a TV show. The only thing that excites me more than someone liking me is confessing to someone else that I like them. I would never do it. I would never make that call, because I have always been safe, always had something to lose. Beyond all the steel traps of anxiety, my mind is always spinning, and one bad interaction does a lot more damage than it should, like a wrench in delicate machinery. I am equipped with a million failsafes. But sometimes I hear that life is too short and consider what might happen if I did ever make the first move. I used to envision it as a binary. Yes or no. Rejection or the slim, slim chance of reciprocity. But what if they were to simply ask, Why? I would be at a loss. I couldn’t possibly answer that. I couldn’t honestly say, that is not fake. When something "has promise", it’s not a guarantee. It is merely a marker of potential, which is odd, because promises are usually binding. “I love you” is considered binding nowadays. But we say it all the time, in a variety of different ways. It's all about context. Sometimes I like you can mean so much more. And that is not fake gives it promise.


Another group exercise to help build moral like they actually care about us and the hours as put in, good grief . I hope they’re going to at least feed us this time I mean mandatory overtime and request for the need or urgency would be much more fueled  off free lunch . As I grabbed my chair to take to the meeting room , I noticed a new face in the break room. Now typically fishing from the company dock has been a moral no for me , ok I did was at 18 but I was young and well hot and ready so to speak . But this woman was different someone I’ve never would’ve thought would catch my attention in such a manner . As she looked up at me , she did a double take not only did it make me embarrass myself and turn obviously red I managed to utter out what I was hoping a hello , was in fact the coffee in my mouth that I had foolishly taken a sip of . “Here we go again”  I whispered as I reminded myself how  I always tend to do something so dumb because of nerves . Needles to say I walked away in shame and upset because I had just bought this shirt . I’m fair on the eyes some would say average build has some sense of care to self present ability and by the chance the luck of knowing how to match and coordinate . My thought once she took that second glance like well I guess this color (shirt) paid off after all , but who was this woman where did she come from I’ve been here a solid 5 productive years , as far as to know the levels of management and the staff coming in so to speak .  We weren’t a big company but financially at the time beneficial .  As the meeting gathered an all personnel required to be in attendance finally sat in their leather chairs in their sloppy suits and boasted on how activities for us going forward were on our way and even got to go over process management skills and the benefits of production like break downs etc…. Very beneficial information but I’m not here to do this I’m a student with no money who unfortunately is not rich or expecting to inherit large money in the future . I have to pay for my college right now where is the lady from earlier and why is she here was all I cared about as I mentally took notes k the message trying to be given . Finally! time for introductions , end of every group meeting we go over birthdays etc one being new hires . I sat up out of my chair finally without the slouch and tapped my co worker sitting next to me . Kumar was my long time co worker /turned friend who started at the time with me so guess you can say a strong force was built there , and both dedicated to accomplishing goals set forth. Dynamic duo and at times the gruesome twosome when off the record . He looked up at me with his goofy smile and Un even goatee he had been trying to grow all year. I whispered that’s her that’s the woman I told you about , as his smile diminished and looks of disappointment sat in first let me be clear and say the act of sexual harassment and speaking of individuals in vulgar manners is not condoned here or trying to be oddly justified if it comes across as such. As a woman myself I am not for maltreatment especially because of my gender. Back to the meeting , Kumar I guess expected someone younger more in our age group and voiced how he thought he was gna see Ariana grande the way I described this mystery beautiful woman I ran into and made a fool of myself in . He assured me I was ok considering I’ve done worse . She was older clearly but something about her stuck me , as she introduced her self and made eye contact yet again quite a few times during the meeting mind you . Now I’m not foolish to think they were all meant for me but it happened a lot and the eyes , they don’t lie .  She was part of a wave that came from another company whom specialized in what we do as well along with a few others brought in by new boss . My new boss Kathy was an interesting character , upon meeting her a month prior she introduced herself but remained seated in her chair and didn’t even extend a hand shake . Now I’m not the upmost moral citizen but in such circumstances I feel that is necessary. Here we go again  Strike one , fast forward turns out her and this mystery woman we are going to call Red  for now are long time colleagues turned friendship as well . One not so good considering Kathy was also a lesbian who favored the more butch looking side like myself. I however don’t consider myself that nor any other label I’m more feminine than I appear some would say , still tbd. One lesbian in someone’s life is all you need sometimes we can tend to be alot just kidding . Here go again a new crush it’s been so long since I declared “hoe-atus” and chose to live in a weird sense of celibacy no contact nor want or desire to . My luck in the love train department tends to well not exist and I’m an expert at choosing those who are entirely wrong for me when doing so . Here we go again how is she different from the others cause you need to pick better as I told myself cleaning up after the meeting . I tend to like to stay behind process and gather the information received and this new gut punch that was consuming me all the sudden . As the next coup em of days went on she came into my area of the lab frequently mostly to understand our operation and mostly help manage and perfect our processes . A flirtation ship oddly enough built , now mind  you my  I didn’t appreciate what looked back at me in the mirror so constant wondering if she meant otherwise when she flirted was in fact that  or possibly just in my head. I’m not one to make the first move in rare cases I will but that’s why their rare. Friday morning as I rolled into work hungover and wondering why I thought it was a splendid idea to stay up dancing and drinking all night with a girl I forgot her name and lost the number she wrote down for me .  Here we go again another day another dollar I said as I walked in grabbed my coffee said hello to some colleagues and checked my email which I new was going to be a long day due to so many unread emails needing my attention. One sent that morning from Kathy congratulating the team and myself for hitting record quarters and goal accomplishments being at an all high . Special thanks was given to myself and colleague Kumar for our long hours invested and skills to get product out in good standing was bold and clear where the message was going as far as celebratory actions are to be in order “TONIGHT WE WILL BE GATHERING AT THE LOCAL BREWERY TO CELEBRATE QUARTER END, birthdays new hire etc” holy crap this is it this is my chance to step outside the office with red and relax a little , we both took our jobs serious at times and needed the stress relief. immediately scheduled my hair cut grabbed a new shirt and went to this event. It was a low key celebratory “group exercise “ newly given for recent accomplishments  designated for after hours out of office fun. Till this day I wonder why I was so eager to go, till this day I question why I felt red was such a mystery . Till this I ask myself why I didn’t walk away when red finally made her advance , here we go again…. What started as a innocent work flirtationship turned into a web of sex , lies , drugs life altering decision making ,to a sad ending of friendship possible love all to total deception. Red was hiding a lot that was about to come on to me and have me so entangled no reasonable voice in my life made sense ,when it came to the seduction the sex and the lies and to keep it all under radar was even too much the manipulative  Red . Here we go again , all from that group exercise


