I had a dream in 2022 that I was in this house that wasn’t mine (somehow it never is) and I was standing at the front door inside. Before leaving to wherever I was going, I felt the urge to look back towards the back door which could be seen from across the unimpressive, bare living room (the home wasn’t very big) with the shabby forest green carpet. I didn’t turn into a pillar of salt like I feared, but as I peered across the small stretch of room without furniture, I could see a pestilence trying to make its way through the back door and into the even less impressive kitchen. Swarms of all different types of insects by the bucket full were crawling and flying their way in. I looked down and saw snakes and scorpions and frogs slithering and hopping and creeping along the kitchen floor towards me. The lot was making its way fast. It was the epitome of every hellacious nightmare you’ve ever seen in a horror film, because there was a darkness, a shroud trying to make its way in also.

Though this was where I had awakened at the start of this seemingly nightmare, somehow I knew that my daughters were outside playing. I darted across the room towards the lot of my fear, leaping over them as swiftly as the next Olympian long-jumper and zipped out the backdoor like a pet who’s just discovered they have a doggy door. Charlotte and Grace were outside alright, in the midst of what seemed to be a blanket of flying…well…EVERYTHING. From locusts to gnats, they were EVERYWHERE. You couldn’t even open your mouth to speak let alone scream. And you better not scream, or get a mouthful of unwanted crunchy protein. I wondered if the girls were afraid, but they stood there amongst the buzzing and the zapping noises totally unbothered and completely unscathed. In fact, they stood there so nonchalantly, talking amongst themselves and playing old school hand games, that one might think they were unaware there were any bugs at all. Not one creepy crawly even so much as fluttered in their faces or stung them or ANYTHING.

As usual when I woke up I rushed to look up the spiritual meaning of such a vision, but could only find the common convoluted theories that always come circling back around to either subconscious, specious meanings or diverting to astrology. I later shared the dream with an old dear friend who was very spiritually in tune. She said it so simply and plainly that it made so much sense; I was almost mad that I didn’t think of that myself. She said that it was sin trying to find its way into my life still, but because it was coming through the back door, it was trying to make its way in through my lineage like sin being passed down like cursed heirlooms. She further elaborated that if it had been coming through the front passage, it would mean it was outright sin I was committing knowingly, but still, I needed to pray and bind and rebuke. So I did. What brought me immense peace was that my daughters did not seem to be affected by this generational curse.

I tried to figure out why God would only show me my girls and not Sonny? Was he still subject to the family oppression? Would the family curse continue with my son? If so, would he be the one to break it? Was it something that only pertained to the women in our family? I knew God would reveal it in due time.

The following year Juan and I faced severe financial and marital struggles. Our rent had risen to astronomical heights not worthy of the cost for such a tiny place we had been cramped in the past three years that was now becoming infested with roaches that looked like they belonged in the Amazon.

(pestilence)

One of our cars was repossessed. Sonny couldn’t take the pressure living with us anymore and decided to move back with his dad in Vegas. We were always fighting and the fights were getting progressively worse. We had almost separated once and I had even entertained the possibility of an affair with one of my college professors. Instead of divorce which had come up a few times, I decided to quit school and give Juan a chance to pursue his own dreams for once since he had always supported mine. I was surprised to find out that he had always dreamed of being in the military. I, too, dreamed of being a soldier once upon a time and decided it would be great for us, I could live vicariously through him while continuing to raise the girls and support him in everything.

Around this same time, I began talking to my mother again, a very fragile relationship indeed. I had recently heard that Uncle Joe’s mother had passed away and it got me thinking about how much longer I may have my own in my life. The average life expectancy on our side of the family wasn’t much past 60. In fact, we were lucky to make it to 60 due to our genetic predispositions and the lack of taking good care of oneself with a good diet and exercise. I had already taken my health into my own hands and thought I could be a good inspiration to my mom to get healthy before it was too late. Trying to let go of resentment, I corresponded with her daily as the summer approached and Juan and I prepared to launch his career in the army. But like always, my mother’s pushiness and constant queries into my personal life began to weigh on me, and like always, I began to recoil, keeping my answers short and kurt.

