In a town that lay somewhere between the world of waking and the realm of forgotten dreams, there was a man who sold sunsets. His shop perched on the edge of a jagged cliff, where the sea sighed against the rocks far below, and the sky burned with the fading hues of day. The shop had no sign, no lights, and yet every evening, just as the first stars dared to shimmer in the twilight, people would arrive, drawn by a longing they couldn’t quite name.

Aurelius, the shopkeeper, moved like a whisper through his dimly lit shop, his silver hair glowing faintly in the dusk. He was not just a merchant but a craftsman of moments, an alchemist of light and shadow. Each bottle on his shelves held a piece of the sky—amber glass shimmering with the fire of a desert sunset, midnight-blue vials deep as the endless ocean, and rose-gold flasks that captured the tender blush of dawn just as it kissed the night away. To gaze into one of his bottles was to lose oneself in a beauty that felt almost familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

But those who came did not merely seek pretty things. They were drawn by a deeper need—an ache to capture a moment that had slipped through their fingers, a hope to relive something beautiful that had once seemed eternal. For a price, Aurelius would take the dying light of the day and weave it into something tangible. But the cost was not measured in gold or silver. His sunsets came at a price more precious than money—a memory, an emotion, a piece of the soul.

The exchange was always the same: a fading recollection in return for a fragment of the sky. An old woman surrendered the memory of her first kiss, long forgotten but still sweet; a young man traded the laughter of a friend lost to time. They would hold the bottles in trembling hands, a light that flickered just out of reach, and walk away with a glimmer in their eyes, never quite aware of what had been taken from them.

For Aurelius knew that nothing was truly free, and the heart’s deepest desires always came with a cost. He himself had once paid dearly, though he no longer remembered what it was he had given away.

One evening, as the sky bled into shades of crimson and violet, a woman entered his shop. Her steps were hesitant, and her gaze wandered, as though she was not entirely sure where she was. She wore sorrow like a second skin, and her eyes held the weight of untold stories and dreams that had slipped through her fingers. She approached the counter with a slow, quiet grace, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“I’d like to buy a sunset,” she murmured, her voice as soft as the evening breeze. “But I have nothing left to give.”

Aurelius looked at her, truly looked, as though for the first time in ages he was seeing beyond the surface of the world. Her eyes, though weary, still flickered with the faintest ember of hope—a light so fragile it could have been mistaken for a shadow. His hand faltered as he reached for a bottle, and he felt a pang of something he had long since forgotten—compassion, or perhaps it was recognition.

“You have already given more than enough,” he replied, his voice trembling like the last notes of a lullaby. Without another word, he selected a bottle of the clearest crystal, a vessel that held not a hint of color. He carried it to the edge of the cliff, where the sky seemed to dissolve into the sea, and uncorked the bottle with a reverence reserved for lost things.

The sunset spilled forth, not as light but as something more—an indescribable warmth that seeped into the very fabric of her being. It filled the hollows within her, the spaces carved out by grief and longing, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she breathed. The air tasted like stardust and saltwater, like a lullaby sung in a language she almost remembered.

As the light faded from the sky, leaving only the indigo embrace of night, the woman turned to Aurelius with tears glistening like dew. “Thank you,” she whispered, though the words seemed impossibly small for the enormity of the gift she had received.

Aurelius only nodded, his gaze lingering on the horizon as though searching for something beyond it. He watched as she walked away, her silhouette melting into the night, and felt a quiet emptiness where the light had once been. For as long as he could remember, he had traded beauty for memories, moments for the pieces of people's lives they could not bear to keep. But this time, he had given away more than a sunset; he had given a part of himself.

That night, Aurelius closed the shop earlier than usual. As the stars began to glow above the darkened sea, he took down a bottle that had gathered dust on the highest shelf—a bottle that held a sunset long forgotten, wrapped in a memory he could not name. He uncorked it slowly, letting the light fill the shop one last time.

And as he watched the sunset dance within the glass, Aurelius wondered if, perhaps, there was a way to mend what was lost—to find again the beauty in simply watching the day slip into night, without needing to hold on to it.

In the end, what would you trade for a piece of the sky?

© 2024 A.M. Roberts. All rights reserved.

