text: The touches between their lips burn. He woke up in sweat and horror. The things in his dream had never happened in real life, which was more of the reason to feel terrified over. You dreamt what you had thought of, but he could swear to all gods he hadn’t thought of anything alike for quite a long while. He then realized he was not lying down on his own bed staring at the ceiling like it was supposed to be when waking up from a nightmare, instead he was sitting at a table by himself. Drowsiness and stupefaction of his mind prevented him from processing any more thoughts beyond the thirst for water. He waved his hand, a waitress came for him, and he asked for the icy waters. The ice water cleared the mind, he could finally observe his surroundings. It was the bar downtown, he realized, and soon enough he remembered he came here by himself just for some drinks, but then fell asleep at the table, succumbing to his sleep deprivations that had been pestering him for the last few weeks. One could only imagine his exhaustion if his little nap had dreams horrifying enough for him to wake up amidst it. The lady’s voice on stage sounded like silver bells. These round tables surrounding the stage were mostly empty. No one would come to a bar on a work day afternoon. Well besides him. He walked out the bar, and the sun almost blinded him in an instance. The street looked exotic, so did everyone that walked past him, but it might just be the effect of his slumbering mental state. Bilious, agitated, he wanted to do something, but there was nothing for him to do. The classes were all done and needed no more attention, besides, sitting back at his desk and starting doing work would be the last thing he wanted to do at this moment. He had a train he had to get on this evening, but that just seemed so far away right now, he wouldn’t want to entertain the idea of doing nothing until then. The phone came in. He picked it up. “Yo! Dawdler! I would imagine you having nothing to do right now.” “Yes. I have nothing to do.” “Come over to my apartment. Rand and I are heading out, you want to come?” “Heading out for what? “I don’t know. Christmas is coming my dude. You don’t want to make a proper meal together before going back home?” That sounded like a decent enough idea, but that meant he would be stuck with Reynolds and Rand for the next few hours. “Sure... I am coming.” The sun was relentless, and there were no clouds in the sky, so it blasted the land with all its might and wills, scorching the tarmac roads with thundering heat. Stepping on it, he could feel the ground hitting back up his feet, and his skin grinding against the bottom of his shoes. Their apartment was quite far away from his, and although they both belong to the school, one was far more superior than the other. He would normally be able to tell which was which, but right now the vivid dream and the numbness of his limbs had disabled him from making any judgment on anything, and nor could he remember what he thought of their apartments before today. All he could think of properly right now, was to walk. Walk to their apartment. Just walk under the screaming sun. The blocks looked all the same. Building after building climbing on top of each other, stacking layers upon layers like some kind of foreign dishes of which he forgot the name of. Since the surroundings were so monotonous, there was really no way of telling north west east south. But somehow, as if there were a mental map in his brain, he simply just kept walking, and his feet would just follow an invisible trail, heading towards an unknown destination. “Goddamn, I would expect you to be late for forty minutes or so.” Reynolds blurted when opening the door. “I was nearby.” “For what?” “I don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. “Well, let's go then. Rand!” “Yea. I am ready.” Indeed he was with all his backpack and hiking shoes and such. “Would you keep it down, by the way, Not everyone has gone home you know.” “Thought it was just you two in the apartment.” He asked, not knowing why he would ask such a question. Seemed rather specific. “He meant our neighbors,” Reynold answered. They headed out. Rand suggested heading back to school, which was a few miles away. Reynold chided him for being such a nerd that even though they had all finished their courses the school was still the one destination he had in mind, but he did agree with the suggestion. The school’s market was quite cheap, and their goal of the day was to get food after all. Him, walking alongside the two, or to be more accurate following the two, since he just couldn’t pick up the pace of his steps, and the two sometimes had to stop their steps to wait for him. He didn’t voice any opinion about the suggestion, simply because he knew that even if Rand had suggested them all jump out of a bridge and off themselves, he would still think of it as a good idea. He felt dehydrated, dizzy, tiresome, and every time his feet stepped on the dirt or some rough surface, his entire body shuddered. Their school was on top of the hill, so the few miles that usually would be pretty easy for casual hikers like them were a lot more difficult this time. The uphills were almost torturous. Reynold joked about them all should just head back home right now and bored their brains out while at it, Rand laughed, while he, again, remained silent. He was a talkative person, for sure, but not right now, as he couldn’t construct a complete sentence in his head and continuously finding the act of listening to their conversations to be progressively burdensome, so