"Please, don't do it!" Sarah jumped from her chair, almost knocking down the table and chessboard. "Ha! I beat you!" Jake stood up and rearranged the chess pieces back to the starting position. "That’s because I was going easy on you!" "Fine! Then we play one more round, no going easy." Jake sat back down. "Nope, I have to do my essay. It's due today, and you know Mom would kill me if I turned it in late." Sarah opened the door and stepped out. "That does sound like our mom. But one more won’t hurt, right?" Jake begged. "No is no! I swear, sometimes I wonder why you aren’t dead due to pissing me off too much. Goodbye!" Sarah closed the door. "Ugh!" Jake lay down. Ding! "What was that? Oh, it's my phone." He picked up his phone and saw an email from the news site Tech Time. Dear @jakesmith, Thank you for purchasing the E-razor! To thank you for your support, we sent you a coupon that you can use for a free sticker on our news site. We hope we can continue working together. Thank you again. Sincerely,

The TTTT “I don’t remember buying the E-razor.” Jake rushed downstairs to check the mailbox. He opened the front door and saw a package on the porch. “I guess that’s it,” Jake said, ripping the box. Inside there was a gun-like shape that was black with blue stripes. He picked up the E-razor and put it on the kitchen counter. “SARAH! COME OVER HERE!” Jake screamed. Sarah slammed the door open. “What do you want, Jake?! I’m writing my essay!” “Did you buy an E-razor?” “An eraser? No, why would I?” Sarah walked down the stairs to the kitchen. “Not an eraser, an E- razor !” “E-razor?” Sarah looked at the item in question. “It seems more like a laser gun, and no, I didn’t buy it. Check the envelope on top.” She picked up the envelope and took out a white note card and a coupon. Sarah started reading the note. “So?” Jake snatched the notecard from Sarah. “Hey! I was still reading that!” “Too bad, you read way too slow. Let me read it out loud, okay? Ahem, ‘Dear Jake Smith, we have gifted you an E-razor for being a committed supporter of our news site and tech team. We won’t give you much detail since we want you to figure it out yourself. But remember, if you screw up too badly, there’s a way to reverse it. -The TTTT’

“Happy now?” “What’s the TTTT?” “It’s short for the Tech Time Tech Team.” Jake put the note on the marble counter next to the E-razor. “Okay, well, shouldn’t we test it out?” Sarah picked up the E-razor. “Here?” Jake motioned to the kitchen. “I know the name says razor , but I get the vibe that it’s not a razor. Mostly because it’s shaped like a gun.” I honestly don’t care. This house is trash anyways.” “Outside, because I like this house.” Jake opened the front door. “Then let’s go!” “Don’t you have an essay to write?” Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but this,” Sarah gestured to the E-razor, “is more important.” “Right. So, where should we test this baby out?” Jake pointed the gun at Sarah. “Pew, pew, pew!” “How about…the park? It’s just a few blocks away.” “I guess it would work.” Jake opened the door again, gesturing for Sarah to go out first. “Come on! I have to get back before dinner to write my essay!” Sarah ran off. “Wait up!” Jake yelled, trying to catch up to Sarah. Sarah slowed down to a walk. “So, any guesses as to what this E-razor might be?” “Why would I know?” Jake said, “I’m just as confused as you are!” “Okay, stop. I’m just going to test it out right here.” Sarah pointed the E-razor at a nearby tree. “Really? Why?” “I’m getting impatient, and I still need to write my essay. Ready?” “What can possibly go wrong?” Jake asked as he stepped back. Sarah lined up her aim and shot the tree. The tree instantly disappeared. “Whoa! What happened?” Jake took the E-razor and studied its appearance. The gun had TTTT etched in green on one side and E-razor etched in blue on the other. “I’m not sure, Jake. Maybe the E-razor erased the tree from the earth. Let’s test this thing on…” Sarah looked around and saw two people walking on the sidewalk across from them. “Those people, over there.” She pointed at the strangers. “No! They’re living people! We can’t test a weird gun-laser thing on them!” “Whatever. We don’t even know them, it won’t impact our lives in any way, and we’ll even help the world by having less population! It’s a win-win!” Sarah lined up her aim. “Don’t!” Jake leaped for the gun, but Sarah side-stepped, still aiming at the people. “Stop! Sarah!” “It’s fine!” Sarah rechecked her aim and shot. The people disappeared like the tree. “Cool! What do you think?” “I think it’s horrible. It’s so horrible I can’t describe how horrible it is!” Jake had a disgusted look on his face. “You’re right! It’s too small. We need to go big! If that was what happened, imagine the power we would have! We can control the world with this, Jake! I’ve got a plan, so listen up. When we go to school tomorrow, we’ll start giving out ridiculous orders, and if the people we ask to do stuff for us don’t do it, we erase them. Then students and teachers will start obeying us, and soon, we’ll get on the news and everyone will be terrified of us. Then we can rule the world!” Sarah squealed. “Isn’t that awesome! Jake? Jake?!”  Jake’s face was stunned with horror. How can his sister think of such an evil plan and plan on doing it? “You’re joking, right?” “Of course not! Think of the power we can have!” Sarah handed Jake the E-razor. “Come on, Jake. How about I make you a deal. I won’t shoot anyone you know. Strangers are strangers, they don’t care about you, you don’t care about them.” “Doesn’t mean you can just kill them with no regrets or guilt!” “You don’t even know them! It’s not like you’re killing Mom or Dad! And you know I can carry on by myself. I’m letting you in because you’re my brother. I can easily erase you, too. But I won’t, since we’re family. And family helps each other. So?” Jake took the E-razor. “No, I’m throwing this away. I don’t want you turning into some evil maniac.” “JAKE! This helps you, too, you know? Just follow my lead and everything will go perfectly .” “What if there’s obstacles in the way? Will they stop you?” Jake tried to poke holes in his sister’s plan. “Nothing will stop me, nothing . Unless I die, I won’t stop. I will be invincible!” Jake sighed, and tears started welling up in his eyes. “Y-you said it y-yours-self. Give m-me the g-gun.” “Why are you crying, and what do you want the gun for?” “Um… I-I want to t-take your plan into…c-consideration, before I commit.” Jake sniffed “Okay, fair enough. Glad to see you’re turning around.” Sarah handed the E-razor to Jake. “D-don’t mo-ove, Sarah or I might a-accidentally shoot y-you.” Jake’s voice wobbled, and tears started flowing down his face. “What’s wrong with you?” Sarah put her hands on her hips. “I-I’m going to h-hit that t-tree over there. A-and the n-note said i-it’s reversable, okay?” Jake was sobbing now. “Okay? So?” Sarah tapped her foot, “Any second now!” “T-three, two, one!” Jake spun around and pointed the E-razor at Sarah, tears streaming down like waterfalls. “I’m sorry, Sarah!” “JAKE! Think of what we can accomplish! I’m your sister! “Y-you said y-you c-couldn-n’t b-be s-stopped unl-less y-you d-died, a-and the n-note said it w-was r-reversable.” “Please! Don’t do it!” Sarah blocked her face with her hands. “I’m sorry! I’ll fix this!” Jake closed his red eyes as he pressed the trigger.