Dear God,

I pray to you in whispers

And tired, weary sighs

My days are empty echoes

Of restless, night time cries

But I think on how You do collect

Each tear spilt from my eye

You keep them in a vessel

Because for me, You chose to die

—————————————

You keep track of all my sorrows.

You have collected all my tears in your bottle.

You have recorded each one in your book.

Psalm 56:8

I look at myself

In the shard of a mirror

Feel so sick of myself

Feel the end getting nearer

My love, you should hate me

I'm so sorry you don't

For all the times I made you happy

I've hurt you tenfold

My love, if only I could

Give you the rest of my time

You would have it all

It's better spent on you than I

I was hoping my heartfelt apology, cooking your favorite dinner and letting you have ultimate control of the t.v. remote for the rest of the month would make amends. But upon opening the pantry and seeing you bought Unfrosted Strawberry Pop Tarts, it sent a clear, passive-aggressive message that you’re still mad at me.

If you saw a shattered plate, you would not glue it.

But here I am- tape, wire, wrap, string and glue all over.

Because I tried to fix something that only drew blood when I picked it up.

And I am horribly empty, despite knowing it would happen.

Perhaps it's exhaustion in my bones, or poison from adhesives steeping from where I'm all wound up.

I keep trying. I am so tired. So sticky and so interweaved with myself that I've lost which limb is meant to go where.

I try, I try, I try. I get jagged edges in my side for thanks.

I wonder if I'll stop purchasing bindings before or after I unbind myself.

To all the survivors

Being born as we speak

I can't promise you much

But I know you're not weak

You've fought a whole war

Where no one could see

But you're not really alone

And that shits the key

When you're lost in the darkness

And can't find you way back

Remember these words

You can weather any attack

You're a survivor

It's what we do

An emotional Macgyver

Who can carry through

I know that shits tough

And I'm right there with you

But that's how you know

You can see this shit through

So the next time you're lost

In a neverending nightmare

Just close your eyes

And know that we're right there

Papasan Chair

October 05, 2024

Discovered for free

On Craig’s List

Obtained by convincing another

I should be the rightful owner

She explained she

Already owned the cushion

I explained

I already had the space

The previous owner

Suggested a game of

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Two out of three

She shot with paper

I countered with scissors

Advantage moi

She counterattacked with rock

I faulted with scissors

Deuce

For the finale

She suggested a change of locale

Perhaps my deck

I suggested she bring the beverage

And the cushion

Perhaps a Merlot

A date lasting into the night

Covering the duration of two movies

Finishing the bottle

We never

Partook

In the last shot

The world has gone to shit, Jake thought as he scrolled through Facebook looking for story ideas. He wrote for his small town paper, and knew his days were numbered. Layoffs were happening weekly, and he hadn’t built even close to enough seniority to save himself. It made him sad, because in theory it had been his dream job. But that’s the funny thing about dreams, he supposed, once you achieve them, they stop being dreams.

But journalism wasn’t what it was in its heyday. There was no office, no local coworkers, just mornings in an empty house scrolling for ideas, and afternoons writing them. Depression had been hovering like a storm cloud ever since Wendy left, and reading comments from a world of hateful pricks certainly wasn’t alleviating his condition. He was sinking, and he could feel it. He just wanted to reach through the screen and ask these people, why don’t you just fucking kill yourself, if your life is so miserable? What is your purpose?

Jake saw a video of a sad young mother dropping her son off for his first day of kindergarten. She was emotionally distressed, and the comments actually made Jake feel sick.

You should feel bad!

You’re letting the government brainwash your child!

You’re a terrible goddamn mother! You should be homeschooling!

It went on like that for dozens of comments. Jake kept scrolling and feeling worse the more he did, yet he felt it was beyond his control to stop. He brushed his hands through his hair, and placed his head on his keyboard. What is wrong with this world? He said to himself. Was it always like this?

And the answer is probably. He supposed that being a kid was just not bothering with the bullshit because it didn’t concern you. It made Jake think of a book he read about the Vietnam war. After the fall of Saigon, many people left in boats for Canada. The traveling was wrought with diseases, famine and death. For the adults, times couldn’t be worse. But in the book, they talk about the kids, who were also hungry and sick, waiting for a boat that may never show up, putting sticks in the mud of the little island where they wait, and playing soccer. They cheered, and laughed, because they were kids. And kids see the world differently.