he toned out, and focused himself on walking and seeing. “Say, Francis would have hated to be here.” “We need to do this with him next time. Walk to our school from the apartment.” “That moron probably wouldn’t be able to last ten minutes. I could laugh by just imagining his expression.” “I couldn’t. Mainly because my feet hurt.” “Yeah the uphill was quite the tribulation, but hey we had done it before right?” “Right, I am not saying we can’t do this.” “I know what you meant.” “Sure you do.” “Hey, I got you. We should do an even longer hike after this one.” “Of course you wouldn’t stop until my shoes are completely whacked.” “I got you, man. Don’t worry about those trivia details.” A farm. Amidst the esoteric, recondite conversation between the two, the corner of his eyes spotted something. A farm right next to the tarmac road they were walking on. He voiced: “We should check out the farm.” “What?” “We should check out the farm.” “Isn’t the farm a restricted area?” Rand asked Reynold. “Right... I don’t think we are allowed to enter the place.” Directed toward him. The sudden urge in his heart of visiting the farm was overwhelming, and it seethed in his chest, pumping and quickening his breath. He needed to see the farm. He felt. The need was a necessity, comparable to the matters of life and death and the basic need of human beings, like water and food. His arms and legs froze over, even with the boiling air surrounding him, he could feel the chill spreading from his spine to the outer skins and organs. It was the chill of desperation. If he gave up right there, there might be never again a chance of entering the farm with his friends, and the farm would forever be cloaked in mystery, and every time he walked past it would be mental torture from now on. So he must insist. The two standing in front of him would follow as well, and he would make sure of that. “Say, you are an adventurous person.” He blurted. “It is gonna be fine, alright? Trust me on this. I am circumspect enough of a person, won’t you agree?” “Yeah...” Reynold uttered slowly beneath his breath. “So then, what else is the problem. They don’t have guards, they don’t have security cameras, they have nothing. It is just a detour. Again, thought you are an adventurous person.” “Sure I am.” Reynold was properly convinced. He headed to the farm right away. The farm was not big, just a small field of a prairie. The wheat was still pretty young, so the colors of the place were mostly green instead of the usual bright yellow of a wheat field. The heat was magnified by whatever was in the field, maybe from the reflection of the road. The sun was right above them, with nothing between, he could feel his hair gradually heating up. He walked around the place aimlessly, but suddenly he found something. A small barn, in it, laid a few containers. The two followed him in here. He opened one of the containers, it was filled with rice grains. “Huh. So here are the foods the school dining hall uses?” “Why would there be no one guarding these will be my question.” Reynold looked around. He reached out his hand, grabbed a handful of it. The rice, though uncooked, looked extremely appetizing. For some unknown reasons, he could smell the delectable taste of a bowl of perfectly cooked, fluffy white rice. He was salivating, like a dog. He swallowed a lump down his throat, but his stomach was now growling as if it was protesting the long absence of food, which he would admit to. He hadn’t eaten for at least a day or two by now, but still, even himself found the fact of him hungering over raw rice to be disturbing. He suddenly made the decision. He pulled out a plastic bag and stuffed some handfuls of rice in it. “Hey! What are you doing?” Rand said, with certain panic and anger in his voice. “Woah there!” Reynold, less agitated but still with noticeable vexation. He just kept on stuffing. His hand that kept reaching out to grab the grains had slowly gone numb, and cold. He considered switching hands, so his left hand would be the one that held the bag and the right would be the one that purloined, but switching hands right now would be looking really weird, and his friends were watching him, so he gave up the idea, and kept moving his arms with muscle memories. Finally, the small plastic bag was filled with rice grains. “There is no one around.” He said, addressing himself to Reynold. “Nor are there any cameras. Look around. This little barn is not capable of having any sort of security alright? There are no fences around this place either. They don’t sell jasmine rice up there, and damn it I haven't had a good meal in way too long of a while. There are at least a few bushels of rice in each of the containers, a bag from it would be less noticeable than a needle under the ocean.” “Why would you go out of your way to do things... with all these illegalities...” He didn’t know why either. He could feel the fume burning, and the urge of doing something outrageous, something outlandish, something that no one else would have done just wouldn’t stop its hissing trails all over his body. He didn’t know the source nor the cause of such wants, and he didn’t question it either, he just obeyed. “Hey! I don’t care. Do what you want, I am getting these myself if you want to wash all your hands and walk away clean.” He appeared more insolent than normal as well. He normally wouldn’t talk to a friend like that. “Alright!” Reynold slapped his knees, “If the prudent living, overly-paranoid and cautious friend said it is alright, why not right?” He pulled out a small plastic bag and stuff and a