Craig raced outside to try to catch his bus. Just as he was about to catch up to bus, the driver closed the door and drove off.  When Craig finally made it to school, he was late for his SAT, the test he felt determined the rest of his life. His giant walrus teacher, Mr. Tusk said, “ Son, you’re late for your test.  You’re life is ruined!” “No!” cried Craig. Mr. Tusk continued, “And you’re not wearing pants!”  Craig again cried, “No!”  Just as Craig realized that it was pretty cool that the school board would take a chance on a walrus, he awoke to the sound of the real bus pulling onto his street. He had overslept for real on the real biggest day of his life! He was up in a flash; he couldn’t believe how fast he was able to get ready.  On his way out the door Craig felt like he was forgetting something.  “Pants,” Craig muttered to himself. He stumbled down the stairs with one and a half legs of his pants secured, and as he burst through the door, he was just in time to see the bus rolling away. As Craig raced to class he hoped it would be a sharply dressed walrus standing there. He would even settle for a fur seal, but there was no such luck.  This was the real test. After the test was over, Craig’s friend Nat caught up with him. “What happened to you this morning, dude? You came in late with your pants on inside out,” said Nat. Craig responded, “I don’t want to talk about it. I had kind of rough morning; the weird thing was I kind of saw it coming.” Nat said, “What do you mean?” Craig replied, “I had a dream of basically exactly what my morning was like. It was like my body knew today was gonna suck and tried to keep me trapped in bed all day. I had three alarms set for this time!” “How did you still sleep through that?” Asked Nat. “Well,” repsonded Craig, “I forgot to set two, and I had the volume down on the third one.” “You’re lucky their giving another SAT in the summer for the two kids who had mumps because their parents don‘t believe in vaccination,” said Nat. Craig replied, “Yeah I think I’m just gonna sleep in the school gym that night. But none of that matters because today’s the day I’m finally gonna get Carol Lee to go out with me.” “You didn’t waste any time on that one. I mean it’s only the last three weeks of high school,” said Nat. “Shut up,” Craig said, “here she comes. Hey, Carol Lee. Um I was wondering if you were free this weekend, maybe we could hang out and do something?” Carol Lee looked Craig up and down for a minute and said, “Okay, look.  A) No. B) If you were half the loser you are, no. C) If you were the last guy on earth, still no. Please never talk to me again.” And just like that, Carol Lee walked away. Craig had never foreseen his encounter going this way. Maybe that’s why he also didn’t think that the outdoor common area where all the students gathered wasn’t the best place to ask Carol Lee out. All of the students nearby began jeering at Craig and laughing, and as he walked back into the school he could hear whispers and giggles all around him. “That was rough. How could you not see that coming?” said Nat. Craig didn’t say anything. Later that day Nat dropped by Craig’s house to check on him. Craig’s mom opened the door and told Nat that Craig was upstairs in his room. Nat headed upstairs and opened Craig’s door. “Geez man what are you thinking just bursting in on me!” Said Craig. Nat replied, “Look man whatever you might have been doing up here would be better than what you’re doing right now. I’m not going to let you mope around all night; you’re coming with the rest of us to the summer kick-off fair tonight.” Craig said, “Why would I even think about showing my face around anyone this summer?” “Because if you don’t I’m gonna tell your mom where you hide your weed,” Nat said. Craig snapped back, “I don’t have any weed.” Nat replied, “You do now. I dropped it off on my way in.” Craig sat up in his bed and said, “Why are you doing this to me?” Nat said, “Because I’m your boy now get up.” Craig smiled and got up. That night at the fair, Craig chose the funnel cake vendor that ran out of funnel cake right as he was next in line, waited an hour for a ride that broke down as he was about to get on and dropped his wallet in the toilet. Later Craig wandered off by himself and stumbled upon an old, creepy looking carnival game. The only writing on it said “make a wish.” Craig looked, but there was no slot to insert money. All of a sudden the wooden puppet inside the glass came to liGe and said, “Make a wish.” Craig said, “I wish I could see the future. The puppet said, “Done.” Craig tried his best to see what his future held, but he could not. In fact an old gypsy woman surprised a scream out of him when she walked up behind Craig and said in her gravelly old voice, “What are you doing?” Craig regained his composure and said, “Oh, nothing I was just trying out this old game here.” “What that?” She continued, “That’s just something we use to prop up the popcorn machine. May I ask why you were all the way over here by yourself mumbling to our popcorn stand?” Craig responded, “I just had a pretty crappy day, and I was just thinking how great it would be to be able to see the future. Then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with everything I’ve been through today ever again.” The gypsy woman prodded him on saying, “Then what fun would be left to be had? No surprises, no risks. Are you really sure you want what you’re asking for?” Craig smuggly replied, “Lady if you knew what my day was like, you’d know that I’m 100% sure I want to be able to see the future.” To that that gypsy lady just said, “Done.” As she walked away she added, “Oh, do be careful, Dear. Often those whose sole focus is on what lies ahead will begin to lose sight of what surrounds them now.” With that, she was gone. Craig didn’t know what to think of what had just happened, but what he did know was that he needed to go home and dry out his wallet.  When Craig woke up the next day he felt like he could barely remember how terrible the last day had been. He got out of bed and went to take a shower. While the water was running, he remembered, or at least he thought he remembered reaching down to pick up the shampoo bottle he knocked over, as he shower pretended to be telling off Carol Lee, and slipped and fell out of the shower, ripping the shower curtain down and causing his mom to burst in on him. The only problem is that none of that had happened yet; Craig was still running the water for his shower. Sure enough as he showered, Craig hit Carol Lee with that perfect imaginary argument one liner and knocked over his bottle of shampoo. He stared down at it; he went to pick it up and slipped and fell through the shower curtain. Just then Craig’s mom burst in. “Oh geez Craig cover yourself up!” Shrieked Craig’s mom as she exited. Craig couldn’t believe what had just happened. Could he really have just remembered something from the future. No, he thought to himself; it was just deja vous. Just then Craig remembered for real that he was late again for his make up SAT test, and he hurriedly ran out the door. Craig sat in front of his test packet, As he peeled the tab to open the booklet that would determine the rest of his life, he tried not to think about how this would determine the rest of his life. While staring at the empty bubbles, Craig had a vision. It was like he was remembering when he was able to see the correct answers for the test he was taking today. “I haven’t seen any answer key, obviously this is crazy...I’m a crazy person,” Craig thought to himself, but after the shower incident Craig thought this was probably his best shot at acing his SAT. Craig’s suspicions were confirmed when he got his test results back three weeks later, a perfect score; there was also an answer sheet with the results like from his vision only this time it wasn’t riddled with red bubbles indicating missed answers. This time it was all green. Craig was astonished; he just realized that he had changed his future. “Forget college,” Craig thought, “I can do whatever I want.”  Craig immediately grabbed the finance section of his dad’s paper and started to circle different stocks. One month later two of Craig’s stocks split; Craig was a millionaire. He took Nat to a steakhouse to celebrate, and while the two ate, Carol Lee, who waitressed there, came over to speak to Craig. “Hey Craig. I heard you got a perfect score on your SAT, and you’re some kind of stock market guru now.  How do you do it?“  Craig replied, “You just have to have a keen sense of the future I guess.” Nat chimed in, “Yeah I mean you sold your car and invested in a Brazilian clothing company no one’s ever heard of and now everybody’s got a pair of their jeans on. How’d you know?” “Listen,” Craig began, “I can’t tell how you how I do it; I just look over all my options and listen to whatever reveals itself to me.” Carol Lee responded, “Well if you still want to get together sometime, me and some of the other waitresses are going out to the ridge this weekend. It’s not quite prom, but it’s gonna be fun.” Craig said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it this weekend; I have a meeting in New York about starting my own firm.” Carol Lee responded disheartened by saying, “Oh well that’s too bad, but I understand.” “What are you doing, dude?! That was your chance,” Nat yell whispered at Craig. Craig replied, “Trust me. I’ll have another chance. Next Tuesday at Dairy Queen at 7:30.” Nat said, “What?” “Nothing,” Craig stammered. Craig finally had life by the horns; he felt invincible, except for one thing.  It seemed that the more he looked into the future, the hazier his past became, but Craig’s life up to this point was anything but memorable, and things were just starting to get good. So Craig kept reading his future. Craig started his own financial planning firm that took the business world by storm. Business was so good, he was tried for insider trading, but Craig was already prepared with a defense that countered every accusation against him. He married Carol Lee, and Nat worked as the CFO of Craig’s firm after Nat graduated from college. Life was perfect for Craig, but his memory of the past kept fading. Each time Craig reached into his future to grab the next big money maker, a little of his past was wiped from his mind. At first it was just mild episodes where Craig would forget his client’s names which he would blame on having so many clients these days or forgetting Carol Lee’s birthday which he said was an unfortunate side effect of running such a large firm. But Craig knew that he was having trouble keeping everything together. Lately he couldn’t remember where his office was, who his personal chef was or what his mother looked like. Things were at their breaking point with Carol Lee because Craig couldn’t recognize her or their son most days. It would take her an hour to convince him to let her use their bathroom. Carol Lee and Nat confronted Craig about his memory loss. “We need to talk,” Nat began. “We think you might need to get some serious help for your memory, Craig.” “We?” Craig responded. Carol Lee said, “Yes we. It’s me; your wife, Carol Lee.” “I know who you both are,” Craig said coldly. Carol Lee continued, “Honey the fish oil and neutroopics aren’t working. You need to see a doctor. You could cave Alzheimer’s.” “I don’t have Alzheimer’s,” Craig returned. Nat interjected, “She’s right, Craig.” All of sudden Craig cut Nat off in a fury while he slammed his hand against his desk, “You want to know who’s right?!” “Don’t do this, Craig,” said Nat. “No!” Interrupted Craig. “You want to know the secret to all this success? It’s not you throwing charity balls, Carol Lee; it’s not that you’re such a financial wizard, Nat. The reason we have all of this is because of me! I can see the future!” “He’s lost his mind. How big is your ego Craig?!” said Carol Lee “It’s not my ego!” Craig fired back. “How do you think I knew to put fifty percent of our company’s holding into that fidget spinning thing then sell at it’s height of popularity four weeks later before it disappeared off the face of the earth?  Explain that? I’m not an artist or a master or an anything I didn’t even really get a perfect score on the SAT’s.  The only reason we’re standing here is because I can see the future like a memory, but every time I do I lose some of my past memories.” Carol Lee replied softly, “So you’re telling me that I sat alone at a restaurant or an opera or in a vacation home each birthday and anniversary for the last three years because you couldn’t stop making money? If this is really true, you’re a cold bastard, Craig. You’re not the boy I knew in high school.” Craig replied harshly, “Of course I’m not! You had no interest in the boy you knew in high school. You only noticed me once I started making money. I did all this for us. To keep our company afloat so you can sit alone in five star restaurants and million dollar vacation homes.” “No. You did this because you’re addicted to money and the notoriety. Don’t you dare pretend that you did this because you care about me. If you loved me, you would have been there for me all these years. I thought you were just busy running the company, so I forgave you, but now you’re telling me that you chose to forget me all this time? If you don’t stop this...this future memory I can tell you that you won’t need to remember me at all because I’ll be gone,” said Carol Lee. Nat added, “Craig we sold...I sold stock market investment guides; we put countless actual brokers out of business. I helped you claw your way to the top, and now you’re telling me that those guides were bogus? The people we fired when we chopped up firms for assets never even had a competitive chance? You and I are done professionally, and unless you stop this now, you and I are done personally.” Craig said quietly, “You dare come to me with your morals and your winey complaints. I gave you the world. You should be thanking me. I want both of you out of my office now. I won’t even remember you were ever here.” With that Carol Lee and Nat exited Craig’s office and Craig’s life. Craig continued to dominate Wall Street, and as he predicted, he couldn’t remember Nat or Carol Lee. Occasionally he would look at pictures in his penthouse and try to imagine who in his life could they have been. Craig’s life was lonely. Outside of board meeting and the cleaning lady, Craig had no real company. More and more he would stare at the pictures in his home trying desperately to remember who they were, but he could not. One night as he ate at one of his favorite restaurants, a hideous woman who was dressed beautifully walked by him, and Craig did something he had not done in quite some time. He recognized her. It was the gypsy woman who had cursed him with his clairvoyance. He approached her and asked, “How could you do this to me? You knew what would happen, and you cursed me anyway.” The gypsy woman replied, “If you do recall, which I know you can’t, I told you to be careful and to not look to hard into the future or you may lose sight of your past.” Craig retorted, “How was I supposed to know you meant I would lose my memory?” “Let me ask you this,” the gypsy said, “did you stop when you realized what was happening? No. You made your bed; you lie in it, if you can even remember where it is.” The gypsy woman chuckled and had some men in the restaurant take Craig away. Craig was beside himself; he had everything and lost it all. All he had was nothing without someone to share it with. But then he realized, he had recognized the gypsy. If he could recall her, maybe he could remember whoever it was in his photos. For months Craig spent his spare time going through old photos, old letters, emails, everything he could get his hands on. The months turned to years, Craig had nearly memorized every shred of evidence that he ever even had family and friends. Finally, one gray, drizzly morning Carol Lee opened up the door to her apartment and saw a gray, bearded Craig standing outside. Craig said, “Look I know I might be the last person you want to see, but I have to tell you something. The last four years I’ve done nothing, but try to remember who you are. Even though I didn’t know who you were, I thought about you everyday. One day I was staring at a letter you sent me after our separation, and I finally knew who had sent it. I used the address you gave in the letter to come find you. I sold the company and formed the Carol Lee Foundation that Nat is currently running. We build children’s hospitals. I want you back Carol Lee. I’m sorry.” Without speaking a word, Carol Lee walked over to Craig and wrapped him in her arms. Then she said, “I knew you would find me.” Craig asked, “How could you be sure?” Carol Lee said, “Whenever I look into my future, I always see you there.”