One day, on a bad day, I became so overwhelmed by everything going on that I was unable to keep up the charade of being patient with Rhonda Wise. The best I could do was ignore her constant texting. It was too much to look at my phone and see what felt like feigned love and admiration for me. When I knew that the last time I had heard my mother’s voice, it was in a voicemail coaxing me to kill myself. All during a very dark time of losing one of my brothers to a fentanyl overdose. Yes, for me, it has always poured when it’s rained. I have never known anything different. What has always given me encouragement to keep pressing is knowing that the climate will be just as strong when it is blessings being poured out instead of trials. And when she wouldn’t take my silence as the kindness it was, and began laying on the guilt trips thick, I snapped. And like I always did, I brought up as many painful memories that I could in one breath as I mouthed the words, my fingers barely able to keep up typing every word painted vividly with disdain.

It was when she said, “It’s okay Jessica. Hurt people hurt people,” I tore into her like a pair of new kitchen shears.

“Oh yeah, mom? Hurt people hurt people, huh? Well then who hurt you? I know it wasn’t my grandmother, she was a saint! So what was it, huh? Who?! WHO?!” I was not prepared for her answer.

“Your grandfather. My dad used to take me out on special little outings when I was younger than four. Had to be because he was gone by the time I turned four. He wouldn’t take my brothers. Just me. He would get naked with me and make me touch him and do things to him. I knew I didn’t want to but I just wanted to make him happy. I was very angry for a very long time. Those things came out when I was parenting you and I feel terrible. There’s nothing I can do to change that now but all I can do is try to do better now.”

This was it! This was the generational curse coming down the lineage and permeating the parentage. This was what my girls would be unharmed and untouched by, thank God, because here, it was about to be broken! You can’t imagine the amount of tears overflowing. It was like I could hear every bad memory, every past abuse, clicking into place and making so much sense in this moment. But I had questions. I was still so skeptical.

“What did grandma do? Is that why they divorced? I know if she had known, she’d have done more than just leave him, she’d have killed him!!”

“I never told her,” my mother said in the text thread of a lifetime. My knees gave right where I stood and I let myself fall on my bed in a rushing wave of tears. I was going to be late to something, so all I could say ever so gently in this very precious moment, through my unstoppable tears…

“My dearest darling,” I said, “I am so very deeply sorry that this happened to you and you had to face this for so long all by yourself. A weight I cannot imagine let alone bear. It is with much regret right now that I have to cut this short, but I am thinking about you and praying for you so hard. We will most definitely be talking later. We will have our time. I love you so very very much, dear heart.”

I had never spoken to my mother in that fashion before. Nor with as much sincerity. My vitriol had been replaced with profound compassion. I knew right then and there that I could never leave my mother alone again. I knew this would have its own challenges along the way, but I was determined to take back what the devil had stolen from us before I was even born!

“It's that little souvenir, of a terrible year, which makes my eyes feel sore.”

I am so suggestable, singing The Sundays, on a Sunday, and feeling that soreness in my eyes because, as usual, they picked up my daughter, and took her away for another week.

“Here’s where…” I run the water over my face to ease the sting, then spit the water away from my mouth. “…the story ends.”

There’s blood in the shower tray again. I must remember to rinse it down after. The poor, dilapidated thing could do with a scrub. Knowing I should put on gloves, and get going is one thing, but trying to perform the mental gymnastics just to start that damned process is exhausting.

The black mold is back. The closet sized room doesn’t have enough ventilation to keep it at bay for long, and my landlord has found fifteen different ways to avoid paying for it to be painted with decent, water-resistant paint. Its current coat is desiccating; cracked and peeling away from the wall, dry, yet dripping with sweat.

The cabinet needs replacing. Its hinges creak and wobble, threatening to drop the mirrored door. Excess water has scratched and marred the mirror, de-silvering it with dull marks that sketch a grim scene of wirey brambles overgrowing a sharp, iron, graveyard fence. A sketch of a man folds his arms and forever throws his head back laughing at me, wide mouthed.

The old shower tray had rotten away the supporting plywood until a big man like me should have fallen through to the dog groomers below. When I step near the new shower, the floorboards and plastic façade sinks down when I step near it. The replacement tray was smaller but never filled the gap.