few handfuls of rice in it as well. “Reynold!” Rand cried. “Dude! We are not doing the right things right now! This is stealing.” “Hey, it is fine.” Reynold gave Rand a few comforting pads on the shoulder, “Don’t worry alright? He does that. We said we are gonna make a proper meal tonight, and yeah like he said, they don’t sell these good rice up there in the supermarket. There are still tons lying around here. A few bowls of it, no one would notice.” “Nor would anyone care.” He followed up Reynold’s sentence even though it needed no follow up. “Let's go.” The dusk had come for them. On the way back, walking downhill, he could see the sun slowly drown beneath the horizon, as the bright yellow light slowly turned into a deep and crimson red. The heat was gone, and replacing it was the breezes and the chill that crept under people’s sleeves when they were not noticing. They had shopped quite a lot, and it seemed they really planned to have a proper meal in their apartment. Him, on the other hand, bought very little, just a stick of celery, some chocolate for the way back, and that one bag of rice sitting at the bottom of the pocket of his coat. He could feel the weight of it. And as the heat of the day died off, his rational minds had seemed to come back alive. His hand felt cold, and his brain was scrambling for a good justification for being a larcener, and no doubt not one was satisfying enough. What’s more, was the fear. The fear of being caught. The rebellion of the act was far greater than he had expected, and the anxiety and the nerve such rebellious intention brought were weighing in far harsher than he could take. There is no way to be sure. He told himself. How could one be so stupid that they thought their act of crime will not be caught. It was a strictly forbidden area, beyond any doubts that trespassing would be punished. He didn’t see any fences, or any guards, or anyone, and the barn was barren and empty enough for him to observe all over without an untrodden corner, and for sure there could be no security camera there. Something might have already gone wrong, but he was just ignorant of it. Maybe the authorities were heading their way already. Maybe someone who accidentally walked by saw them, and they would become the witness of their crime. Maybe that someone remembered their faces. Then he checked the watch, an even more intense but significantly more mundane kind of anxiety took over. He needed a proper hour to get to the train station, but right now, by their pace, he would miss his train which was also the last one of the day. He had to make home before tomorrow. When they reached their apartment, the stress had finally taken his toll. As they walked in their apartment, he voiced: “I can’t stay, guys.” “What?” Reynold turned and asked, just about to step in the door. “You stay for dinner at least right? We bought all this stuff.” “No... I can’t... I have a train to catch, I already bought the ticket. I have to go.” He put down the few things he bought in the shop, along with that heavy bag of rice. “They are all yours. Just enjoy your meal alright? Happy holiday...” Suspiration could be heard, presumably made by Rand since it was coming from behind Reynold, though he couldn’t really see the inside of the apartment, it was unlit, and he had his head down and couldn’t raise it back up. He was just staring at Reynold’s shoes. They were new, and shiny, seemed expensive. “You sure. You can still have your stuff you know, we got quite enough.” “No just... have them, I need to go... put more water in that rice cooker... last time I ate here the rice tasted dry...” “That was what? Two or three years ago?” “Right... I must be going.” The road leading to the train station meandered around the hills and the city as if it was consciously expanding to agitate him even more than he already was. He needed to get to the train station. The ticket was not cheap, and missing the train would be a huge loss on his and his family’s behalf. He rushed through streets after streets, blocks after blocks, until finally, the thought of giving up had caught up to him: The train station was still a mile or more away, yet the train was leaving in twenty minutes. If he makes haste, he might still be able to catch it, but there was no point in doing that. His lungs were already burning with exhaustion, so did his limbs shaking from starvation and dehydration. He gave up. He would go back home the next day. Right now something more urgent must be done: eat and rest. But both his and the two’s apartment was really far away from him now. The dining hall it is. He thought to himself. The food there was absolute trash, and he enjoyed no bits from knowing the fact that the meal he was about to consume would barely be tolerable, but he needed to eat, and rest, fast. He headed back uphill towards the school dining hall. ... The morning. A very early morning. Not even seven o’clock yet. The sun had just come out, and the light it emitted was still mellow and somber, shining on the church’s wall appearing as different shades of blue and white. Some people were gathering at the front door. He just came back from home, and he had heard the news: the two friends of his had died, cause of death remained undisclosed. The church in the school was having a memoir right now, and he had just caught it. He rushed here immediately after he stepped off the train. It was the start of another quarter, and coming back from winter break, not a lot of classmates of his could handle such tragic news. He could, and fear and distraught overwhelmed him as he