“Three beautiful kids, a husband who completely dotes on you, a big house, what else could you want in life, Mindy?” mum said to me, trying to put on the same stern voice that she did when she wanted to put her point across. Only that now she was a lot older and her voice was shaky. “A great career, mum!” I said, throwing the sepia-toned envelope on the table next to her. I had tears in my eyes that I was trying very hard to stop from rolling down my cheeks.

“You do have a great career. You think it’s easy to be a banker?” she said. “Stop pretending as if you don’t know what I’m saying,”

I said, pointing at the letter. “It was a mistake calling you over for a few days!”

I laughed and said in all sarcasm, “Yes, and it was a mistake that I decided to clean up the store room! Strange, you did not stop me!” She was quiet.

I continued. I had to vent out my anger. “Oh! Unless you had no idea that I would find this!” I nearly screamed, again pointing at the letter. “As a matter of fact I had completely forgotten about it!” mum said in a low tone, as if making a confession. “What a shame! It should’ve been bothering you all the time. You’ve no conscience, mum? What are you made of?” “What makes you think that I did not think of it after I got the letter? You think I’m made of stone? I of course did all this for your own good! Saved you from living a life full of hardship.” “Ha! My good!” I snorted.

“And yes, it did hurt me for many years but then it all faded away when I saw your growth, great married life, kids and good job.” “I would have got all of this anyway!” “So you think!” she said.

“Thank you for ruling over my life, mum!” I almost yelled as I picked up the letter from the table. I gave her one last look before leaving the living room. She looked me in the eye, no regrets. We both knew this was perhaps our last conversation with each other. I went up to my room, the room where i had spent my entire childhood and part of adulthood too, looked around one final time and then packed my bags. I kept the letter in my hand bag and made my way out of the house. I knew mum could see me from where she was sitting in her rocking chair in the living room. I did not look back. She did not call for me either.

I walked a bit away from my home, dragging my bag. I then stopped and booked a cab that came in less than a minute. Mani and kids were supposed to join me over the weekend at mum’s place and then we were to go back home together in our car. It was a one-hour journey that went by very quietly.

As I sat in the cab, I went back to my past , 20 years ago. 20 years was a long time. I was barely 17 or 18 then. Fresh out of school. Full of vigour. Teena, my best friend, and I shared the same dreams and the same goal. We knew what we wanted to become in life when we grew up. In fact she was my source of inspiration. “Are you sure you can do it?” I clearly remember her asking me when we were in Year 8.

I was offended.

“What do you mean by saying if I can do it?” I said angrily.

She laughed, the ice cream was melting so she continued eating it without stopping. “Well, I just asked! There is nothing to get so red about!” she answered, finishing her ice cream.

“Yes, I can do it and I will do it!” I said, sounding fully determined.

“Great! Dad is enrolling me in a summer camp next month. Would you like to join too?” Teena asked. “I don’t think my folks would mind,'' I said. Would it be ok if your dad called up mine and explained to him about the summer camp?” I asked. “It makes sense, yes! I will ask him to call your dad then.” And he sure did. Dad looked at me with a surprise when he found out about the summer camp that I wanted to enrol in. “Go for it!” he said and patted my back. I remember that was the last year too when he was at home. He and mum had separated then. He continued to meet me but it became lesser every year as he moved to another continent.

I tried recalling what was mum’s reaction then. Was she happy with the decision? Was she miffed? I could not remember. I tried hard but I couldn’t. The summer camp that year and the following two years were the best ever moments in my life. I was glad that I had met Teena. She came as a blessing in my life. Giving me a life goal. I could see the spark in her eyes.

It was as if she had passed on some of that spark to me as well. I still remember that day when I reached home all excitedly. “Teena made it, mum! Have I received the letter too?” I asked in all enthusiasm. “Yes, but no, you did not make it, I’m afraid,” she said. I don't remember mum’s tone now. Was it bland? Was it apologetic? Did she come over and hug me?

“Oh!” I said. I could not believe it. I had no words. I had just met Teena and she was jumping with joy with tears flowing out of both our eyes. It had never occurred to me that there is always a chance of being rejected. I just looked at the letter lying on the table. I went to my room. The letter was still there. I had broken the news to Teena, who couldn’t believe it either. That was the last summer we spent time together. She joined the army. I took up Business Studies in college. We did not keep in touch thereafter. It was too bitter for me. I regretted not getting into the army. I never touched the letter….until now.

 Mum knew I would believe her. She played with my emotions then. Tears finally rolled down my eyes as I opened the letter congratulating me for making it to the army. I smiled. I had not failed after all.


11:41pm

I slip my shoes on and open the door, ready to head out.

‘Do you have your keys’ he asks me standing right next to me. Without a word I take them from the hook next to the door and slam it into his face. I don’t want him (coming) with me again.

It is dark and raining outside and I don’t have my jacket, I bury my hands in the sleeves of my worn hoodie. At least I am away from his constant nagging and his voice in my ear telling me who I am ‘supposed’ to be. I walk down the sidewalk briskly; I can’t tell if it’s the rain hitting my face or my angry tears streaming down it. It’s wet either way. I wipe my brow with my sleeve. I tell myself that it doesn’t really matter. I feel too much all the time anyway. To shut up my brain I take out my headphones, the song that comes on only reminds me of (him and) myself in a myriad ways so eventually I lose myself in it.

By the time I enter the subway station, he has caught up with me, standing to close to me again. He turns to me and smiles ‘You’re wondering why you can’t I ever shake me off’ he says and then he answers his own question ‘Because you know we belong together, you still need me, and honestly, I don’t know what you would do without me? Do you?’ I don’t even want to think about that, but my brain forces me to anyway, for a moment I wish I was alone just once, unhaunted, just me (him).

‘No’ I finally reply.

We board the subway he is finally quiet now.

But this is just another way of torturing me. I know it. This is giving me

space

to think about what I’ve done. What I do. (I know it is wrong. Of course I do.) He makes me

feel

so wrong about things, he makes me hate myself when I only want to love me. Without words he told me so. And with words. He tries to stop me every time. He begs me to(o). I never listen. I hate it so. His morals, what do I care, I like the way things make

me  feel, why should I always put others first; and it’s not like I don’t care about people, I don’t just kill

anyone

I do believe in making the world a better place but what does he see? Just a killer. Isn’t the world better without some people? I (would) function so well without his concerns. I look out of the window but the only thing I see is my face. I look dishevelled and pale. I run my hand along my jawline where I’ve managed to grow just an inch of stubble, (he is) always shaving it before it gets too long. The stops fly past, before I know it, we’re there. I get up, turn around and find him gone. Great. He's never there for me when I need him, I think. Or maybe he is, and I just never notice him, I (can) imagine him standing outside, in the rain, wearing my clothes. This is not the time to be(come) paranoid. I shake my head and ruffle my hair; I press the thoughts about him into a corner of my mind so I can forget him for a while. It’s past midnight now. It’s still raining outside. I am soaked by this point but warm, with excitement too, I can’t supress a sheepish smile. I know what’s going to happen and I am enjoying it already, the feeling of doing something completely (wrong) my way! (Doing it anyway!) This is Freedom. While I walk along an unfamiliar street, a place I will (never) see again I take the Magnum out of my bag, I like to be consistent with numbers, I get it ready. I know the drill; I know the job. I don’t need to check the address. The building I enter smells funny, sort of like an old people’s home but also like a new couches and cheap perfume. I press the button for the elevator up. I walk along an unfamiliar corridor and stop at Nr. 41. There is light beneath the door, and I knock, I have my gun ready, my left hand hidden behind my back.