I often wonder if I could slip through the crack and die in the floorboards. My flight of fancy never lasts long, before I remember my allergy to the dander of dogs, and as much as I would enjoy the puppy watching portion of my haunt, I would be put off by the irritation of rats scratching and gnawing at my bones. What a terrible racket.

I turn off the water.

The clutter of broken things gathering in the corner needs to be cleared away, and the sealant around the tray redone; sealant was never applied around the shower dial. A steady heartbeat of water still falls from the dial down to the shower tray for a time, after. The beat slows.

Reaching down to the floor reveals an odour, infecting the plush shower mat that covers the gap. I stroke the tousled ends to ease the mat, but feel the grime of the room seeping into me. I pat the carpet down and move to leave, instead I retreat to the shower. Three frantic attempts to close the stubborn door.

Turning the temperature to max and nozzle to high pressure, I wait for the comforting knife-jabs of heat that follow.

“Ohhh, here’s where, the story ends.”

Brian Wilks trudged towards the gate staring at his boots dejectedly. He froze at a yell behind him and span, a glimmer of hope returning to his eyes, but no.

Ravok emerged from the roundhouse. “Flann! Odran!”

Two of the warriors broke away from their practice and jogged over, stamping to a halt and punching their breastplates with their right fists. “Sir?”

“Olban’s going to the Eorl and then on to Ballytuathan, to see the king. You will accompany him.”

One of them chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “We’re going with Olban?”

“Yes.”

“By the gods, this is going to be good!”

Ravok marched forward and stamped to a halt in front of him. “What is going to be good?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s clear you have some kind of grudge against my great grandson. What is it?”

The warrior stepped back in shock. “He’s your great grandson!? Olban?”

“What is your problem? Tell me!”

“But”

“Now, Odran! Or by Lyrane, I’ll see you wielding nothing but a scythe!”

“A scythe? But they’re useless!”

“Not for what you’d be doing with it! In the fucking fields with the rest of the peasants! Now, tell me!”

The warrior visibly shrank, almost withered within his armour. He looked around as if trying to find an escape.

“I’m warning you.”

“He took my place! Alright? My father petitioned Master Stell for months! I was meant to be his apprentice, not Olban! I never wanted to be a warrior, I wanted to be a smith!”

“You’re so petty, you still hold onto a grievance from your childhood? Do you want to attract the attention of… him?”

The warrior’s eyes widened, he shook his head.

“Do you know why Olban was chosen? Do you think he had any choice?”

Another shake of the head.

“Stay!” Ravok jogged back into the roundhouse and emerged with the crystal thing he’d been looking at earlier. “The reason he chose Olban was because he’s special. He has his feet in two worlds which has given him insights into his art that you would’ve never had.”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Ravok held up the crystal thing. “Look at it! Look into it!”

“What… Who are those people? How is it doing that?”

“Olban used a lot of words I didn’t understand when attempting to describe it, but three words I did pick up were game, war and craft. It allows me to place military units, direct them, work through strategies before I implement them in the real world.”

“And the people?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It’s incredibly useful and I know for a fact it’s something you would’ve never even been able to conceive of the ideas behind it, would you?”

“No, sir.”

“What Olban’s learned from spending half his life in another world has enhanced his art beyond anything you would’ve been able to accomplish. He gifted me this the moment he achieved his journeyman status. If you’d been Stell’s apprentice, you would’ve still been working on bloody ploughshares! Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will accompany Olban. You will protect him on his journey and if anything happens to him, I’ll see you knocked down to fieldworker faster than a bloody swift on Malka, got that? Even a hint of disrespect directed in his direction…”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!”

“Meet him at the east gate. Dismissed.”

Brian turned back towards the gate, took a step and froze again, shooting a glance at Ravok. Did he say great grandfather? He shrugged and left the compound to find Coban waiting for him.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“You know?”

“I couldn’t resist peeking in. I saw your performance.”

“He doesn’t understand! I need that! And with that armour, that sword, I could’ve easily taken on a whole”

Coban shook his head.

“What do you mean, I could”

“Felt good, didn’t it? Wearing that armour, wielding that sword.”

“I was invincible, I know I”

Another shake of the head. “It’s not real, you know.”

“What?”