stepped into the church. The church was still relatively empty. No priest could be seen, just some classmates and friends of theirs sitting on the benches, weeping or whispering over the death, he couldn’t tell. No other sound could be heard. The people at the front door were greeted by a front desk set up temporarily to deal with the guests coming from outside the school. At the very front, there were flowers sent by people everywhere giving their condolences sitting on the altar and ambo, along with some words of prayers, but he couldn’t see the expected portraits of the two friends of his. He was glad about it, since he wasn’t sure about his ability to hold it together if he saw the two’s faces again. He saw a girl sitting on the very front bench, he walked down the nave to her. “Viola.” He whispered since the surroundings were all so quiet. “Oh, you are here.” She clearly had wept. but she still had her composure, with that ever-lasting stoic expression of hers, “Oh god, I wish we would have met under better circumstances...” “Where is the principle?” He asked. If Viola was not knee-deep in the water of grief and affliction, she would definitely be able to spot the irregularity: there was no anguish, or sadness over a close friends’ death on his face; his pallid skin and pale lips were all the expression of horror and utter fear; he looked as if someone was chasing him, as all his limbs shudder noticeably like care branches amidst a snowstorm.; his eyes wide open, and the trembling mind could be seen through his almost diluted iris. She didn’t notice all these however, as she was, indeed, overwhelmed by the sadness of losing two of her close friends. “Where is the principle?” He asked again, this time bellowing yet remained the low volume. “I need to speak with him.” “He is sitting at the front desk...” She replied, quite bewildered, yet again having not enough of vigor or strength to question his behavior. He turned his head and confirmed her answer. Strangely he had just walked past the front desk and didn’t notice the principle sitting there. “Mr. Principle.” “Oh, lad...” The principle was a man in his middle age, with a bald spot on top of his head and a pair of unpleasant looking specs, “You have my utmost condolences. I know you all are close friends...” “I need to talk to you, in private.” “Aye, just give me a few minutes to settle down the guests...” “It is urgent.” The principle paused for a moment. “Let's go to the quad.” The quad, not really a quad, but a football field, with running tracks circling it. There were some students on the field practicing sports, and some running on the track. Not by any means a lot of them, but still enough to scatter all around the field. “We can talk while walking.” The principle uttered. “This needs to be in private.” “It is private. We walk along the track and talk, no one would have heard.” They got down there and started strolling along the running track. “So. What’s the matter?” The news reached his house a week or so ago during the middle of winter break and holiday, and he could feel nothing but fear ever since. The trepidation he had experienced for the past few days must certainly be something beyond anyone’s comprehension: it had mastered him, as he was unable to fall asleep without feeling the sensation of those grains of rice slipping through his finger. He checked all his clothes and bags for any shreds of evidence of him ever been to that farm, any traces of soil or grains of rice he hadn’t noticed before. Naturally, there was nothing, he was all clean. He then got a fever, though he had never heard of anyone getting themselves physically ill not of outside factors but of inner turmoil. The fear of getting caught, coated his jacket, followed him every second of the day. He laid in bed for a few days, sinking down to the bottom of near unconsciousness, and during those days when he encumbered himself in the dusty bed sheets shaking and shivering, speculations and educated guesses muddled his mind even further. He could no longer believe in the blissful lies he had before. There must be a reason why a farm would be such a heavily restricted area, and there must be a reason why such classified and prohibited places so lacking in security. After a few days of bed-ridding, he finally felt better, physically. For the rest of the holidays, he suddenly became more polite, more timid to others, as he would never greet or welcome those relatives of his normally, but this time he was acting like a sycophant, smiling and treating them all like the most up class guests. Those around him noticed the differences, figured he was changing for the better. But he knew, because every night, when he stared at the ceiling, it looked like that metallic surface of the rice containers, pale white, staring right back at him. He needed to sort this out, and even though the principle wasn’t a person he had the most trust in, he was the highest official he could easily get to. He recounted everything to him, everything that happened that afternoon, even down to the details like the feeling of rice running through his hand like water. “Do you know what is in those farms around the hills, sir?” “No.” The principle answered solemnly. They strolled along the running tracks, occasionally passed through by some students having their morning run. “I am just managing the school, so does every school official, we don’t own the place you know. This is a public school, owned by the government. They got those farms. Even we are prohibited from entering.” “So they are of even higher-ups?” “Yeah... oh