It made him feel sick for childhood. Not because the world was necessarily better but because he didn’t care. Oh, to not care again.

His phone dinged, and it was a message from a woman on a dating app he was trying out. Her name was Miranda. They’d been talking for a couple of weeks and had gone out for ice cream on the waterfront once. It was fine, and maybe it was his desolate state of mind, but he found himself uninterested in her stories and unable to show the same zest that he had when he was 20. He could listen to a pretty girls' stories all night long back then. But on that date, he just wanted to go home. Close the blinds and put on old movies in the dark with a six pack of beer. Another nostalgia escape. Old Stallone movies on VHS. It was wonderfully corny and over the top, and the only time he found himself smiling without forcing it.

But Miranda hadn’t let lack of sparks flying keep her from following up with him. She messaged him everyday, not in an overbearing way. Just a checking in kind of way. If he didn’t answer, she let it be, and if he did then they had a brief conversation before another bout of radio silence.

Hey stranger, she’d say

Hey you!

What’s going on?

Not much, you?

Not much, just at the beach soaking up the sun. Enjoying another beautiful day.

That’s nice.

Yeah.

And that was most of the conversations. Even that felt like a chore because what he wanted to talk about was the dark cloud in his head. He wanted to talk about Wendy leaving with the kids. He wanted to talk about his folks moving away, his best friend dying. He wanted to talk about how his dream job wasn’t a dream and what he was supposed to do when it all went up in flames?

But then he thought it was unfair to Miranda. It was unfair to burden someone you barely knew with the realities of what you wanted to talk about. But if you didn’t, then the conversations were superficial and dull.

Jake checked his phone and Miranda’s message said.

I got a story idea for you, if you’re interested.

Yeah, for sure. He answered, realizing that he answered way faster because it was a self-serving message and felt bad about the selfishness.

Have you heard of Companions?

??

I’ll take that as a no lol. It’s AI. At work they’re using it for a lot of the elderly folks who are lonely. Basically, they program it to be whatever the old folks need it to be and then can have conversations with it. It’s supposed to help with depression and loneliness. It’s pretty neat. I’ve seen it in action and it doesn’t sound robotic at all. Just a listening ear. You should come by and check it out.

Then she sent the link.

Jake clicked on it and found himself immersed in this strange site. Companion seemed like something out of a bad Sci-Fi, but it was strangely beautiful. It wasn’t a site for people looking to tell a robot their deepest darkest sexual fantasies. It said right on the site that you’d get kicked off the app if you started getting sexual with your AI companion.

It was what Miranda said. Just an ear to lend.

There were screenshots of conversations between Mario, and his AI companion, Andrea. He said,

It’s been really lonely lately. Sometimes I think it would be better if I were to just end it all. I don’t think anyone would care.

I would care, Mario.

Why, you don’t even know me?

Then tell me about yourself.

What would you like to know?

I’d like to know the things that sit inside your head when you lie in bed at night. I want to know the things that you fear others would never understand, so instead of telling them you keep it inside until it feels like the weight will kill you. I want you to talk to me until the weight is light as a feather. I want to be your friend.

It was beautiful. Every conversation was positive. Every answer was uplifting and caring. It was the exact opposite of the bullshit he scrolled through daily.

So the next morning, Jake woke up for his 8am Zoom meeting where he pitched his story ideas to his editors. He told them that he was heading uptown to the Riverside Retirement Home. He’d been there before to speak with veterans for Remembrance Day, and that he was going this time to check out a new AI app. Bruce Jensen, the editor, seemed mildly interested, and allowed it. Jake didn’t really care because he’d made up his mind the night before.

After the meeting Jake drove to get a coffee and then headed uptown. He parked near the east entrance and walked inside. There was a middle aged woman with graying hair and a wide smile that greeted him.

Hello, sir. How may I help you?

Uh, I’m a reporter for The Star and I’m looking to learn more about Companions and speak with a couple of the folks that are using it.

Ah, yes. Companions, she smiled. A brilliant thing, if you ask me. On the third floor you’ll find Reginald Walker. He’s 86 years old. Been in here for the last decade and barely spoke a word. Just stared out the window most days. Now, he speaks to Edna every day and the other night he even danced. Nearly brought me to tears.