“It’s all an illusion. You’re not invincible. You didn’t gain any kind of skill from that sword, you were waving it around like you were trying to swat a fly.”

“But”

“The test wasn’t to see how well you handled a blade. You’ve had no training, you couldn’t be expected to know how. It was a test to see how well you handled yourself and you totally lost control in there, didn’t you?”

“I… But I felt… So what was the point?”

“He told you. Warriors need a level head at all times. They can’t allow anger to take them. Lose control in battle and you could very easily lose your head, and trust me, those clothes won’t grow you a new one. There’s another reason, too.”

“And that is?”

“Follow me.”

* * *

Brian looked up at the imposing stone doors as they approached. They were huge. The place was much bigger than it had appeared from the hilltop, almost comparable to a cathedral from back home. The doors were incredibly ornate, carved with such fine detail he couldn’t even comprehend how the patterns had been produced.

As they drew closer, the door swung open revealing a long tunnel, the walls sharing the same style of carvings as the door itself.

Coban continued and the moment he crossed the threshold, flaming sconces sprang to life along the entire length of the tunnel.

Brian followed, staring in awe at the artwork. “What does it mean?”

Coban shrugged. “I’m no stonemason. You’d need to ask the trolls. All I know is, it’s a powerful magic.”

As they continued, the end of the tunnel became apparent. Light danced in the opening. Light of every colour, shifting, flickering, drifting from one colour to another. It was like a kaleidoscope.

“What is that?”

“You’ll see.”

They emerged into a huge circular chamber. Branches went off in several directions, each emitting a different colour. Green, blue, pink, red, orange, yellow and purple and in the centre, a crystal plinth that captured the light and scattered it producing a dazzling display.

“This is the altar of the gods.” Coban gestured towards the crystal. “When we want to give thanks or pray for something from all the gods, this is where we do it, but that’s not why we’re here.” He walked around the altar and continued to the branch that was straight ahead, emitting a deep red light.

“Who are the others? I’ve only heard of one of them, so far.”

“Really?” Coban sighed. “Alright, that one, green, Caelwyn. Goddess of Nature, forest and field, Harvest, Fertility.” He pointed at the next, “Blue, Eolande, God of Wisdom and Knowledge.” He continued pointing at the rest. “Pink, Magic, Art, creativity. He’s called Finnola. Then, Lyrane, him you know of. Orange, Aelara, Goddess of Hearth and home. Also healing and prophesy. Yellow, Taranis, god of justice. He’s a bad tempered bugger, so we also associate him with storms. Loves tossing lightning bolts.”

“Should you say that? Here? Won’t you get one of them up your backside if he hears you?”

“He might have a temper, but he has a sense of humour, too. Anyway, Purple, Daraia, God of the waters, helper of the lost. If you pray to him, you’ll always find your way home unless you’ve offended him in some way.”

Coban continued down the red passage until they reached another altar, this one carved from rock with a ten foot tall statue standing behind it. Heavily armoured, it’s eyes glowed from within the helm it worewith the same deep red light. In fact, it seemed that’s where the light from the passage came from. The entire chamber was lit by it.

A feeling swept over Brian, one of safety and security.

“And this is Lyrane, God of strength, honour in combat, courage and protection.”

“Do you really think he’d strike me down if I asked him for help in becoming a warrior?”

“You have a lot of rage in your heart and there’s more gods than them. Gods you do not want to cross paths with.”

“More?”

“Every light casts a shadow. We don’t name them unless it’s in a ceremony asking for protection from ’em.” He nodded at Lyrane. “And his is one of the worst. He’d take that rage and twist it into something horrible. Before you knew it you’d be a warlord, bent on control, under the thumb of the god of spite, vindictiveness, vengeance andconquest. Trust me, you do not want that life. Murdering villages, men, women and children just because they refused your demands or enslaving them if they did. Burning them to the ground. You need to control that rage, lose it if possible, before you gain his attention.”

“From what Olban said, this was a good world!”

“No world‘s perfect, Brian. There are bad people in all of them from what Olban said. Yours has bad people, too, true?”

“Oh, God, yes. Some of them are absolutely terrible, but they don’t have gods to back them up. They do have some very nasty weapons, though.”