Do you remember, my love, the first time we saw each other? On the court of Edward VI, with a thousand candles mounted on the walls, casting flickering shadows across our jewels and finery and powdered hair, until we all looked like ghosts? Do you remember how the music floated over our heads like an angel’s serenade, how you took my hand and swept me out onto the floor before I had the chance to say yes? You spun me about until I was dizzy, and then you pressed your hand against my back to keep me steady, while my heart raced against your chest.

What do you suppose they thought when they saw us, perfect strangers clutching each other on the dance floor like lovers? It didn’t matter to us what they thought then, when we were young and beautiful and could dance all night without tiring under a hundred crystal chandeliers. You led me out onto the balcony, and do you remember what a beautiful night it was? The sky was filled with endless stars that seemed close enough to touch. I was looking at the stars, and when I turned you were looking at me, as though I was far more beautiful than the night sky.

I had never seen you before, and you told me that you were a French marquis who had just come to court, and all I could think as you spoke was that your accent sounded like a river on a spring morning, water gently cascading across smooth stones. Do you remember how we danced on the balcony that night together, the music drifting in from the hall and the stars painting us in silver? If I could have chosen one moment to last forever it would have been that one, when we were still innocent to what would come, to the shadows that were in our path. I would hold that moment in my heart so tightly that it could never end, and you would look at me as though I was made of starlight for a thousand eternities, while I would lose myself again and again in your eyes.

◇◇◇ Do you remember when you came to call on me at my father’s house, how you stood in the courtyard with the sun lighting your auburn hair like fire? I watched you from the window as you spoke with my father, and I could not tear my eyes away from your face, from your easy smile that did nothing to lessen my father’s disdain of your accent and foreign name. I would have gone with you then no matter what my father said, but he let me go with you because you were the first man to stand in that courtyard and ask for me.

Do you remember how you took me in your carriage to the countryside, and how we left it on the side of the road and took just your horses? We rode together through meadows filled with honeysuckle whose sweetness filled the air; through stretches of forest where the sunlight filtered in to create lovely mosaics on the leaves below. You told me stories about life in the French courts: beautiful ladies who wore jewels in their hair and seduced men until they told them their secrets, endless green fields of pale purple irises, a king who took and took and never gave.

I picture you there, you said to me, standing in that field of irises. You would look like la reine , with the flowers your subjects.

That sounds lovely, however this is my home, I had said to you, even though I knew in my heart that I would go anywhere with you. Do you remember how we stopped on the edge of a meadow, by a little brook with banks of ferns and dogwood? You helped me down from my horse, and we sat beneath a weeping willow whose soft white flowers lay on the ground about us.

Do you remember what you said to me then, as you brushed the hair away from my face? My lady, you said, you have the face of Helen, to sail a thousand ships to Troy, and I would kiss you now, if you would have me. What was I supposed to say to you, when you were looking at me with those brilliant hazel eyes, when your lips were almost brushing against mine? Was I supposed to know what would happen, was I supposed to see the future in your smile, read an omen in the wind? Should I have pushed you away from me then, climbed onto my horse, and rode away as fast as I could so you could never find me again? Would that have saved me, would it have changed everything? You kissed me under the weeping willow, or maybe it was I that kissed you, and perhaps it didn’t matter who it was at all. After a while you pulled away and looked at me while I tried to remember how to breathe. I feel like a fool, you said, for I believe that I have been waiting for you all my life when I do not even know you.

No, I am the fool, I said, because when I am with you I feel I would do anything to never have you leave. Then perhaps we are both fools, you said, taking my hand, and if we are I am regretful of all the years that I have spent a sane man.

You kissed me again, and we sat with the sunlight coming in through the branches of the willow like a benediction, and the flowers falling down around us as the tree wept.

◇◇◇ There is no sunlight in your house now, where your halls are empty and dark and the windows are shuttered to the sun. I haunt your hallways and drift lonely across thresholds of rooms filled with dusty paintings. I whisper your name until I can almost believe that you hear me, that you know I am here, waiting.