Jake smiled. Just the small screenshot had nearly brought him to tears the evening before.

I think it’s great too. The concept at least. I’d like to see it in action.

Oh, I’m sure Reginald would love to talk to you. If not, come back down and I’ll get someone else. We have around 25 of the seniors using and a few more on the first floor are getting introduced to it later.

Alright, well I’ll go check it out. Thank you.

Anytime. The news these days is just doom and gloom. Happy to see some coverage for something positive.

I hear you. Jake smiled and turned left down the hall.

Once on the third floor, Jake realized he hadn’t asked the receptionist which room Reginald was in, but once he exited the elevator, he could hear music and he decided to follow it. He walked past open doors where old folks laid on beds watching TV’s with small screens, and he wondered what they were thinking. Were they thinking about being young? Were they hoping to live another 10 years or praying that the good Lord would take them somewhere soon? He wondered.

Around the corner the music became louder. The song was Dream Lover by Bobby Darin.

Every night I hope and pray, a dream lover will come my way. A girl to hold in my arms, and know the magic of her charms.

An old hoarse voice sang over it, and then what seemed to be the voice of an elderly lady.

Because I want

Doo-doo-do

A girl

Doo-doo-do

To call

Doo-doo-do

My own. I want a dream lover so I don’t have to dream alone.

Jake peered into room 327, and saw who he assumed was Reginald, dressed in a navy blue plaid shirt and tan suspenders, swaying nimbly from side to side as a tablet was placed on the windowsill.

The song ended and Reginald wiped his brow before picking the tablet up and saying,

“That was the best one yet, Edna. Boy, I feel ten years younger. I’m moving like a 75 year old.” He followed this with a big hearty laugh which reminded Jake of his grandfather.

Jake knocked lightly on the door and Reginald turned around. His face was old, but there was a spark in his eyes. One that had been missing for years.

“Um, Hi. My name is Jake Lansing. I’m a reporter for the Star and I’d like to talk to you about your companion there.” He said, pointing to the tablet, which Reginald was now holding tightly to his chest like a freshman walking the halls in between classes.

“Oh, well come right on in then. Edna and I would be happy to talk, wouldn’t we, Ed?”

We sure would, Reg. Would you like a cup of coffee? Edna asked.

Uh, no. No. That’s fine. Thanks. Jake replied, feeling something strange in the pit of his chest. It wasn’t robotic at all. Just a friendly old lady inside a machine, what a world, Jake smiled, what a world.

Pull up a chair there young man, Reginald said, and Jake did. He sat down and Reginald sat on the edge of the bed, placing Edna softly beside him.

What would you like to know, Jake? Reginald asked.

I guess just the whole story. I think this is a wonderful idea. A friend of mine, Miranda Wood works here.”

Reginald cut him off.

Oh, we love Miranda, don’t we, Edna?

She’s a fine young lady. Sweet, kind and smart as a whip.

That she is, Jake said. I just want to know how this program came into the home, how you decided to go ahead and try it, and how you’re liking it, though judging by your Bobby Darin duet, you like it quite a bit.”

Edna and Reginald laughed together. And Reginald slapped Jake’s knee, again the way his grandfather used to.

A young man, who knows Bobby Darin. I like you already, kid.

Well, my mom says my old man and grandfather brainwashed me. But I think there are worse things to be brainwashed into than great music, don’t you think?

Couldn’t agree more, boy. So, to answer your question. About a month ago they start putting these flyers up, telling us that there’s an important session in the cafeteria coming up. They say it’s a way to connect and feel less lonely, ya know?

Jake nodded.

I didn’t want to go. Edna had passed a couple years before and I was still having trouble making sense of it all. I’d just stare out the window. Telling myself I’d stare until she came back. But it was your girl, Miranda. She’d come in at lunch and bring me my slop. Reginald laughed at this, and so did Edna.

And she’d sit down at the edge of the bed, and say Reg, you should really think about going to this session. I remember I said, why? What for? And she said, because Reg, there’s more life in you than just staring out the window. There may be a chance to smile again, to laugh again. You never know. And she kissed me on the top of the head and left.