“Well, here, they do. People who’ve been corrupted by greed, envy, anger, laziness. They all attract the attention of the dark ones, eventually. All the base emotions are a gateway that’ll allow them into your heart. That’s why I brought you here. I thought seeing him might help you understand.”

“So that’s what Ravok meant when he was yelling at one of the warriors? Do you want to attract the attention of… him?”

“Yes. Anyway… Hungry?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m” he froze before an expletive escaped his lips and sighed, “famished. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so hungry.”

Coban nodded. “Healing tends to do that, if it’s a big problem it’s fixing. Come on, let’s get back to our roundhouse.”

* * *

Brian watched Coban intently as he dunked two bowls into the caldron hanging over the huge fire in the centre of the roundhouse. Also suspended over the fire, a hog slowly rotated, but how it was suspended there… It was just floating, there was no spit, no frame...

“Don’t just stand there gawping. Sit!” Coban pointed at the logs around the fire, their bark worn down to the wood beneath from countless backsides.

Brian nodded and did so.

“Want some meat with your stew? Bread?”

“Thank you.”

Coban nodded, withdrew an eight inch dagger from his belt and proceeded to carve a few slices of pork, most of which he placed on a wooden platter. The rest, he tossed into the stew. He grabbed something from a bag and chopped that up, and threw it in, too, finally adding some kind of herb into the mix before sitting beside Brian and handing him his bowl.

“What kind of stew is it?”

“Forever stew. We just add to it when we take from it. It’s always there if you need something to eat.”

Brian raised the bowl to his lips and his eyes widened as he took his first mouthful. He didn’t even need to chew, everything was so tender and the taste! He sighed in contentment. “That’s delicious!”

“Yeah, and it’s different every time. Everyone has their preferred little touches when they’re adding to it.”

“Thank you for this. You have no idea how lost I would’ve been without you and your brother.”

“I can imagine. Olban’s spent many a night telling his tales of flying beasts that swallow people, fly thousands of miles away and then spit them out again. Odd it usually seems to be where they wanted to go anyway.”

“Beasts?” Brian chuckled. “I think Olban’s been embroidering the truth a little to make things seem more interesting. They’re built by men. Just as this roundhouse was. They just know how to make things fly over there. People go into the cabin, sit down, the person in control starts it and it flies to where people paid to go.”

“Hmmm. That does sound rather dull. What’s the point? Why would anyone want to travel thousands of miles away from their families? Their home?”

Brian shrugged. “I suppose fast travel just makes the whole world smaller. You could get from one side of it to the other in less than a day and even when you’re there, you can still talk to your family back home. Different places have different things. Things that people want. So, they trade, buy, sell, make lots of money.”

Coban nodded. “We don’t bother with that unless we’re trading with neighbours.”

“How do you pay your workers?”

“Pay? We work as a community. We don’t expect recompense for helping our friends and families. That’s just for outsiders. We want something from them, we pay them. They want something from us, they pay us. We usually just exchange goods, it’s quicker, but coin? Only Olban seems interested in collecting any of that. Probably more interested in the metals they’re made of than the coins themselves.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot better than back home. Some of them are greedy bastards, out to accumulate as much wealth as possible. More than half the rest of the world owns, in some cases. And what do they do with their wealth? Vanity. Look at me with my rockets and big toys, aren’t I brilliant? Meanwhile the poorest on the planet are starving.”

“What’s a rocket?”

“Oh! Sorry, it’s a huge metal tube filled with explosive gases. Mix them in the correct way and ignite them as they’re coming out of the bottom and it shoots high into the air.”

“Why? What’s the point?”

“It’s the only way they know how to leave their world. We landed on the moon fifty years ago. It’s just a barren rock, but they did it just to find out what it was like. What was there. Think they’re planning on going back because they think there might be some useful things to collect. They’ve also sent things to Mars.” Brian noted the blank expression. “Never mind, just a different planet.”

Brian grabbed one of the slices of pork and bit into it with gusto, only to let out a yelp. His hand shot to his mouth, he yanked out his false teeth and felt his gums with his thumb. There was blood on it when he looked.

“I thought these clothes were healing me! I’m bleeding!”

Coban stared at him in horror. “You just tore your teeth out and you’re complaining about bleeding!?”