◇◇◇ Do you remember when you asked my father if you could marry me? It was in the courtyard again, but it was raining this time, and I watched from my window while the droplets fell across the glass until I felt I was watching through a chapel window.

When you asked my father he struck you across the face and shouted things that I could not hear through the glass and the rain, but I knew were cruel and unfeeling. He did not believe that you were good enough to marry me, being a Frenchman. I believed that you were a thousand times the man my father was.

You came back that night, and I was waiting for you in the courtyard in the rain, my hair wet and loose down my back like a goddess in an ancient sculpture. You appeared out of the misty rain like a ghost, and took my hand. I’m so very sorry, you said, before I could say anything. No, I said, before you could go on, I am sorry. And maybe it was the rain or the way you were holding me, or the deep ache inside of me when I thought of you leaving, but I felt brave suddenly, brave and reckless and beautiful in your arms, like sometime out of a tragedy played in a theatre by overwrought performers.

Come away with me, you said, come back to France with me and I’ll give you anything you could ever want. I don’t want anything but you , I said, and do you remember how you kissed me then, like I was a siren, and you a drowning man, clinging to me for breath? I’ll come back for you, you promised, and slipped away into the night like a shadow, leaving me to stand with the gentle rain brushing my cheeks, and my fingers pressed against my lips where you had been, where your touch had left an indelible scar.

◇◇◇ I watch you sometimes, when you are sitting in the chair by the window, looking out with hollow, sad eyes. You do not have any of the light that you used to have, you are shadows and loss and regret. I stand by your shoulder, but you do not notice me. I try to touch you, but my hand slips right through you, like there’s nothing more than smoke holding me together. Once, you turned and faced me, but you did see me, your eyes staring right through me. I wept then, but of course you could not hear me, did not know that I was right there, just beyond what you could see.

◇◇◇ Do you remember the day that we wed? It was not a marriage befitting a marquis and a lady, but that didn’t matter. You had taken me from my father’s house, and we rode far from the court, far from wide eyes and loose lips that would surely see and hear regardless. Do you remember how I wore a white gown with irises sewn into the bodice, and you called me your petite reine des fleurs , your little queen of flowers.

We were wed by a priest who did not care that there was no blessing over us, because you had slipped golden promises into his hands. You spoke your vows in French, and it did not matter that I couldn’t understand a word, because your eyes were telling me all that I needed to know. Was it too late then, or could I have still walked away, still saved us both? Or was I already far too lost in you to ever dream of leaving; for how could I have left you then with the light pouring through the stained glass windows of the chapel until you looked like a man in a Nicolas Poussin painting, all light and angels and beauty. Do you remember how you took me to a quiet, nondescript inn, carried me over the threshold of the room, and set me down on the bed like I was made of glass? Do you remember how you touched me like I was something precious and fragile, how you stole my breath away? I gave you all that I had to give, and in return you gave me your promises, your love. And when you filled me, I wondered how I hadn't known how empty I was before you.

I wonder, if I could go back, would I change it? If I knew then what would become of it all, would I have left you that first night, slipped out of your arms and stolen off while you slept? I know, however, that I would not have, that I could not have, because that night you became a part of me, and nothing in the world could take me away from you. ◇◇◇ In this empty house I pass the hours, watching you and dreaming about a young woman and man who believed that their love was stronger than the darkness.

I wear a white lace gown and press my palms against the windows, hoping that you will see and know that I am here, so you will come looking for me, so I will not have to be alone anymore.

◇◇◇ Do you remember the house that you bought for us, with it’s white stone walls and pale pink curtains and elegant chandeliers? Do you remember the parties that we had in the hall, when all the people of the court would come and drink spiced wine and dance until the dawn came in through the windows? We never danced with anyone but each other, and you never let me out of your sight; you were always holding my hand, or stroking my back with one hand while you talked to someone else.

Of course, my father never came, and neither did any of the people who his influence reached, but I was glad that was the case. I did not care what he thought about us, not then, when it didn’t seem to matter at all. We would ride out into the countryside together, and find secret, magical places that were only for us. Sometimes you would take me out to the moor, and we would ride for hours across the empty land where heather sprung up all around us and filled the air with it’s sweet, dusty scent, where the sky seemed endless over our heads. Out on the moor we would talk about our deepest secrets and fears, say the things that we had never before spoken aloud.

Do you remember how the last time we went on the moor together, we talked about death? I did not used to be afraid to die, you told me, and yet now I am, because I couldn’t bear to not be with you.

I took your hand in mine, and smiled at you, Don’t worry, love, I will not let you die. I need you here with me. You would not be dissuaded that easily, however. What about you? What would I do if something happened to you?

Nothing’s going to happen to me, I said, I promise that I will never leave you, I couldn’t, not when my soul is here with you. You promise? You asked me, and I kissed you in reply, trying to tell you all that I couldn’t with my words in my caress. When we finally parted, you traced the lines of my face with your finger, and whispered, When our time does come, we will be together; I will be holding your hand, and neither of us will be left here without the other.

◇◇◇ I do not sleep in your house, but I lay in your bed and imagine that you are with me, that you are touching me, that we are together again. You stand in the doorway of the bedroom in the middle of the night, and I reach out to you, pray that you will see me here in the dark; that you will reach out too, and take my hand, and this time, it will not slip through mine.

◇◇◇ Do you remember the day that it happened? It was a beautiful day, almost six months since we had first met and danced together in the court. It was my father, and all the men who believed the words that my father said, a number that had greatly grown.

How could we not have noticed the whispers, the rumors? How could we not have seen the eyes that followed us in court, the voices that rose behind our backs? We did not see, because all we saw were each other, and so we were blinded to those who wanted to pull us apart. They said that you were a French spy, that you had been sent to collect English secrets; that I was giving them to you, whispering them into your ear when we lay in bed. They took us both away so quickly that we could not even say goodbye, but there was one moment where our eyes met, and I heard your frantic I love you , as clearly as if you had spoken aloud.