6:41 am

I wake up and he’s asleep; still, I can see him lying in bed (next to me). I go to the bathroom for a piss. My aim is bad today (as always), but he won’t care until later. I pull up my trousers and look into mirror, (his) unshaven face with dishevelled hair (looks back at me). I sigh and close my eyes for a moment.

I am me today: I brush my teeth, and I shave my face. I am precise and correct. I leave no hair standing. I get dressed in the same manner. I like the order; I tie my tie and button up my shirt; this time when I look into the mirror in our bedroom to check the knot sits right in the middle, I see myself. I smile wide and my teeth are white my hair sits perfect. I push the digits of the safe and get my gun out and I put it in my holster. I love routines, so far this morning has been exceptional.

I try to be noiseless I don’t want to wake him. No breakfast for me today. I don’t want him with me (again). In the kitchen I have a glass of water. I take my hat and jacket at the door and tie my shoes with precision. I take my keys from the hook next to the door. I remember my dream (last night). I feel dizzy for a moment I stare at (his) my hand on the handle of the door. The cold metal feels like the grip of a gun. I stand completely still in the doorframe for a minute unable to breathe; what have « we done. I hear him stir in bed now too, I hurry to head out before he is fully awake.

Too late. He is leaning against the door of our bedroom dressed in my joggers and a shabby looking hoodie.

Without a word he goes and opens the fridge, this is my moment I grab the doorknob and walk out of the door. I am about to breathe, thinking I got rid of him finally; he is behind me in an instant. I hear his slippers scratch across the concrete.

‘No Milk’ he simply says.

I am a few steps ahead now, I walk to the station briskly, but (it honestly seems like) we touch the ground at the same time; always there, next to me. I wish he would leave me alone, just for a while. He never does, condescending and spiteful he stares at me from across the street and smirks; and he never actually talks. He thinks he knows how it drives me crazy; I want to be liked, most of all by him. But he takes pleasure in it. He knows what I try to do every day, we know that I will never succeed. I’m at the station now and its past seven. I sit at my desk and put my head in my hands. I take a sip of my coffee. Its taste is (awful.) just what I need. I open the report and start to read (what seems oddly familiar.) A murder downtown, I recognise the street name, I think I must have driven past there before.

On the way to the scene, I put the radio on I look in the rearview mirror and (he) smile(s) at myself broadly. I turn up the music. (I hate his music, but I will stay in the car this is important) I check the route multiple times I like to be sure of things. Finally, I’m there and I leave the radio on and the car running, I don’t think this will take very long. As I enter the building I take the stairs to my left, I need to get my steps in and I don’t trust elevators, I am afraid of small spaces. I think to myself that it smells funny here, sort of like an old people’s home but also like a new couches and cheap perfume. I walk along the corridor, crime scene tape marks the door of Nr. 41, it is ajar and has bullet hole in the middle too. I inspect it more closely, it’s a .41, maybe a Magnum, I think to myself, I look at the door. 41. (Ironic, isn’t it?)


Dumisani khumalo A people's culture is a people economy .What Silas ate ,where he lived ,and his interest were coming down as his crop failed . Silas hands had brought poverty on it's knees and brought up joy ,love and mercy.They raised poultry ,stock ,grew crops to eat ,trade ,and give out to others when they had more than enough. The hole in the sky had not started by then ,and there was plenty of water for use ,and water had not become an enemy nor had it any enemies . .Land no water to grow something,under the hot African sun. The weather was different and it was changing ,the more people talked of civilisation. It meant eating refined food ,processes food ,clean water ,,and that is what started happening when traditions started disobeying rules like in the cutting down of trees , to purify water ,cook the food or even process it ,digging deep into the ground not only to bury human souls but to cause oil erosion ,acidification and hard metals to make the water useless. The holes were left gaping and uncovered ,like the hole in the sky ,called global warming in a Global village ,Silas loved his home,and culture and created crafts in it's honor and in honor of the nature around him, and at market more barter and less coin and notes came ,and when it did ,there were few goods left. There came different meanings with the Town dwellers with their currency of coin and note ,and in the village, a chicken could take you to town ,and not the other round ,and plenty meant money had to look for value ,and hoarding ensued. Like a mischievous child ,value and bred chickens ,goats and cattle whose number was low due the lack of feed were dying due to the drought ,the stock theft ,and even his drought animals like the donkey died now ,to feed Chinese curiosities ,their China belly as big to take in tortoise ,python ,elephant tusks ,and rhino horn. All seemed to disappeared from the face of the earth,since they were here ,the reason they never ate local but kept to their own culture. The yellow fever ,then aids ,and inflation fever was cutting the country to it's knees.First fruits were eaten ripe ,now the hunger pangs ate them raw ,when the seed was still white and tender .Was not that as good as rape ,paedophiliia,and theft from the fields ? Doomed was the one who wanted to protect coin and note in his pocket."He who claims a bag of maize ,a kg of meat in his pocket must stand up " ! Poverty once asked on those on a journey to Town where jobs were scarce and value saw more notes printed and Silas felt it in his belly ,how he had been better off  on his land. The educated and the marketeers, were running the show. All jobs needed skills and knowledge,all knowledge talent and gift.

 African time lost and new time came in when the cattle went to drink ,or the rain birds came to pronounce the imminence of the rains ,when the termites came out of their hiding crevices ,as he himself knew he had look for the alternatives in the city , a harbinger of where jobs were,alas now scarce and breeds were exotic ,not resistant to certain diseases ,like his animals would survive from .While his own breeds found little sympathy as his crops and his seed ,that had no gene bank ,as they did not have even a currency in the village and used Barter to trade for goods and services. The maize shortage was poor now ,the rot ,the aflotoxins ,,rats ,weavils ,were imported into the country,some as  big as beetles, were everywhere and with the new varieties of seed ,they increased ,and how they were given the alternative of rice that women loved so much ,since it was easy to prepare ,made them more like children themselves .Never wanting more challenges processing maize as they faced to fetch for water.Labour's tall and dangerous, compared to their maize staple .The mortar pounding and the cob separation ,was like their separation from what they loved most ,an easy life without harsels. The weeds that came with the seed were as big as their crops ,waxing green and grey and clogging river banks and killing the fish ,the plankton and the algae coming in to create web nets that made water salty and hard metals coming in from industry ,a deadly pollution. The pot had it's currency and it was the food flowing to everyone as the women cooked and knew who had none ,that is what their calling was ,to satisfy the belly and keep the devil away ,as the men provided in goods and services ,their desire for the best cooks and brewer's,and ,ust like in the town ,the village was younger and had to be given the first chance out of respect for the part it plays ,like woman and the town  old ,revitalising .Than the town and city that now had everything, wanted everything ,and nothing to do with the village . The child cried ,like a pain in the womb of its mother and out of it because of the poverty and the pain on the land ,call them instincts. Chikd birth has its gift of life and it's blessings that made them come to see the fruits of the village and there were not as pernicious to the lack that civilisation promised. The city ,the speed, and wide road out of heaven never failed to astound ,as an imitation made the easy way for itself to iconfound man , The children never blinked hoping to see what their parents could give them .A case of hope ,love ,and care. Not when there was hunger now as she said, as she bent forth ,"Hurry for someone will see us ,"That started aloud in the cities and towns . She was away for a while and came back with something to eat ,even when he knew there had nothing and no one to give them something , failed ask hervabout the source and she had as much for children who kept quiet but keen eye on him as a failure. The failure of the rains also meant failure of life .The maize crop was a failure ,and the staple was the currency in exchange for other goods and services in the barter life of the villagers .The battering of the weather itself making things worse . Silas needed salt , oil ,school fees ,hospital fees and when the rains came down ,Silas was sure to have the currency of the country to smell and poverty allayed He looked up in distaste and wondered as this created an exodus to towns by most youth. The country side now looked dry ,land and no water to grow something. He had gone to see the prospects of cities and towns with little rains that fell in the past years and brought scarcely harvests to the town as the village .Silas had to work extra hord to put food on the table . The heat was torrid and aflotoxins with poor storage took the grain to weevils ,and losses were incurred ,rice was imported from the east .The maize was stolen and resold to foreign countries ,or given to the partisans ,known in their areas of placement. .The maize staple used as currency in exchange for other goods in barter .The children needed much and asked too many questions as if to find out their own way like snakelets and their cursed birth ,to crawl on the land barren of food . Silas noticed that the more paper and coin money that came for their maize ,cattle ,meals and meat, the more left their village. The wind must have been envious of both water and fire ,and cyclones ,hurricanes ,typhoons ,brought a new fire ,veldt fires ,forest fires and landfill fires that burnt all year round on city dumpsites. There was a formal economy there ,an informal one ,that came on the periphery of the first ,and fast a corrupt economy . Silas seed dwindled and he got his first help .He discovered he had bigger weevils and less grain ,with smaller seed ,yield ,and less nutrient in it. The paper certificate women ,carrying them in their heads and not in their experiences had advice for their problems and told the women they were equal to their men . The men saw their women as their children,and they had the first preference ,unless when they wanted the male domain as widows ,or sitting in society as chiefs ,which was granted ,but since no one had seen it ,they blamed the men willfully . They had papers for knowledge that did not get them jobs too like their male counterparts but a claim by the women said it was marginalisation ,rightfully ,a course for marriage started at home to prepare children differently,and time had moved too fast on them to make the right adjustments to please the government in power in need of aid ,funds ,and credits. Some did not have the practical knowledge nor knew how these changes would affect them ,help them and others ,making them have swollen heads ,the size of water melons . At first it was the women dying to feed their children heard in the dark saying " Be quick about it !"and when it was the women with paper knowledge and money .it was quickened, they wanted their husbands .Pulling their whole society into a hole in the ground .The one above was better some said ,unless it had dust in the cloud ,and acid rain would fall on their crops. The rise in water at the sea percolated into the land and made floods .Even the human body suffered from these in the heart, kidneys ,and well down in the groin. They were the China men .The better cheats than the former colonial powers ,Silas wondered whether one cheat was better than the other .A cheat is a cheat ,and no thief has a better label on their back . The wind came like a rat without a hiding place to hide ,and ran in all directions .Those easterlies ,and westerlies were good winds unlike cyclones ,hurricanes and typhoons. The paper carrying women convinced them they could do what they liked in uncertain terms ,The men did the same ,so the two had equal motives .Both of the same charge ,they repelled each other ,no one was forgiving,and no one was letting go of the ill,and sin. That hole in the ground had no window,it was death .Death from aids ,crime ,and now from the wind ,and the corona. The hole in the ground is the ultimate one ,and in the sky, wary looks failed to convince theknowledge,it was ,powerless ,and weak ..