boyo, I wouldn’t trade places with you right now for all the whiskey in Ireland...” “I know why they are dead! The official record for their cause of death was unknown right now, but I know why!” As he was about to say something, some runner ran right past them. He recognized the kid, he was from the same class as theirs, the known juvenile, often breaking rules and disobeying the authority, someone on a completely different spectrum than his. He was a good student, well, decent enough, well-liked by teachers. He then noticed the runners running around the tracks all belong to that category, then the terrifying potential hit him: they were eavesdropping. For what reason, might simply be out of curiosity. Nosey cur, like a sewing circle in the back of the class, whispering rumors and conspiracies. “I know why they are dead. The rice was laced.” “Why would you think that?” “That is the only reason that is possible, I had thought of this through and through. There is beyond doubt they had eaten those rice we stole. I haven’t voiced my concern then...” “Why is that?” “I was partly intoxicated...” He scratched his head embarrassingly. “Those rice looked irregular. They were glistening. I had seen enough rice, and that is not something rice grain would do. The glitter was not a coincidence, and that also explained why there is no guard or fences. They knew. Whatever purposes the rice, or heck any other foods coming out of those farms serve, they must have a special procedure to wash off the substances before using.” “The soviet.” The principle suddenly voiced. “What?” “My guesses. These products are for the soviets. Or their organizations in the state. Or something along the lines. These poisonous lacing of anti-theft tactics also fits with their normal doings.” “Thought you said the farms belong to the federal government?” “It could be spies working there, or some other reasons, secret alliances, anything. I had done some digging of my own before in regards to these farms, out of sheer curiosity, and just some amount of spikes that I, as the principal and general managers of the school, were still not allowed to walk into those places, which are under my management! A lot of papers pertaining to the crops were written in a language I can’t understand. Russians. I have seen tags around the necks of those cows. These all add up.” “So, those farms...” “You guys touched the wrong stuff. Basically.” They had stopped their steps, standing in the far side of the track, looking at the football field. By then he had already determined that those runners were eavesdropping their conversation and feeding it back to the class. They were looking through the corner of their eyes every time they ran past them, and their ears were all erected and tall standing. Eyes and ears everywhere. “I think you should head home. I don’t think it’s safe for you to remain in school, my lad.” “You think that is appropriate?” “There must be further aftermath. I would contact you after the things blow over, right now you must head home. Nobody can know what we had spoken of here, boyo?” They had already known. He thought but he simply nodded. The way heading the train station was long, and numbing. After finally divulging his thoughts to someone else, certain clearances had finally visited his mind, the long yearned clearance, but yet still, the damage was done. He now no longer felt the overwhelming dread, instead, he felt nothing. Numbness and emptiness occupied his brain, and they were long-awaited. Like a drywall or an empty canvas, he sauntered to the train station and bought the most recent tickets. He hadn’t been this calm in a long while, not since that afternoon. He felt no relief, yet it was already good enough for him to not crack and cross the last line of defense and sanity. The train came, modern and refreshing. The cart was quite large and tall, so the inside really didn’t feel crowded even though there were plenty of people up there. The train looked more like a good modern subway now he looked at it more closely. The windows were all huge so there was no need for lights, for the sunlight had lit up the train more than anything else could. People standing around even though there were still seats available, most of them staring at their phone or taking a nap, all seemed like business people attending to work. He found a seat and sat down, put his head in his hands as if his nails would drill through his skull. Tears. He didn’t weep a single drop of tear through all these days. He hadn’t even considered the impact of their death, in fact, after all these days of isolation and apprehension, he had already kind of forgotten the appearances of theirs, how they looked, how they acted, how they talked. Fear and dread were so overbearing, no sorrow or sadness could compare to it, but now that those paranoia had slipped back a little, the regret and the remorse finally came crashing through the gate. They were his close friends, and he could never see them ever again. Such cold hard fact pounded his chest harder than his breath. He had led them to their death. He was the one who decidedly wanted to do an outrageous ordeal. He was the one encouraging them the unlawful acts. He was the one that practically killed. He wept like a baby, wanting to wail yet trying his best to hold back seeing he was in public on a train. There was not a trace of pride or ego of himself anymore, and the crushing sense of guilt gripped him by the spine. He cried into his hands, for the loss of his friends. The trains ran further into the horizon, and there was no return.