◇◇◇ I wore the white dress with the irises that I had worn when we were wed, and I was beautiful and tragic and you could not take your eyes off of me. I believe that you thought I looked like a queen then, la reine , even though I was, in that moment, completely powerless.

I did not look away from you once. I memorized your eyes and the lines of your face so I would never forget, so I would have something to take with me. I looked at you as they held me, as they cut out my heart that was so full with you it broke easily. I stared into your eyes that whole time, and you were the last thing that I saw when the darkness came, and took me away.

◇◇◇ I walk through these halls of this house that are full of memories of you, and I watch you sit in the chair by the window and stand on the threshold of my chamber. I wait for you to see me, for my footsteps to awaken you, and yet it is like I am the ghost, instead of you. I will wait here forever, for as long as it takes for you to come to me. For as long as it takes for you to remember that I am here, with this heart that has been broken since that day I saw you hanged; with this heart that is yours, and always will be. I wear white, and leave irises strewn across the floor so their scent might reach you, wherever you are, and remind you of me, remind you of us. And I am still here, waiting, waiting for you to keep your promise.


Nadia was irritated. Her temper was always close to its boiling point these days; any minor hitch was enough to set her off. Today was no exception. She grumbled to herself as she blindly groped along the surface of her dresser, hoping to make contact with her glasses. Where had they gone? She racked her brain, trying to remember. She had removed her glasses just a minute ago, placing them carelessly on the dresser, turning, and leaning back against the wood in exhaustion. Nadia recalled rubbing her eyes and taking several deep breaths before reaching for the spectacles, which, of course, hadn’t been where she had left them. They’ve probably just fallen to the floor , she told herself sternly. Muttering under her breath, she sank slowly to her hands and knees, all the while casting her arm out wildly in front of her. Her hand hit the open suitcase on the ground with a dull thud , and she drew her arm back immediately, cursing in pain. This was ridiculous. There was nothing else for it; she would have to ask Harry to help her find them, no matter how unappealing the idea of asking for his help was. “Harry!” she shouted loudly, to no response. Nadia felt a familiar anger start to blossom in her chest. She always had to call his name multiple times before he even acknowledged her. She bellowed his name again and attempted to calm her quickly growing annoyance as she heard the slow pounding of his footsteps down the hall. He was in no rush to get to her, she noted resentfully. “What?” Harry demanded, sounding irritated himself, as Nadia had known he would. “What do you want?” “You don’t have to take that tone,” she started, and sensed rather than saw him open his mouth to snap back. “Anyway, I’ve misplaced my glasses,” she hurried on. “Your glasses?” Harry repeated. Nadia could see his blurred image moving around the room, searching. She imagined how she must look right now, seated hopelessly in the corner of their bedroom next to her packed belongings. She had been planning to leave for her sister’s house tonight; what would she do if she couldn’t find her glasses by then? A sharp panic overtook her at the thought, and she coaxed it away -- what an unreasonable fear. The glasses certainly weren’t lost forever; Harry was probably going to locate them any second now. She squinted up at his fuzzy form just in time to see him resignedly collapse onto the bed. “Can’t find them. Don’t you have a spare pair?” “This was my spare pair,” Nadia said, frustration creeping into her voice. “My regular pair broke last month, and I never got around to replacing it, what with all this mess about the divorce.” She couldn’t see him, but she knew he had cringed. He always winced every time she spoke about the divorce aloud, as if the word itself were poisonous. Nadia didn’t understand what the issue was; they were ending their marriage, weren’t they? What was the point of beating around the bush about it? Harry had seemed strangely unwilling to proceed with the divorce paperwork despite being the one who had asked for the divorce. She sighed. “Look, Harry, don’t you have a spare pair of glasses? I know our prescriptions aren’t exactly the same, but at least I’ll be able to see something . Can I borrow them?” He grunted in assent, and Nadia heard him rummage through the drawer of his bedside table. Harry was almost as visually impaired as she was. Years ago, they had joked that they would produce children with the worst eyesight ever when they decided to have kids. Yes, Nadia thought to herself bitterly, it had always been “ when we have children,” never “ if we have children.” But that ship had sailed, she reminded herself. She was roused from her recollections by an apologetic grunt from Harry. “Nadia?” he began uncertainly. “I… can’t find my spare pair. But also…” “What?” she demanded, a slight trace of panic invading her voice. Harry rarely sounded so unsure. “Don’t be angry, Nadia…” “Don’t be angry about what ?” she growled. This situation was quickly spiraling out of control. She should have been fully packed by now. “I also… can’t find my first pair.” “Your first pair?” Nadia asked blankly. “You don’t mean… you don’t mean the pair that was on your face when you came into the room, do you?” “Yes.” “ Yes ? Is this a joke? What, did they vanish into thin air?” “It… certainly seems like it.” Nadia let out a low moan of distress. “Harry, this isn’t funny,” she said. “I don’t have time for this right now; I need to --” “Look, Nadia,” Harry began. His voice was worried and shaky, and this calmed Nadia’s anger more than anything else. Could this actually be happening? “I don’t know what happened, or how it happened. I know I’m forgetful and messy, but this is absurd, even for me. All I know is that I have lost my glasses, too, and you know that I can’t see very much more than you can right now.” Nadia sat in stunned silence. This was not at all how she had imagined her Friday evening; she had expected to throw some clothes in her suitcase and be off. Instead, here she was, seated blindly on the floor, accompanied by her soon-to-be ex-husband, who was just as sightless as she was. The situation was ludicrous, she thought to herself with an involuntary giggle. A small noise startled her from her musings, and Nadia realized with a jolt of unrecognizable emotion that Harry was chuckling along with her. She couldn’t help herself, and within seconds they were both convulsed with laughter. Her anger had evaporated; the situation just seemed funny now, just overly bizarre. “You know,” Harry murmured, once their giggles had subsided, “We would have found this hilarious, back in the day, I mean.” “We’re laughing at it now, too,” Nadia pointed out. “I know, but we would have made something of the situation. We would have enjoyed it while it lasted.” “Enjoyed… our blindness ?” Nadia said incredulously, but she had an inkling of what he meant. A year or two earlier, before the hospitals and emergency surgeries and constant disappointments had turned their relationship sour, they’d