Trigger Warning: Mental health and implied self harm/suicide attempt. Not graphic. Not once in all of Her days of the concept called living, had She ever felt this way. This way, or that way? There was a right and wrong to things, so this must be wrong. It has to be or else She’s not perfect.

Not once had She sank to the floor, wallowing in such grief that would rather be unspoken by communities and mothers.

“My child isn't such a fool. She’s in tip-top shape, right sweetie?”

Really mother? A mother’s image of perfection never fit her mold, impaling holes through the rubber where edges were too sharp and the rubber could not bear much more. Because no, a little girl is not to find herself, but to be found by another, forced into a persona of which does not match. Alas, no She did not understand. This concept is called mental health? That’s not real right? Because the doctor fixes everything, right? There’s no reason for Her to feel this low because She lives the perfect life, right? Don’t weep or complain, child, you ungrateful scum. There’s more to cry about than the clouds blanketing the sky, than the leaves growing old and falling from their place in the tree. Get up, you lazy bum, you have no need to be tired.

But She can’t. Every little fiber of Her being protest against movement, has eliminated all feeling to where She becomes a shell of Herself. Hollow. Empty. Scared. The debilitating urge to get up, to fight against this, this pain . She’s fought that fight though, losing to Herself again, and again. Where did Her strength go? Why is She lying in bed, liquid diamond streaks flowing down flushed cheeks every day until the sun goes down? Why is the sun allowed to sleep, but not Her? Question after question playback like a broken record in Her head days on end until Monday seems like Thursday and everyday is dark, melancholy and uneventful. No one has yet to take notice of Her absence, even Her closest friend, He, has not even attempted. Or has He? She wouldn’t know, Her phone being lost in the large expanse of Her room, yet again, She could not find the will or way to search and respond. Are you okay? Is She okay? She thinks so, there’s no reason for Her to not be.

That was a lie, She should stop lying to them. To Herself. She is not okay, but asking for help is a burden, difficult and unimaginable. Because She’s perfect. Perfect people don’t ask for help.

Right?

She can’t be perfect. She is not perfect. She will not be perfect. No one was designed for that level of greatness, even those who get close will always fall short. But She’ll never know that, She’ll never see imperfections as realism. Instead they’re all pointless mistakes. Her brain competes with itself, day after day, a small voice occasionally reminding Her, you need help. But help is for the weak, right? Strong people fight their battles and move on but She can’t.

That’s when She finds Herself in the bathroom. The task to get there seemed exhausting, though the walk was short, Her capacity had depleted. Sitting on the cold tile woke Her up, although only minutely. Deep thoughts become deeper as She scrambles to find an escape. An escape from the whirlwind of…nothingness. She had forgotten what it was like to feel, anything. Sitting quietly turns to sobbing hysterically, trembling and screaming, until She finds Her release. Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe She needed to feel something to feel something. She did.

And it became routine. She never was the same, not at all. Her mind overflowed with anxiety and meaningless meanings to the world around Her. Even when He came back. He talked to Her, listened to Her, fought and cried with Her. He was dedicated, yet She was never truly thankful. Thankful that He took the time from His day to be Her guide when She wasn’t in Her right mind. It was supposed to help… right?

Something must be wrong with Her, because the days aren’t supposed to feel the same. The parties, the amusement parks, the teenage fun, it all felt, the same. The same as in no happiness or genuine smiles. He noticed, but kept a distance. She wanted to cry out so badly, hold onto Him and never let go because Her body felt as if it would escape itself if she had no tether. Simultaneously, She also wanted to push everyone away, force everyone to leave Her, allow Her to drown in self pity alone, if that’s what you could call it. At least, Her mother called it that.

Months pass and eventually enough is enough. She’s tired, exhausted, gassed and wrung out bone-dry by the task called living. She did it, every day, with Her release but even this day. This forsaken day, it wasn’t enough.

And so She was done. She did not think twice about Him, or Her mother, or anyone else because they would not think twice about Her. To Her assumption. There would be no difference, with or without Her. So She took one last walk. She walked and walked until the sun settled just above the horizon, emitting a lovely orange hue across the town. And oh, how She wished She could see it, even smile at it, one last time. Arriving at the lake didn’t startle Her, there were no thoughts left for Her to think, no feelings to feel. And it was at that moment there was peace, peace and the gentle beating of Her heart. That, and approaching footsteps accompanied by panting breaths. She closed Her eyes tightly, wishing whoever it was to go away until they stopped running and became a looming figure, towering over Her. The silence was heavy, until He spoke. He spoke and She listened, Her mind waking to the realization of Her actions as He spoke. All it took was Him. Begging, asking, pleading with Her.

“Please, don’t do it.”


Waking up in a coma is hard for Mariya- a 23 years old woman who has a fair skin, she has mesmerizing forest eyes that everyone liked, a pointed nose, thin lips, and her hair dyes with this description are perfect for gray coverage. Has yellow and blue pigments to cover gray. She is now in a park watching the children play, and waiting for her best friend Vera. They're planning to bond- watch movie, play in arcade, go to her favorite fast food, and lastly picnic- she and Vera loved to go on picnic. "BEST FRIEND!!!" the lady shout. When she looked at her back, she saw her best friend Vera running to her. She immediately smiled and hugged her as she approached her seat. "I missed you Vera." she said. "I missed you too..how are you? are you okay now don't you hurt or what?" Mariya was blessed there's some who care's about her. "I'm fine now... don't worry" she replied. "Tell me when you feel something wrong? Understood?" She nodded as a replied. Vera Martinez that's her best friend name. They knew each other since they were in high school. Mariya invited her best friend to begin their journey. They take a cab- she does not own a car, her friends Vera as well. As of now Mariya can't afford to buy a car even those things she wanted- she's broke. That's why she's planning to get a job. And if your asking where her parents is.. she didn't know either. Maybe she would ask her best friend. Minutes after when the cab driver parked the car outside the fast food chain. McDonald. "Here we go... After so many many many minutes." Vera joked. Mariya smiled at her best friend."Why so very impatient now, Vera?" she asked. "Because of you!.. your so long to wake up from coma.. you stunning lady!!" her best friend shriek. Mariya been in 2 years under of coma. They never talked about the accident that led to her in coma. She can't remember every single things before her accident-even the accident she was in. But when she woke up all she want to do is looked at the beautiful sky above her oozed and billowed across the awakening sun, casting the meadow into a shadowy darkness.          She believed that when she was in the accident the sky was watching him. Just waching. “Hey… are you okay? Is there something wrong?” Vera say to her. Is she okay? Even she herself did not know if she was okay. Maybe yes or maybe no- physically yes but emotionally? She’s not. “Ahh yeah I’m fine don’t worry.” She said and smiled. Mariya doesn't want to worry her best friend. Vera frowned at her, “You are becoming more secretive to me… I’m your best friend right, tell me if you have a problem.. and if something's bothering you.” Tears willed in her face… “Mariya …” Vera approach her- a warm hug coming for her best friend is the best. “You… you don’t need to pretend that you’re okay when you’re with me.” She caressed her hair and gently removed the tears in her cheeks. “Just breath.” “Why I can’t remember every single things when I accident.” She cried. “Even my parents.. where are they Vera.” She looked at her best friend. All she can see in its face is sadness. “Ahh… Ahh.. lets eat I know your hungry too.” Vera avoiding her question. She sighed and wipe her tears, “Vera, I know you knew something… I have the right to know the truth..” Vera hold her hand and call a taxi. she already had an idea of where they were going. They enter the cab. “Good day! Where do you wanna go, ma’am?” The taxi driver asked. “St. Alers Cemetery” Vera answered. She look at the lady next to her-can't look at her. Mariya held the hand of her best friend. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t tell you the truth when you woke up.” Her best friend says sadly. It hurts. After all this time, it still hurt her. And yet she did not feel the slightest anger toward to her best friend. She understand it. She truly loves her best friend. “I understand.. Don’t worry I’m not angry.” She replied. Opening the passenger side door, she held it to open. Her gaze lingered on the place, she looked up and she the signage “St. Alers Cemetery”. She took a deep breath- here she goes. “Are you ready?” Vera asked, she just nod as answered to its question. “Lets go someone is waiting for you.” Mariya looked at his best friend who leading the way. Someone? Who? She looked confused. “Wait someone who?” she asked. Vera just gave a half-smile. She scanned the cemetery. There someone here too visiting their loved ones. She… she don’t have any idea who’d she visit. “Were here.” Mariya looked at the small tomb infront of her. She read the word on tombstone. “Gone to be an angel….” She looked at her best friend- confused. “Vera what is the meaning of this?” Slowly… she started to cry on what she heard. “Your baby can’t make it.. I’m sorry” She cried out. How?? She felt that someone hug her tight and patting her back to clam herself. But she cant. “H-how?” she asked. Vera cried along with her. “Y-your pa-pare-nts” when she heard that she start to shout to release her anger. Mariya heard her best friend sob. “When you told them that your pregnant and the father is Niall, they are angry at you” Vera sob again, “they asked you to abort the child you… you disagree to their idea. You plan to go along with Niall that's where their plan began.” She let to go to her and approach her child’s grave. Why her parents do that? All of the people, why them? but she was not satisfied on what her best friend said. Mariya told to herself that she will find the truth whatever it takes. And that Niall, whoever he is? Mariya looked at the sky, “I know this not the end… I’ll come to all of you… I’ll make you pay.” And she start to cry again and again while looking to the sky, tears by tears.