Jake felt that guilt in his stomach again. Miranda was really something.

And I’ll take it the session proved to be a success? Jake asked, writing in his notebook.

It did. These two young girls did a presentation. They had a big screen behind them. One of them said they lost their mother recently to cancer. She said the pain of knowing that she’d never speak to her again was enough to make her want to give up. Then behind her, the screen lit up and this woman said, I’ll never leave you, Jess. I’m always right here.

Wow, was all Jake could muster. Wow

Yeah, you bet. Reginald said, I looked up and watched this young woman have a conversation with her mother. You see, you can program it to be like a loved one. As long as you have some audio or video, they can get the voice right. It can scan pictures. Not everyone wants their companion to be a loved one they lost, because it’s too painful, or doesn’t seem real. But I just needed to see Edna, whichever way I could.  Anyway, then afterwards, she had a sign up sheet and her and her partner did the rounds. I was still skeptical but Miranda looked at me from over on the right wing and winked. So, I signed up. A few days later, a woman comes in with this tablet and asks me how I’d like my companion to look.

Reginald grabbed the tablet and turned it towards Jake. There was the face of a  woman with short auburn hair. Deep blue eyes, and a happy smile with no trace of pain hidden behind.

Nice to meet you, Edna. Jake said, about to put his hand out before he realized and let out a short chuckle before placing it back on the bed. Uh, sorry. He said, it’s my first time meeting a Companion.

Oh, that’s no problem at all, dear. I’m happy you came by.

Jake looked over to see Reginald as happy as a clam. Looking at Edna, like he’d never loved anything more in his entire life.

I am, too.

They talked some more, and then Jake said, I should get going. I’d like to do a follow-up in a few weeks time and see how everything is going, if that’s alright?

I’d say that’s fine. What about you, Edna?

Sounds perfect. Edna said, still holding that smile.

You two really love each other, eh? Jake asked.

I’ve loved her since 1958. Reginald said. We met at the old King theater downtown. It’s gone now. But back then Main street was filled with people on the weekends. I had plans to go see Vertigo, you know the Alfred Hitchcock movie?

Jake knew it.

I was going with Betsy Reynolds.

Reginald looked over at Edna with a sly smile and waited for her to roll her over and sigh.

Yes, Reg. We know that Betsy Reynolds said yes to going to the movies with you. How did that end up anyway?

Edna laughed and so did Jake.

Yeah, well getting stood up was the best thing to ever happen to me, Reg said, reaching his hand out and rubbing the screen where Edna’s face was. I sat there waiting and waiting for Betsy. I was looking behind me every few seconds. Well, safe to say she never showed.

Then Edna started in.

I was with a friend of mine Daisy Walton. Daisy was with Shep Langley. She never told me she was bringing him because she knew I had it in for old Shep. So of course, I get there and I love Alfred Hitchcock, so I’m not gonna leave, you know? Anyway, they started smooching up a storm, and I’m missing vital information from the movie. So, I turn around and see Reginald sitting by himself. I knew Reginald from school. We might smile at each other in the hallway or something but we never so much as held a conversation. But there was something about that night. Something that made me think it was the right decision to make. And so I walked back, asked if the seat was taken and we watched Vertigo together.

And the rest is history. Reginald added.

That’s a beautiful story, guys. Thanks so much for sharing it. Jake said, getting up and heading for the door.

Reginald followed behind him. Be right back, sweetheart. He said.

Hey, kid, Reginald said at the door. Now, listen I don’t know what’s real or what’s not. I thought this was strange too. But I’ll tell you something. I get up in the morning and drink coffee. I stare out the window and smile. I fall asleep in deep conversation with a soothing voice and I wake up again, ready to be a part of the day. Ready to be a part of the world, you know? You’re young and you might not understand yet, but when you love someone so deeply, and they go away you stop living. Sure, you wake up and breathe and go through the motions, but there’s no life there. It’s just conscious dying. But when you have the chance to live again, especially at my age. You take it, kid. Because at the end of the day, a screen or skin, if I can talk to Edna, and laugh with her, I have a reason to live.

Is that on the record? Jake smiled.

You betcha.

Thanks, Reginald. See you in a couple of weeks.