have relished the opportunity to be together, ludicrous as the situation might be. She carefully pulled herself upright and joined him on the navy blue blur that was their bed. The emotion she hadn’t been able to name shot through her again, seemingly landing at the base of her throat and lodging itself there. Steeling her resolve, Nadia inhaled deeply. “Let’s enjoy this, then. What would we have done?” Harry’s voice wavered as he began to speak, and Nadia knew he was deciding whether to play along. For a fleeting moment, she wished he would snap at her and tell her this was ridiculous, that they had better call for help and rectify this situation. A fight, at least, would be familiar territory, comforting in a horrible sort of way. He didn’t try to start an argument, however, and Nadia couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved. “We would have probably tried to do something enjoyable anyway… you know, we would have thought it was just more fun to watch each other struggle without our glasses.” “Something enjoyable…” Nadia repeated. “Are you hungry? Do you want to cook something? We used to cook together all the time, remember?” “Yes, that was before you started screaming at me for every drop of food spilled on the counter while cooking,” Harry remarked bitterly. “But,” he continued hastily, as if expecting her to retort with her own cutting remark -- which, Nadia admitted to herself, was not improbable in the least -- “I’m game. Let’s do it.” Nadia felt his hand close around her upper arm and almost jerked away before she grasped that he was trying to help her up. They stood and stumbled toward the hallway, holding tight to one another as they tripped over furniture and almost slammed into a wall. “Maybe it’s for the best that all our attempts to reproduce were foiled,” Nadia joked as they groped for the kitchen door’s handle and were met with solid wall instead. “It would have probably been against the wishes of natural selection.” An uncomfortable, stony silence met her words, and she immediately regretted what she had said. “Sorry --” she stammered. “I was just kidding, you know, because we’re both so blind, and you know, survival of the fittest and all that….” She trailed off, feeling guilty, but the shame was almost immediately overpowered by annoyance. How dare he make her feel bad for trying to lighten the mood? Why was he the one offended by the joke? Hadn’t it been Nadia who had spent heartbreaking nights in hospital gowns? Hadn’t it been her body that had suffered, her body that had betrayed her? She opened her mouth to tell him so, but that something that had settled at the bottom of her throat caught the words before they could come out. For some reason, she didn’t want to spoil what was happening now. She swallowed the words, and, locating the door’s handle, swung it open and pulled Harry into their kitchen. Looking back, Nadia doesn’t remember whose idea it was to bake a cake, but she does remember laughing harder than she had in months as they struggled to recall the recipe for hummingbird cake. Harry still knew most of the instructions, Nadia realized with a pang -- it had been their favorite cake, and they had baked it together for almost every anniversary and birthday. They both had gaps in their memory, however, and they spent the evening happily inventing steps to fill in the blanks. “Can you feel this? Does it feel more like a teaspoon measure or a tablespoon measure to you -- wait! What are you doing? ” “What do you mean, what am I doing? Clearly, I’m mashing a banana.” Laughter. “I don’t know what you’re doing to that banana, but mashing is definitely not the word I’d use. And I don’t think that’s the mixing bowl! I think that’s the microwave! I think the mixing bowl is on your left!” More giggling. “And stop eating all the pineapple! We only have one can!” “I’m eating the mashed banana, actually.” “Then why is it in a can?” A thud. “Oops.” “I need a drink. I’ve never appreciated corrective lenses so much in my life.” Harry fumbled for a cabinet with his flour-covered hands. Had her vision been restored, Nadia would have berated him immediately for the streaks of white powder left in the wake of his touch; however, neither of them could see the current wreckage of the kitchen. Nadia could imagine it, of course, but for some reason, she could summon no anger, only mirth. The kitchen would eventually be cleaned up, she assured herself. “Ouch!” Harry yelled, too close to her ear. “I stepped on whatever you dropped earlier!” He stumbled backwards, straight into Nadia, and the breath left her lungs as his elbow met her diaphragm. She toppled, and they collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor, covered in flour and sugar and something sticky. “I… I think we broke an egg,” Nadia said breathlessly as she attempted to untangle her limbs from Harry’s and stand up. They rose a few feet before tripping over one another and falling back down on top of each other. They dissolved into laughter once more; Nadia clutched her stomach as she distinctly heard Harry snort. Nadia wasn’t sure who initiated it, but in the next moment, she was wrapped in a tangled embrace and pulled into a sticky kiss. She felt flour on Harry’s lips and eggshells in his hair -- how had that happened? -- and something lurched in the pit of her stomach. Just as the kiss began to evolve into something deeper and more passionate, Nadia’s arm, on which she had been propping herself up, slipped on the mess on the floor and gave out beneath her. Her head shifted, and Harry’s teeth slammed into hers awkwardly and painfully. They pulled themselves apart, panting in confusion. After a few moments, Harry broke the silence first. “I’m… I’m sorry.” Nadia paused. He wasn’t apologizing for the spoiled kiss, she knew. And neither was	she -- “I’m sorry, too,” she said softly. She rose shakily to her feet and extended a hand to pull him up. They stood in silence for a moment, and Harry’s voice once again cut through the quiet, this time to Nadia’s slight annoyance. “Nadia.” “Shh,” she muttered. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “No,” Harry replied, more insistently, disbelief in his voice. “Nadia.” He grabbed her hand and guided it along the kitchen counter to where his other hand was grasping something. For a minute, Nadia didn’t realize what she felt under her fingertips; suddenly, though, it became abundantly clear. There were two pairs of glasses sitting neatly on the kitchen countertop. Harry and Nadia grabbed them up and shoved them on their noses clumsily, hands still covered in ingredients that would never become hummingbird cake. Looking back, Nadia remembers avoiding Harry’s eyes as she busied herself cleaning the mess they had made. Harry had followed suit. Nadia recalls the uncomfortable, vibrating air between them as she announced, as casually as she could, that perhaps she shouldn’t be driving to her sister’s that night, and maybe she would just go the next morning. They went to bed without further conversation, each awkwardly huddling on one side of the bed. The next morning, as Nadia rolled her suitcase out into the hall, she found the divorce papers signed and ready on the coffee table. Something swelled in her chest -- was it heartbreak or relief? -- but as she walked out of the house that had been hers and Harry’s, she felt more free than she had in a long, long time.