“We’re sitting here like idiots. There must be something we can do?” Giles said. Elbows on knees, chin in palms, the same stance as his two best friends. Giles was the thinker of the three, if anyone could resolve this situation, it was Giles. “How long have we been sitting here? Seems like ages?” Roger asked. He relaxed, and stretched his back, remaining seated on the boulder. “We can’t wait here forever. Won’t someone come and get us?” John moaned, he yawned, stood and walked around the rocks. It was dark, not pitch black, but gloomy, and chilly. “Where is the light coming from?” asked Giles. “What light?” asked Roger. “We’re in a cave, in case you hadn’t noticed, there is no electricity. So, how come there is some light, not a lot, I agree, but some.” “Who said we’re in a cave? The floor is flat, not all rocky,” said Roger. “And you can’t see the ceiling.” “Is there anything to climb on?” asked John. “Stand on your rock, you are bound to see for miles up there. Idiot,” said Giles. “Don’t call me an idiot, at least I’m trying.” “Yes, very trying. It’s your fault we’re here.” “Guys settle down, we’re all in it together, it is nobody’s fault,” said Roger. “Anyone hungry or thirsty?” “No, that’s odd, I’m usually starving by mid-morning.” Giles realised his watch was gone. “What’s the time? I’ve lost my watch.” “Hey, where is mine?” “And I’ve lost my phone.” “We can’t even look at the sun to guess the time,” laughed John. “It’s not funny, who has nicked our stuff?” said Giles. “This gets worse,” said Roger. “Is this anything to do with you, John?” “Why would it be my fault?” Giles groaned but refrained from saying what he was thinking. ‘He got us in this mess. He was the one who loved Roger’s dopey sister. Perhaps not so dense, she’s training to be a stunt actor. My God, she’s can jump from moving horses, whatever next. John was the one who planned to scare the fearless girl. And then come to her rescue, dragging us with him.’ John placed his hands on the cool rock, “I read somewhere…” “I doubt if you read anything, anywhere, are you sure it wasn’t on TicTok?” said Roger. “As I was saying, if you get lost in a maze, simply put your hand on the left side fence, or in our case, wall, and follow it back to the entrance. Simple.” “In case you hadn’t noticed, we are not in some childish game,” said Giles. “I’m going to try, if you want to get out, follow me.” John ducked his head, scratched his nose to hide the beginning of tears. ‘Why did I fall for an older woman? I know she fancied me. She was happy enough to show off her new driving licence and take my friends for a ride.’

He thought. “I sort of agree with John, we can’t just sit here. We must be better off by following the left-hand side of the wall, won’t we?” Roger said. ‘If he’d have acted like a grown-up, instead of a love-struck teenager we wouldn’t have been in this mess.’

Roger thought. “Can any of you remember why or how we got here?” Giles asked. “Never mind that now, let’s try to get home,” said John. Roger was nodding by his side. “We can start by using my left hand on the wall, if it gets sore we can swap, take it in turns. Okay?” said John. “Have you guys got anything to mark the wall, just in case we’re walking in circles?” suggested Giles. “Where’s my chewing gum? I had a new pack.” “Yeah, my house keys have gone!” “Someone has emptied all our stuff,” said Giles. “I always carry a pen in my shirt, too. It has gone.” They set off, John thought he was Indiana Jones. He jauntily strode ahead. “I could do with that gum, we could mark the wall with little blobs?” “Is that your best idea?” They walked and walked, John’s arm didn’t ache, they didn’t tire. “Are we there yet,” John joked, mimicking a youngster. “That stupid comment jogged a memory.” Giles was deep in thought, looking face to face. “John was sitting in the front, Roger and I sat in the back?” “The back of what,” asked Roger.

‘Nothing comes to me,’  he thought. “We were in your sister’s car,” said John. “Yes, that’s right. She has just passed her test,” said Roger.

‘How could I have forgotten that, my dad bought her a Ford saloon. Wonder if I’ll get one when I pass?’ “And you were teasing her. Remember John, you said that women shouldn’t be allowed to drive, she lost her temper and clipped the kerb?” “Oh, yeah. I had my hand on her knee too.” “You dirty sod. I told you my sister didn’t like people touching her,” said Roger.

‘Bastard, lucky for him I didn’t see.’ Roger stretched forward and clipped John’s ear. ‘No reaction, I’ll do it much harder next time.’  Thought Roger. “Guys, we are getting nowhere. Does anyone need a rest?” asked Giles. “I’m not tired, let’s keep moving,” said John.  “I want to stop, sit and think what happened to us,” said Giles. “The memories have come back, bit by bit. I can almost feel her thigh. Lovely," said John. Roger punched him hard on the nose. “That’s my sister, you’re talking about.” No blood spurted across John’s face, no yelp of pain. “Haha, I’m tougher than you imagined, that didn’t hurt at all,” laughed John. Giles was quiet, thinking about himself. ‘ Lucky for me, they didn’t notice me grabbing a handful of her titties from the back seat. My arm got wedged between seat and door. It’s coming back. What else can I remember?’  He scratched his temples. “Are we going to walk forever?” asked Roger. “Let’s stop, get into a mini scrum, put our heads together, think hard, and try to come up with a solution,” said Giles. “And you thought walking was a bad idea? How is that going to help?” asked Roger. “Something may come to us. Come on, try.” The boys linked arms and bumped their heads together. The initial smirks and sniggers quietened. “We were in my sister’s car, she was driving slowly, concentrating. Where were we going?” “I think we were just cruising?” said John. “Then you frightened her and she lost control,” said Giles. “Yes, it’s all coming back to me,” said Roger. He then broke the scrum fiercely. “You caused it!” he screamed at Giles. “What…” he answered. “Yes, she undid her seat belt. Opened the door and… jumped out. Because of you, you filthy sod, grabbing her. You know she hates people touching her.” Stammered a weeping Roger.  “She put the gear in neutral. We flew down the hill and…” said John. “Going faster and faster.” “We crashed into a lorry at the crossroads.” The truth hit the boys.

“Sorry, my fault. We are dead,” whispered Giles. The END


Amara walked to the mirror on her wall. She was the same girl-- violet headphones, messy blue hair, a white-with-salmon-stripes men’s t-shirt that she was wearing as a tunic with jeggings, high-tops on her feet. The only sign of the adventure was the green symbol on the underside of her wrist-- a longsword, or some kind of fantasy-looking sword drawn in a few minimalist lines.

Amara sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

She knew that if she told her mom, she would think she was crazy and take her to a doctor.

If she told the government about supernaturals they wouldn’t believe her.

It was just her and Sarah.

Amara slid her headphones over her ears. The whoosh of her breath and the beating of her heart were calming to her.

In. Out. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

“Did you take my lipstick?” Ashwin’s voice came through the thin, white door.

“NO! Why would I want your lipstick? It isn’t green!” “You want… green lipstick?” Amara didn’t really want that. “No reason!” “Well, fine. Let me know if you see it.” Ashwin opened the door, gave a teenage glare, and slammed it.

Ashwin was seventeen and had dressed only in black lace tank tops since her boyfriend broke up with her. She had long, brown hair, unlike Amara’s fluffy blue. Her eyes were an icy color, and her lips were dyed red from lipstick. She watched anime in her room all day, snacking, but always worried about her weight. Ashwin was weird. Amara looked at her reflection for so long without breathing or blinking that her vision grew blurry and her head began to spin. Amara fell backwards, banging her head on the footboard of her bed. The pain in her head from the bump made the room blur out of her eyes with tears, and she slumped to the floor, a green haze floating around her face… Oh, yay, I’m a Celestial again, she thought before blacking out.

Ashwin. “Amara?” Ashwin asked, a thump sounding from her sister’s room. “Did you fall down or something?” She pushed the door open and screamed.

A rainbow, marbled hole stretched through the wall, and Amara was lying on the ground, unconscious, a green aura floating around her. A glowing shape was on her left wrist, and her hair turned from blue to green; her skin took on a mint hue. From the hole came what looked like an anime character, glowing pink, with long rose-colored hair. An aura floated around her body. She yelped and snapped her fingers.

The door slammed shut, an indigo glow circling its white frame. The soft, beige rug below Ashwin’s bare feet felt as soft as a cloud.

The anime girl stepped out of the rainbow hole like she was exiting a pool. She called something in another language, chittering and chirping, waving at someone in the hole who hadn't yet crossed into Amara’s room.

“Carri chi-chen nall Luke! Ahan chi Amara che sa!” She said Amara. And she called for someone named Luke, Ashwin thought.

She banged on the door, trying to open it, but the indigo seal locked it tighter than any lock could.

“Help!” Ashwin shrieked as she banged on the door. No one came.

Two figures emerged from the hole-- one with a deep blue aura, dark blue hair, and eyes like the sea, one, a silver-eyed teen with a long, lilac cloak covering his body and a deep hood covering his face.

The silver-eyed one said something like “Chi ral hek, Thunder?” and the blue-aura’d girl hissed “kals dal-len raeka sarr-suum.”

“Ka-ri, du ka mer chilc teha,” the pink-anime girl said. They all looked pretty anime, though, especially the blue-aura’d girl. “AAAGH! OPEN UP! OPEN UP! COME ON!” Ashwin shouted, uselessly hitting the door.

The blue-aura’d girl spun what looked like specks of light between her fingers until it had the consistency of slime.

She pulled it back like it was a slingshot and let it fly from between her fingers. It launched at Ashwin, who whipped around, not sure what to do, the sticky stuff warping into what looked like a long ribbon of light. It wrapped around Ashwin’s chest and arms, pinning them to her sides. “Hey!” she shouted. Let me go!” They went from warm and kind of stretchy to silk-soft and cool.

Ashwin yelped and tried to run away toward the door, not sure how she’d escape, when the the blue-aura’d girl tugged the cord so hard she fell over, flat on her face.

“Ta ras ki samm,” the blue aura’d girl said. She gave the string a yank, pulling Ashwin backwards across the floor.

“Stop! I have a date tonight and I can’t miss it because some glowing people tied me up and pulled me through their portal!” Ashwin kept yelling. But either Mom couldn’t hear her, or the seal on the door was soundproof, because no help came.

Ashwin lashed out with her legs, but he blue aura’d girl threw another warm, stretchy ribbon of light at her, tying them together as they cooled. She was pulled back towards the hole, the other two figures vanishing into the wall with Amara. “Oh, you do not walk off with MY sister and get away with it!” Ashwin yelled. “Ara ko!” the blue aura’d girl shouted into the hol.e a young male voice replied “Kli tsi ra se-che-cla,” and the girl yanked her strings pulling Ashwin to her knees, her back to her. The girl pulled the strings again, and Ashwin was dragged to the food of the portal-- yes, it was no hole, but a portal leading to another world, probably.

“I’ll-- hm!” Darkness closed Ashwin’s eyes, starting off warm and kind of sticky-stretchy, then becoming cool and silky.

The blue-aura’d girl had thrown her ribbons around Ashwin’s eyes and mouth, pulling her into the portal. Ashwin didn’t struggle any more.

It was pointless.

Amara. Amara groaned, waking up. A green aura clung to her hands when she looked at them. She was back with the Celestials.

She wondered if there were any mirrors in wherever she was-- it wasn’t a tent like before, but a huge royal bedroom, like something a king or queen would sleep in. The walls were marbled with warm colors, pink and red and gold, swirled with blue. Amara was lying in a giant, pure-white bed, a green chandelier above it. The light was really bright though…

The walls dimmed to black streaked with purple and blue, and the chandelier dimmed, making it look like she was in space.

It was like the room knew what she needed. A mirror, Amara thought, closing her eyes.

When she looked up, the wall across from her was reflective. She stepped out of the bed, not held down with starstring this time, and approached it. Her face had taken on a greenish color, as had her hair, but not in a creepy way; she looked like an elf from Dreamfate: War of the Halfbloods, the video game she spent most of her time playing. Her jaw was pointier, but not too pointy, and she blushed the color of grass. Her hair was less messy-and-wild, and more messy-on-purpose, like the character in her favorite show. Her eyes were wider and elfin, and blue, and her aura was green and gold-flecked, like the shiny golden freckles on her cheeks.

Her ears were pointed, like an elf's, and she had an outline like Chihiro and Olive and the others. Her eyes weren’t only wide, but outlined and looked like they’d been drawn by an artist who could bring things to life. Her aura was behind her, and it wasn’t clinging to her eyelashes the way it had the day before. She was dressed in a silken sort of pajama top in a shade of mint, with a white collar and a white skirt. It looked like something you’d wear while playing tennis.

“Amara, we have a… situation,” a small, quavering voice said. Amara turned her head, and saw a small, orange-aura’d girl of some kind, with red hair and… horns?

“Do you know Ashwin? She appeared to have tried to… interfere with your traveling through the portal, and she’s all-human, so…” the girl shook her head. “Nevermind, we’ll show you.” Amara followed her out of the room, the walls shifting to white as she left. They walked through corridors made of some sleek stone that shifted in color as they moved. When they got outside, they walked across a dusty, lilac surface of a different world. The other one was flat with a rainbow, shiny ground, but this one looked more like a weird earth. It was day, so sunlight poured down, making the desertlike ground shine white.

Strange purple pods, like bubbles on the surface of water, studded the surface of the world, scattered 200 feet apart.

“I’m Emilinda,” the horn-girl said, smiling. Her smile faded as she walked across the dusty surface of the world and over to a bubble 200 feet away. Amara followed.

There was another, smaller dome inside the big bubble, only kneehigh and about four feet wide. Oh no, did they make Ashwin tiny? Amara thought. Emilinda tapped the bubble twice, and the violet color faded, revealing a pane of clear glass.

When Amara looked down into it, she gasped. It was way deeper than four feet, and was the top of a large orb-shaped cell, completely round, with Ashwin sitting in the bottom, leaning against the curved wall, tied up with starstring. She looked up, snarling at them silently. There was no sound in the bubble.

“Humans can’t witness a supernatural come out of a portal, or go to any other world with any magic at all, and… we have to make some modifications to them afterward, if they do.” “So you’ll change her memory?” “No, I’m afraid that’s impossible. Instead, we make some... edits,” she sighed. “We let them leave their old lives behind. They become a new person. Their appearance changes, their temperament, their memories…” Ashwin continued to silently screech at them, as if they were weird strangers who hated her even though they never met her.

She doesn’t recognize me, Amara thought.

“The lightbringer will be here soon." “Lightbringer?” “Lightbringer. The one who will help her change.”  “Help? Like, you don’t force her to?” “It’s a traumatic experience. She wants to get rid of it. And lots of people want to start over.” “But--but Ashwin is my sister! She drives me crazy, but loves me!”

“I guess so, but… she might blame you for this.” “I don’t care! I want Ashwin, not some non-sister starting over again!” Amara stormed away, back to the palace on the horizon.

Ashwin. Ashwin stopped trying to escape, and something miraculous happened: the cords vanished! Ashwin jumped, trying to reach the top of the ten-foot-ball she was in. No luck. People with auras or horns had come to stare at her, for some reason, and she wondered if she was in some kind of zoo for otherworldly races.

The top of the ball disappeared, and she stared up at it. What was going on? “Hello, Ashwin,” a calm, silvery voice said.

“How do you know my name?” she asked angrily.

“I was told,” the voice said. A ladder came down, and she cautiously climbed it.

The figure outside may have been a man or may have been a woman, tall and thin and wearing a white hood. They showed no trace of aura, and their white hair fell in fluffy bangs. They did have that outline of all the people who she’d seen here, like they were drawn into this world with a ballpoint pen.

“Who are you?” Ashwin asked. “I am the lightbringer.” “Why are you here?” “To help you change.” “Do I need to change?” “Do you like who you are?” “I…” But the heartaches of life spiraled into Ashwin, and she didn’t want to go back. “...I don’t.” “Then come. You don’t have to change if you change your mind, but you can.” Ashwin followed the strange figure away. Amara. Sitting on the bed in the big room, Amara was messing around with the room, turning it different colors.

“Ashwin can choose for herself whether she wants to change… but she’s gonna want to change, so she’s not going to be my sister anymore… I mean, biologically, she will, but she won’t be the Ashwin I know best.” Amara sighed and opened the door. She’d been given free reign of the palace, however, she wasn’t feeling up to doing anything, not even trying to fly like the other Celestials seemed to be able to do. Amara left the palace and saw something weird: a big, black bubble floating a few feet off the ground, as big as her house, about 300 feet away. She walked towards it, wondering what it possibly could be.

As she got close, a hole opened up in the side and sucked Amara in. Inside, it looked like the character customization room in most video games: not many surfaces, bars with labels on them like “hair” and “colors” and “sword”, and a big glass wall separating the blue, featureless room from the white, circular platform where the character stood. The character was Ashwin. She swiped at something invisible, looked at something Amara couldn’t see, and then tapped the air. Her hair became wavier, and then, as she ran her finger down something else invisible, it went from brown to copper-red.

“I like it,” she said. “How do I get longer bangs?”

“You tap the selection for ‘bangs’ and then choose what you want,” a silvery voice said from somewhere else Amara couldn’t see. This was getting annoying!

“Okay.” Ashwin gaver herself long, copper bangs that fell just above her eyes, then darkened her skin slightly, like she had given herself a tan, and then rounded her face slightly. She gave herself freckles and bright-blue eyes, then changed her lips from red to pink. She hardly looked like the same person. Ashwin made herself a little less stick-thin, so she was taller and curvy, then she changed her black tank into a blue-and-white tunic shirt with puffy sleeves. She changed her black jeggings into a pair of super-short-shorts, then put on pink sneakers. “I like this,” she said.

“Select ‘yes’ and it will stay,” the voice said.

Ashwin did.

The glass lifted away, and she stepped out, meeting a tall, thin person who might be a man and might be a woman, dressed in a white cloak and hood.

“Are you ready?” they asked her.

“Yes.” Ashwin stammered for a second. “But can I keep my name? I like it.” “You can keep whatever you love dearly about yourself.”

“I love my name, it makes me feel strong.” “Do you like feeling strong?” “Yes.” “Then you shall keep it.”

They walked away, down a hallway in the bubble. As they left, their backs to Amara, the lightbringer, if that was who they were, turned their head and stared into Amara’s eyes.

“You may not want to see this, Amara,” they said. Amara shuddered. Then she sat down on the floor and cried electric-green tears.

Ashwin came back out of the bubble; she looked happier, somehow. Like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

She smiled at Amara. “Hello,” she said in a cheery voice. It sounded like Ashwin, but happier. “Hi, Ashwin,” Amara said.

“Are you the heroine Amara?” Amara saw the blue of her sister’s eyes. It wasn't just brighter than her original coloring...

Her eyes looked like they belonged to an anime character, or a supernatural. She had an outline.

She wasn’t human. Not anymore. She was Ashwin, the supernatural.

Olive entered the room.  “Hi,” Amara said. “I know what it feels like,” Olive breathed.

“What?” “Changing.”    “I changed, too.” Olive said. “I used to be human, but I followed Celeste into a portal-- she used to sneak away into other worlds-- and I kept my younger memories, became a Mage, and… I was darker from my changing. I didn’t like it. So I did horrible things. I became an assassin. But after the war, when peace came to the Celestials… I became Celeste’s bodyguard. I go back to Earth sometimes, to play videogames.” Amara looked at the rough Mage.

She’d been a human before. “Please,” Amara gasped, tears coming to her eyes. “keep Ashwin safe. Tell her about me, even though she doesn’t really know me as anyone other than the heroine. Just… be sure that you keep her safe for me!”

Amara ran from the bubble, wiping away her tears. She crouched by a boulder and sobbed. “I will,” Olive said, standing beside Amara. She sat on the ground as well, and the two looked at the starry sky.

Ashwin.

“Hi, Amara,” Ashwin said, looking at her sister. She’d been human before, but now she was a supernatural. It was confusing. She remembered her favorite animes and foods, and that Amara was her sister. But she had trouble with remembering her ex-boyfriend, her sorrows, and everything else. “Ashwin?” Amara muttered, asleep by that flower-mage-girl that was the princess’s bodyguard. “It’s me! I can’t go back to earth with you, but, for the first time in so long, I feel happy.” Amara.

Amara opened her eyes. When she saw her sister, she smiled. Ashwin looked different, and didn’t seem to remember her old life, but... Ashwin hadn’t smiled in years.

And she was beaming. The two sisters hugged, and Olive watched them approvingly.

“What do I tell Mom?” Amara asked.

“That I’m at a friend’s house. There’s a difference in space-time,s o I can be gone for a while and Mom won’t know!” Ashwin jumped for joy. For so long, Ashwin was grumpy and self-obsessed, an angry older sister. But now, Amara saw that even though she was different, the lightbringer had shown Ashwin happiness.

 Amara hugged her sister, happy gold tears coming to her eyes.


*Notice/Caution - I don’t want to seem like I am spoon-feeding anything, but I want to explain my tense and dialogue choice (in case my future self reads this and cringes at me for using bad technique). Please forgive me (and brace yourselves) for the confusing shifts between past and present tense that will occur. Everything is written from a retrospective perspective, but I just wanted to experiment with the contrasting effects the past and present tense can have on a story. When she remembers seeing and interacting with the character and having that epiphany, I wanted her to be so present in the past that the tense shifts. As for the reported speech: I cannot replicate Donna Tartt’s bone-chilling dialogue in the prologue of The Secret History , and what I wrote is far from perfect. But I wanted to highlight the subjectivity and unreliability involved in the retrospective narrator. So future me, take note and please don’t get mad. Plus, I welcome any feedback! — He slumps on one foot while the other rocks back and forth like a pendulum, sending ripples through the fuzzy maroon rope which fenced up the paintings. I doubt that he is remotely aware that he is leaning dangerously close to the artwork, or that the security staff grimaces rhythmically at every forward swing of his foot, ready to pounce if he moves any closer. To his relief, the leg brushes against the fence one last time, steps away, and curls itself around an oak bench, a smoothed-out seat glistening from years of acquaintance with the rough, sandpaper texture of jeans.