Prompt: Write about someone who has a superpower. it is 7am and we need to get up, we always get up at 7am. I make sure of that. Then we take a walk and when we come back, we eat breakfast, or I eat breakfast, she usually just drink something while I eat. After that, she will go to the bathroom and do her thing. I try to follow her, but she insists that I wait outside the door, so I do just that, every day since she took me home. I like to sit and wait for her because I know that she will be safe. When she is done in the bathroom, I take a quick look to make sure that everything is as it is supposed to be. After this, she will go back to bed. Not to sleep but to work, or that is what she says that she is doing but usually she just watches movies. I spend a lot of my time by her side when she is in bed and I can feel that she is tense, even though she tries to suppress it I can feel it. I guess that is my superpower, I can feel how other people feel even if they cannot or chooses not to. And that is why I am with her; I am here to make sure that everything is as it is supposed to be. It is my job and I take pride in that. Some days are worse than others and our morning walk will be shorter, but she makes sure that I get out and I make sure that we both get exercise. I can feel that she is better after a walk, even if she will not admit it, I can feel it and that is what is important. She will spend many hours in bed and seemingly do nothing, but I can feel her energy slowly charging up, and around midday, we take another walk. She uses this walk to pick up food for us, even though I am the one eating most of it. When we get back it is playtime. That is my favourite time of the day because I know that she is her happiest and that makes me happy. I have a lot of toys because she always brings me new toys so I can be happy. I never see her bring home toys for herself, so I try to share my toys with her. I can feel that that makes her happy, so I do it often. I even sometimes share my favourite toy with her. After playtime, she will make food for herself self and it always smells so good. I have learned not to beg for food, but she will share a little bit with me anyway, but not too much because I will “get fat”. That is what she tells me at least. When she is done eating, she will either go back to bed or lay on the couch and watch more movies and scratch me behind the ears. That is my favourite spot to be scratched and she knows that because she can feel it makes me happy. This will go on for hours, with the occasional bathroom break. I will go out into the small yard and she will use the bathroom. When it is 6pm she will prepare dinner for me and I will eat while she prepares dinner for herself. Dinner is great because she will give me the rest of her dinner as well. After dinner, we will go on the last walk of the day. This is her favourite time of the day. I can feel that because she is so calm on this walk and sometimes, she even smiles. When we get back from our last walk of the day, she will take off her clothes and go to bed, this is when I will push her to go to the bathroom because I know that she needs to do her evening routine, just like I need to do mine. It is important because it keeps us healthy, I can feel that. When we are done with our own routines we will go to bed and she will scratch me behind the ears, and she will talk to me about her thoughts. They are often dark and sad and sometimes they are just not there at all, and sometimes, but not often, she will tell me about a happy thought that she had that day. It makes her relax to talk to me and even though I cannot answer her, I can feel that it helps her that I am there to listen. And the good days she will talk to me for a short time and then go to sleep and on the bad days, she will talk to me for hours until she cannot stay awake anymore. When she is finally sleeping, I curl up to her and try to sleep as well but I know that it is my job to keep her safe, so I will always stay alert, even in the night. Almost every day is like this, but this day was different, it always is. I get to use that garden instead of the usual walk and she will stay in bed shaking and crying for most of the day. This is my job, my moment. This is why I am here. I am here to save her. I could feel it, as I curled up close to her, that she was thinking about it, she was ready to say goodbye. But she never did it. Year after year on this particular day, she would feel the worst and I knew because I could feel it too. But I also knew how to make it better because that is what I am here for, that is what I was trained to do, to help her. To make sure that she would wake up at 7am the next day so we could go on a walk and I knew that for every day that I was here, she felt a tiny bit better. I knew because I could feel it.


My parents always talked about this and how this was their dream or maybe they meant the dream of the general populace. They thought, “besides teleportation, you could go anywhere you wanted at a much faster rate”. They didn’t think they’d see this in their lifetime, it was already seemingly impossible for the previous generation from my parents’ to have an electric car but when I was born, that was the first thing they purchased. “Safest on the market at the time,” my dad would say. As I kept aging, I guess the leaps and bounds in technology was just standard for me. My parent’s said they were alive when the Internet started which I found hard to believe until I looked it up. On road trips, I would watch shows anywhere we were and it was just a norm for me. On this day, even I did not believe it to be a norm. As usual, I started with my breakfast, morning caffeine, today I chose lemon bark coffee and I swear, it tastes like regular coffee but it doesn’t make me all nervous and junk. Anyway, went off to the store in preparation; I love road trips since my parents would always take me on them throughout my growing years and now with this car, I was able to visit them every month. My mom was scared of my car and my dad was so excited and wanted one. The only bummer he felt was he had no idea how to work on it, fix it, or tune it up so it felt like a distant invention rather than a project when something would go amiss. I prepped with groceries, too many snacks, I had enough of my pills for a little over a week-long visit, and plenty of drinks. My car had enough to make it to my usual stops before needing more juice. There were stops I often made along the way in the same towns but today I felt adventurous. I had more time off and I figured it could be fun.