From my nearsighted eyes, it becomes all but a pointillist painting: the pixelated effect I imagine you’d arrive to if you take a transparent picture of the

Earth from space,

zoom in on this very art museum,

ground floor,

gallery 3,

and circle to the wall opposite the man-sized boy mannequin that gives me the creeps. Trace the last bend of the waves reverberating down the fence; catch the dull, mustard-colored frame of the painting; glimpse the rings of halos from the light above his head; and finally him, camouflaged in the mundanity of it all. The soft curve of his curls distort into mosaic tiles; a rosy flush smears across his cheeks from blurred out pimples; shadows pool into the nook of his collarbone. Him, elbows on knees, frozen in the act of leaning forward

like a trembling swimmer on the diving board seconds before exploding through the surface of the water. Looking into this blur, I feel an intolerable urge to sit by him and religiously echo his posture as he studies the painting. But with it follows the second wave of despair, dread, and terror from haunting clarity that even then, I might as well be hypnotised by the spin of a yo-yo and he rolling his eyes at a chemistry experiment. Nor is there any use following his thoughts—all the words in the world could not articulate the honesty of a silent stir in the mind. — He stood up, and the momentary painting erupted into action. Time hurried to catch up with this accidental lapse as crowds swarmed around the paintings like flies around a rotting banana peel. Their headless movements interrupted my gaze, and he was engulfed by the humming wave of motion and crowds. It took me a while to find my footing—art museum, ground floor, gallery 3, behind that creepy statue. Absent-mindedly, I drifted over to the Landscape with the Fall of Icarus painting and glanced at the artist and description underneath. How could they still call an art theirs if it is reborn, repainted in a new mind every time an eye flickers upon them? If an artist knew all the meanings and interpretations their painting evoked in different people, they would probably be horrified enough to never pick up a paintbrush again, let alone hang it in a national gallery. I suppose Basil Howard had some sense hoarding his best art. The original meaning that he created behind it would not be watered down and diluted among the various interpretations of others. Only then, the artist can truly call an art their own, as it would exist in an universe where there is only one objective meaning behind the art, which is defined solely by the artist. Overwhelmed and slightly repulsed by this discovery, I stumbled through the entrance and sat on the top of the staircase. The last mechanical cool of the AC radiating off the marble tiles left me. Stranded among the heat and the croaking cicadas, I began to debate whether to go inside or not. But I suppose I liked it out here, on the edge of the stairs, surrounded by blurred leather shoes and swinging handbags, people-watching. People are most beautiful when they are not looking at me, which is why I hate Instagram pictures, whoever’s in it. They always lock eyes with you through the screen, deliberate, aware, tight-up, on their tip-toes, with their fight-or-flight mode on or whatever. But looking through the tinted windows in a car, or an ignored corner in a room, or a busy street, there’s always the protection of invisibility, and then you start to overromancise the mundane. A matching two piece. Ashes falling off a cigarette from a flickering hand hanging outside the driver seat window. The curve of her calf muscles when she sits cross legged. A fading pedicure. This is what I feel like now, on the edge of the staircase, dissolving into oblivion. — A familiar voice pulls me back into existence—art gallery, top of the stairs. My heart throbs once, twice. Cooling down after seeing that Icarus painting? he says. Tendrils of smoke from his cigarette cradles his jaw, disturbed by his sudden motion of sitting down beside me.

Hope you don’t mind it? he says, waving the tendrils of smoke that played with his hair away like an insect. I shake my head. The dull glow of his cigarette almost kisses his lips. A subdued grimace flashes across his face as he tries to bend his fractured finger to smudge the cigarette to ash. From my peripheral view, I became exceedingly aware that he was watching me. He had a pair of the most intense eyes, studded with a hot shimmer, like sunlight striking off the hood of a hearse. Dimmed by the soft curves of his eyelashes, the pupil often dissolved into the muddy darkness of the iris. Seeing my gaze fixed on the finger splint, he responds: Parkour. Always end up trying too hard. It’s not like I can help it.

No. Didn’t think I would see you here, Dion. Neither did I, but I’ve already been surprised twice and it’s only late morning. Once by myself, and the other by seeing you. What brings you here? The paintings, I shrug. Do you draw? No, I say. Good. Why, so then I could be as ignorant as you are? No, so then you could be as privileged as I am. Never used to believe it, but this is where ignorance is bliss finally applies. Studying a painting from the perspective of an artist distracts you from seeking the truth of it. And when I say seeking, it’s not like there is an objective one. It’s something you have to create. When you draw, you analyse the techniques of the painting headfirst. The golden rule, parallelism, or whatever. And then get to the core, the emotional quality of it, or never even that part. By that time, you’ve already lost on the starting line. And as our parents say, never 输在起跑线上。So I say, we’re not bad art connoisseurs after all. I suppose so. The language of art is universal, because it is felt, not understood. You don’t get that much from STEM subjects.

Exactly, though I might be wrong, because I don’t paint. My dad does, so I’m only explaining his thought process. Anyway, no worries, it’s just that I think we’re fine, as non-artists. It doesn’t make our opinion any less valid than an artist or in fact the artist of the painting. Your dad’s an artist? Yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t really say—but yeah, I guess. He sketches, paints, although it’s not very precise, like those ancient Greek statues. Right. Rather abstract. He follows a visual arts textbook and explains his paintings in technical terms, though he can’t really articulate the meaning behind them. I think he missed the whole point of creating art. Can’t articulate it, or doesn’t want to? Well, I-uh, you know… — As he rambled on, he looked up to the sun, but did not actually see it, for his eyes were lost in remembrance and confusion. A cloud shifted, and his jet black eyes and hair were set alight the same way in the sun. To this day, I still remember that striking image of him, scorched to the back of my eyelids. It’s the kind you get when you stare at a bright object for too long in the dark and it imprints onto your retina and haunts your vision for a while, but this time it’s temporary, eternal, immortal amongst the erratic shifts of my memory.

水急不流月。The still reflection of the moon upon the waters is undisturbed by the choppy waves.

Remember when we gave the moon credit for its silky, ivory glow, when it was in fact only a reflection of the sun’s light? The composed countenance when he glanced towards the sun—no wrinkles rippling through his eyes, nor a hand shielding his face—probably succeeded to pull off the same illusion that the warm, gold sunlight radiated from him. It thrashed through his tumbling curls, swelling in the halo of the glow, and seeped into the dormant black eyes; the colors of amber and late autumn exploded like a volcano inside a snow globe. — But I wished I could do something more than looking, like I was Nick Carraway or a writer of a biography: passive, distant, helplessly obsessed with a life I don’t lead. Somehow, this reminded me that we never really touched. I don’t mean in any sensual way—I curse my mind for even going there—, but the mere brush of a shoulder, an accidental step on a shoe, or my hair getting stuck on his coat buttons. I suppose it was one way to tear apart the shallow mirage I build for the people I think about excessively, and another way to be more involved in the lives of others. I looked down at his fingers, at the whites on his roughly clipped nails and hair sprouting out behind the silver ring. Then at his other hand, which stroked the accessory: the shadows they reflected, the pink spots on his open palm, and the three curves slicing through them. I traced the parabola of the longest one down to the copper green veins on his wrist—which disappeared into a darkened scar on his forearm, probably from some fall while playing sports. I remembered that I forgot what the first touch of anyone felt like, even my childhood crush. It was trivial, but why should it be? It suggested a new level of intimacy and comfort to be familiar with the touch of someone. The hard calluses on his fingers from playing guitar, the bounciness of his hair, the way my temple will probably line up with his collarbone when we hug and how comfortable or disagreeable that will be. He sat beside me but seemed so distant, and I couldn’t break the reserved, friendly, just-getting-to-know-you comfort that we slipped into, or risk putting ourselves in an awkward situation. In retrospect, I think it would surprise both of us if we touched, then. I would be surprised about how I managed to manifest any fantasy into action and reality, and both of us would be confused about why I did it. Even now, I don’t know why I had the sudden urge to do so then. But thankfully, I don’t act on my impulses.


CARO: 'Dad? Dad, hi, it's me.'

DAD: 'Oh, hi there, I'll just get your mum, she's in the loft.'

CARO: 'No, wait! It's you I wanted to talk to.'

DAD: 'Oh, right then. I'm fine, how are you?'

CARO: 'Yeah. Alright. Um, except, I got... Mum's in the loft, you say?'

DAD: 'Yep, she's putting the Christmas decorations away. I was just weatherproofing the gate, just popped in to get some more newspapers, don't want to again the paving, you see, so if you want to call back later when your mum's downstairs...’ CARO: 'No, Dad, it's you I wanted to talk to. Okay, I've been working my way up to it all day, and I've got a break between meetings, so I wanted to ask you something. Did you have a girlfriend before mum? ' DAD: 'Me? Well. I suppose. There was a girl from my college, we went for drinks a few times, but nothing came of it. Why would you ask that?

CARO: 'Well, okay from the beginning, I did one of those genetic find your ancestry tests, y'know, since you were adopted. Mum never knew her dad, you can get tests done off the Internet it tells you things like if you've got a vitamin deficiency or a propensity to get diabetes and things too, someone gave me a voucher as a present, so I did it, y'know for a bit of fun...’ DAD: 'Oh. Like a doctor's test? Are you poorly?

CARO: 'No, I'm fine. It's like a doctor's test only it also tells you if there's anyone else in the database who you're related to and I didn't think there would be since you and mum don't have any brothers or sisters, but then there was a match.'

DAD: 'Oh, right, so you've found a relative? So it must be one of mine, like a brother or sister or cousin or something? I tried to track down my birth mother, but it came to naught.’

CARO: 'I remember.'

DAD: 'So who have you found? Did they give you a name? Is there a picture? Oh well done, love. After all these years, I could have some family still living!’

CARO: 'Well, yes, this person wanted to be notified if they got a match, and well, this is why I wanted to talk to you, not mum.' DAD: 'Well, let me call your mother, and she can pick up the other line, that way you can tell us both at once, this is news indeed!’

CARO: 'No, dad. This is for your ears only, just hold your horses.’ DAD: 'Oh, have they passed away? ‘ CARO: No. They got in touch with me, we've been emailing, and they added me on Facebook.’

 'Dad, I've got an older brother.'

DAD: 'No, you haven't.’ CARO: I think I have. He's called Toby. He looks like me, everyone thinks so. I haven't met him, he's living in New Zealand.’

DAD: 'Well, that's what you get for buying things off the Internet, love. I'm sorry, but I think you've got carried away. I mean, a brother in New Zealand… bit far-fetched, isn't it?

CARO: 'How long were you and mum together for before you had me?

DAD: 'You should know this. It was two years we were married after the first year then you came along a year later.

CARO: 'He's 5 years older than me.’

DAD: 'If you're saying what I think you're saying then... Well. I don't know what.'

'Goodness me, Caroline, we don't hear from you for months then you ring me up telling me I've got a girl into trouble!' CARO: 'Shh, Mum'll hear you.'

'Well, she so she should. I'll be telling her about all of this right away.'

CARO: 'I'm not saying you did it deliberately dad, but the woman you dated before mum, do you know what happened to her?' DAD: 'Well, we both got jobs at the same company and decided it'd be unprofessional for us to date. I think she found me a bit dull, to be honest, she wanted to go out partying all the time, and well, you know me, I like to potter about by myself. We were in different departments then I got offered the transfer to Bristol where I met your mam.

CARO: 'Right. So, and don't have a fit, but it's possible, possible, she could have been pregnant when you left?’

DAD: 'Caroline, this is not a discussion I want to have.’

CARO: 'Well, I didn't want to have it either dad, but I have a brother that I want to meet someday, and I'd better figure out what to tell him about you. Refusing to acknowledge that he exists isn't a good start. At least admit there's a possibility...’ DAD: 'There isn't! ' CARO: 'How do you know, though?' DAD: '...your mother.’ CARO: 'What? I didn't hear that.' DAD: 'I said, your mother was my first.'

CARO: Really? Cos you were what, twenty-something when you met mum, come on, dad.

DAD: 'Yes. Really. I was shy, and things were different in those days. I didn't want to cause exactly the kind of trouble that you're accusing me of.’

CARO: ‘Okay, okay.’

DAD: 'Can we put this whole silly business to bed? It's probably some kind of scammer, you need to be careful!'

CARO: 'Dad, I was the one who told you about Phishing emails, remember? I work in cybersecurity, don't you think I'd know an Internet scam if I saw one, I'm literally the expert.'

DAD: 'Well, you can't be the expert in everything.'

CARO: ‘I'm the expert at this.’

DAD: 'Lynn! Your daughter's on the line, here, you talk to her. I'm going to paint the fence.'

CARO: 'Wax on, wax off, Daniel-san.'

DAD: 'Oh, yes, I see what you did there. Yes, well, goodbye for now Caroline, I'm putting your mother on.'

MUM: 'Hello you!'

CARO: 'Hey, mum.' MUM: 'What did you say to dad, he's got a face like a slapped bum?' CARO: 'Is he still there?' MUM: 'No, he's out again painting the fence while there's a gap in the rain. I've just put the Christmas decorations away for another year. We still put your star on top.'

CARO: 'Oh, mum! That's trash I made when I was like five! Please throw that away!

MUM: 'No, it's special

because  you made it. It's been on that tree for thirty years, and it'll be there for thirty more, God willing.' CARO: 'Alright, I'll tell you what I was saying to dad because he'll tell you, but he'll get all the details wrong because it involves the Internet and he's a troglodyte.

'Ha, oh, alright, then. But don't expect me to understand any of this Internet talk either.'

CARO: 'No, it's not work stuff. Alright, basically I did one of these genetic tests that tells you if you're at risk of any diseases and stuff, and it also matches you to any genetic matches that have done the same test, like anyone you're related to, and obviously, I didn't think there'd would be any matches or maybe we might find some of dad's family or whatever, but well, there was a match, okay this sounds weird, and now talking to dad I think it was probably a mistake, but it matched me to someone, and I thought he might be a brother, I've seen pictures of him, and I thought we looked alike, but I've probably just imagined it. We've both got red hair, but millions of people do, right?' 'So anyway that's what dad was cross about.'

'Mum?' 'Hello? Mum? Can you hear me? Oh, I think my signal's gone if you can hear me hang up and I'll call back.'

MUM: 'I'm here.'

CARO: 'Oh, oh okay, I can hear you now. The signal must have cut out for a second.’ 'Anyway, are all the Christmas decorations back in the loft now? When are you gonna throw away that tatty old plastic tree, I bet it's just bare wire now, isn't it?'

MUM: 'His name was Toby.

CARO: 'Yeah. Wait. Did I tell you that? Wait. How do you know his name? Mum! Mum, what's going on?

MUM: 'My parents sent me to a convent to have him. The nuns were awful to us, I at least got to meet his new parents, they lived in London, they had good jobs, and they were nice people. They said I could see him if I wanted, but everyone said I should put it behind me and I was young and scared and I did.

'Have you seen him? Is he alright?' CARO: 'Well, that's the thing we were emailing each other.

MUM: 'You've talked to him? What's he like?'

CARO: 'He was nice, friendly. We look alike. Curious about me as much as I was about him. He knew he was adopted, that's why he did the test, to see if any relatives came up, I just did it cos I got a voucher as a birthday present from my friend.’ 'Are you going to tell dad? I take it he doesn't know.'

MUM: 'Yes, I suppose I should now. I was waiting for the right time, but it never seemed to be the right time, and I thought maybe he'd rather not know, and you can't take it back once you've said it out loud, and then I thought it'd gone on too long, the secret and that just makes it bigger, y'know. He'll say why didn't you tell me 40 years ago, and I can only say that it's because I'm a liar. He might never look at me the same. We know everything about each other, except for Toby.'

'Are you angry with me?'

CARO: 'No. I don't think so. It's just a lot to take in.’

DAD: 'Are you two still on the phone!'

MUM: 'Yes, just a minute! Caro, I need to go talk to your dad. Can you call me back tomorrow?' CARO: 'Sure. Oh before you go, I've got some pictures of him on Facebook, shall I email them over to you? ' MUM: 'Oh, you can send me his pictures? Yes. I want to see them. I have to go now. I'll make dinner for your dad and... Actually no, I think I'll have a glass of port. There's a bottle left from New year's eve. When do you think you'll be able to send the pictures?'

CARO: 'Give me 10 minutes.’ MUM: 'Oh, that soon? Okay, I'll take the iPad upstairs and... Okay, love.’ CARO: 'It's okay, mum, you don't have to tell dad anything if you don't want to. Just have a drink and settle yourself, okay? Call you tomorrow.’ MUM: 'Yes.’


I knew I had to make it stop. I closed my eyes, breathed in slowly, held it for a short time, and then released it just as slow. Out of instinct alone, I reached for the still cold ground. My hand thrust through the soil and I felt the roots. I started combing them with my fingers. The cicadas yawned from too much sleep and began to sing their song. I opened my eyes and watched them climb up the old oak tree. The one that grew the tallest at the center of the land. ( I don't remember a time when it wasn't there.) I sat on the ground listening to them sing. I usually only hear it at night when they sing me to sleep. I closed my eyes again to speak to the spirit. Breathe. The electric blue clouds come first, then the high pitch tone, and at last, the sound of cicada comes. Since it happened, I hear them when I'm still and I close my eyes. Even when they are asleep in the roots of the trees. My cold sweet prince woke me from my sleep. He's already left and it's my turn. I know I'll see him again, but it's not enough for me. One of us is always dying. I came to the forest because I couldn't be without him. Now I get to see him, but he always seems to be just out of reach. I've been trying to remember how it happened. All I remember is that it used to happen without me. The cicada sound is soothing. I'm drawn to the same path in the woods. Walking slowly through the twists and turns. All the while, shaded by the trees. All of the tree branches holding hands above my head, as I can never do with him. The path looks worn to the width of my feet. What if I have been here forever? As it always does and will again, when I reach the end of this path my life ends. It happens when I feel the warmth of the sun on my face. My cicadas are singing, but it's only in my head. I walked past them some time ago. I take some comfort in the creek that runs across my path. Cool, wet feet are soothing. One day, someone will come and I'll welcome them with open arms. These are things that are known in secret; We are in the forest with intent, this is happening, and one day we will finish. I have company these days. My hawk friend Frederick flies through here every day catching mice along the way. Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal stop by to say hello sometimes. The squirrels think they're funny. They like to throw acorns thru me. The raccoon takes up for me when they can, but I can't expect people to drop their everyday lives just for me, even furry lives. The deer are always careful not to be noticed. Quiet peaceful and solitary. I feel for them the most. I noticed this young couple walking in the woods. That's when I heard them giggling and making sweet little promises to each other. I sent them a warm Spring breeze and lit up the flowers for them. Breathe. An old couple sits on a log, remembering the promises they managed to keep with each other. I sent them a strong whiff of lavender. They're kind of my favorite because they come here a lot. What follows is my confession. I can see it as it happened now. When he ran away, I followed him into the woods. I remember it was cold. Blas froze to death that night. It was me. He only left because I told him that's what I would do. I couldn't leave him there, so I stayed. I tried to hold him to warm him up. I blew warm air in his face. I just kept breathing for the both of us. In the forest, with only him, I wished for the sun to come out and bring him back. Life-giving light please come. When the sun was finally overhead and peaking through the trees, I knew it wasn't enough. I was just a child myself and had never met death before. So I wished even harder. The next thing I knew, I was walking my path through the woods. This is the way it's been ever since; My frozen prince wakes me and fades before my eyes, I wake the forest and walk the path. Always at the edge of the forest, the sun touches my face and I die. Until I realized, this day will last forever. I have to let him go and release us both. I spent time as Spring wishing that I was just a person. And time as a person wishing I was more. I have to fix this. It's easy to get lost in the woods. I didn't know what was going to happen next. I've never gotten this far before. I hope he forgives me but, even if he doesn't I still need to look into his eyes just one more time. I know this will put us in front of each other face to face. I need this to happen, even if it's for the last time. I'm finally not afraid. When I stepped out of the forest and felt the sun on my face, for the first time in forever, I did not die. I felt his warm hand in mine as we walked away together. We were set free. Not being alive any more is a small price to pay. I didn't leave him and he never left me. When we come back to the forest again we'll just be sitting on a log together, remembering. It's not like it was when we were young and walking and giggling together. But, it's my favorite time with him. The great changes have come and gone and the mistakes are behind us. Spring and Winter are returned to their rightful owners, and no one will ever know what happened here.