Takeoff time is much easier because after getting what you need for your vehicle, each type of vehicle used a different fuel source, you could just drive far enough away from the juice station to clear a path and float until you reached a safe height before flying off. Traffic is not as much an issue as I’ve heard it was in decades past but we do rely heavily on computers of each system to talk to one another to direct properly. Mine ran on electricity; I chose this because there were more stop options versus other kinds such as juiced grass, gasoline (only the very rich and pompous really got those), and the like. I chose this because just like the option to stop often if needed, my dad drilled safety into my head. I tried my absolute best but in the end, the unpredictable can never be planned. I have only four stops before reaching my parents’ if I don’t rush and allow the car to cruise along it’s destination. I made one stop shortly before entering the state north of my own, got some snacks (yes I stocked up before leaving but I’ve got a problem with road trip snacks), used the restroom, and got some incredibly strange looks. I am not normally the type to be full of myself, I am very aware that my car would be considered a luxury in the past but it was a middle class item in my day and age. I had been to this stop many times before and it was so strange to encounter people who looked like they were upset with me. My car was done charging and I set the next stop and took off. This new stop was the first new one and the town looked awful compared to my usual places. It was a tad creepy with it’s dilapidated structures surrounding the gas station and roads that seemed to go on forever without facilities in sight. I didn’t try to focus too much on it and stopped to charge. I didn’t feel like walking around this location and decided it was best to wait for my next stop before exploring again. So much for adventurous, I know. This was just not what I was thinking when I was planning on new places. Stop three seemed to have gotten worse and although my onboard computer claimed there was a charger, I couldn’t find one. The place was better maintained but felt so dated. Thankfully, I just wanted to stop to use the restroom and I had enough charge to make it another stop. I did my business, asked if I was headed the right way and got a very excited confirmation. It was eerie, as though this person were more a creature, a robot of sorts created for the sole purpose of excitement building for the customer. I shook it off and went on my way. I wanted to have fun but also wanted to keep my parents in the know of my progress. I sent them a message and took off again. Stop four seemed so retro. There were buildings around from the 1960’s and they were well maintained. I took out my personal charger and plugged in to a nearby outlet since, again, there were no official chargers around. I had to report the computer in my car as it seemed to be on the fritz. I probably should stick to stops I knew to work for the trip from here on out. An adventure could be had when my arrival wasn’t anticipated by the biggest worry warts of this generation. Don’t get me wrong, I love when my parents show how much they care but I do not want to make them worry. People were really nice in this part anyway. They had all sorts of puns around hinting at aliens being a big attraction. Suddenly, when putting my hand in the “touch an alien” box, I heard loud screaming and ran outside. Someone had tried to unplug my car, no doubt trying to either take the juice for their own or my cord. I bought the protective add-on which heated up the cord to unbearable temperatures should it be handled without my approval. My alarm was going crazy as well and I went up to it to shut it off. The man began yelling at me, saying I was stealing his power. I assumed from that encounter that this part of the country hadn’t approved free electricity. I apologized, phased my newly purchased items into the trunk grid and hopped back in. As I took off, I could see cars galore coming and going through that location, all driving from long distances away. I assumed from this as well that they wanted to stick to their dated technologies. That would definitely explain the electrical predicament. My final stop before reaching my parent’s would have to be skipped. I was feeling uncomfortable and my parents would let me charge. I did not know my fifth stop so it wasn’t worth the weirdness I might encounter. Still, even with the skipping of stops, the strangeness grew. I landed onto the street a couple blocks from my parents’ and began the short drive on wheels. I knocked on the door and some tiny boy answered. I recognized him but couldn’t place from where. I know my parents work a day care from their home and figured I must have seen him on one of my video calls. I introduced myself and he ran off excitedly to get my parents as requested. When he returned, I was enjoying the sight of times past when I heard, “I didn’t know I had an older brother!” I turned back and fear set in… the little one was me. My parents were about twenty years younger by the guess of my age from the little one. I did not have a memory of this event but I was suddenly dizzy. I stepped back and fell off the small step leading to the door. Sirens came ringing into my skull and I saw police pull up. Retro car, a Crown Victoria. I remember my father talking about this dream car of his when I was little. The officer pulled his gun and demanded that I state my business… I had never been threatened and I could not understand why it was happening now. It was too short a time for my parent’s to make the call. My parents looked at me and quickly let the officer know I was using an experimental aircraft from the Air Force whose base was a couple miles away. The officer looked reluctant but pulled his gun down and called on his radio… on his shoulder, not his neck device. More confirmation, I was somehow in the past. My parents brought me water and a chair. They were consoling me and told me I looked so much like them there was no doubt of who I am. My mouth refused to move the water down my throat, my hands would not stop trembling.

*** It has been a full day since I landed and I have not yet ceased to exist. I write this as a memento, if needed, I need this knowledge so the boy will grow up and avoid the mistake I have made. I do not know what to do from here, whom to speak with or where to turn. If I spawn an idea, I will journal it so someone may know of what has transpired. If these are my last words, I may have disappeared whether by time-space conflict or I may have been kidnapped. I suspect I may be the one heard of long ago that was experimented on, a man that came from the sky. No one knew of his fate and no one cared to ask enough to find out because he sounded to be of myth. Wish me luck and please, save the boy from this fate. *** Fully charging still didn’t take long as my vehicle didn’t require very much. I had hoped that driving back might be what could return me to my time. My father worried it could make things worse but I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do now as it is. I flew off and kept flying following my onboard computer until I felt it was safe looking enough to land. Unfortunately, it never felt safe enough and I kept getting worried so, not paying enough attention led to my computer blaring, warning me that landing was necessary. I landed in what looked like a fairly populated area. These men with big blocks ran over and held them to their face. Lights flashed when I stepped out of my car. Everyone was dressed in suits and uniforms, even more dated than what I had seen previously. Guns came up and aimed directly at me. I raised my arms in surrender and asked more out of fearful confirmation than curiosity. Everyone looked confused like they couldn’t believe I was speaking to them. One man finally stepped forward and offered the newspaper, seemingly curious if I could understand. It was from the previous day… The date written was Monday, July 7, 1947. If I would have paid more attention and not let fear get to me, I might have been able to avoid landing in Roswell.