“What, these? These aren’t my real teeth! I lost them years ago. They’re false teeth. See.” He handed them to Coban.

“False teeth? Why didn’t you just grow new ones? Everyone grows new ones!”

“New ones? Humans only have two sets of teeth. Milk teeth, when they’re little, but those fall out when their adult teeth grow in. Once they have, that’s the only set they get unless they can pay for some dentist to fix in new ones after they’ve yanked the old.”

Coban blinked, shook his head. “Seems another weird thing about your world. I’ve lost countless teeth and not just as a kid.” He smiled and pointed. “See. All there. That’s probably why you yelped. Seems you’re getting your new set. You’re teething.” He sniggered. “Your hair seems to be growing again, too and you’re a lot less wrinkly. I think whatever was wrong with you’s finally been fixed.”

Brian’s hand shot to his face, probing, feeling. Then he stared at his hands themselves. No longer wrinkled, no swollen joints from early arthritis. He twiddled his fingers without a hint of pain. Then he felt his head. It felt rough, definitely new stubble, there.

“I need to see myself. Do you have a mirror?”

“A… I’m sorry, what’s a”

“A looking glass? Something that’ll let me see myself!”

“Just look down! You’re right there.”

Brian sighed. “My face! I need to see my face!”

“Why?”

“Please!”

“Trust me, you look a lot better than you did when we first met.”

“I’m begging you, I need to see my reflection!”

Coban shrugged. “Fine, follow me. It’s a calm enough day. We’ll go to the mill pond. Is that alright?”

“It’ll have to do, if that’s all you’ve got.”

“Olban’s not here, otherwise you could’ve asked him. He might have something in his workshop, but… Come on then, follow me again.”

Out of the roundhouse, it was only a short walk to the stream that ran through the village. This ran into a large pond, at the other end of which, a waterwheel slowly turned.

Brian rushed over and knelt over the water, starting at himself. “I look like John! I’m almost the spitting image! In fact…” He leant in closer. “I look younger than him!”

“John?”

“My eldest son. Oh, shit! I can’t go back! I’m stuck here!”

“Why?”

“What about my wife! Oh, fuck, Sarah! I’ll never see her again!”

“Your handfasted? Still have a few little ones to care for?”

“What? Of course not! Both my sons are adults, now!”

“So you were planning on more?”

“More? Of course not! I’m 68! Sarah’s 63! She’s too old to have more, even if we wanted them.”

Coban sighed. “Here, when we handfast, we only stay together until the children reach adulthood, unless we want to have more. After that, we’re free to move on, but I don’t understand. 68? 63? 63 what?”

“Years old, of course!”

“Years… I… I think Olban’s mention them. No idea what one is but he said your people seemed to be obsessed with them for some reason.”

Brian stood and turned to Coban, his eyes narrowing. “Just how old is Ravok? He said he was Olban’s great grandfather.”

“I don’t understand the question. What do… Wait… Olban’s friend. Rinam was much wrinklier than you when he came back, but Olban said he looked like he was a hundred years old. I still don’t get it, though. I thought it was because the life had been sucked out of him.”

“I’ll try to explain… A year? 365 days. Olban’s 25 years old. My eldest son’s 28 and I look younger than him, now! As we live our lives we get older, few of us reach a hundred, and yet, Ravok? He doesn’t look much older than you and he has to be at least a hundred to be a great grandfather to adults! How do your people even die? Seems old age is off the cards!”

“Why do you obsess over these things? We live, we have kids, we only move on from this world when the gods call us or we’re injured beyond our capacity to heal. We don’t suffer from that wrinkly illness, you seem to be upset about losing. I would’ve thought you’d be grateful!”

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful, Coban, but it seems your magic’s worked too well. The point is I can’t go back! I’ll never see my old world again, like this!”

“Why?”

“Because people don’t suddenly get younger there. We age. We get wrinkly. There’s no way to undo that. Well, there is but it’s just as fake as those teeth. They’d never accept I was even me if I went back. I’ve dropped forty years in a matter of hours! I’m screwed! Oh, shit, I’m screwed!”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay. You know that! My advice. If the magic’s already done too much, let it finish the job. At least you’ll get a new set of teeth out of it. Sleep in your clothing and you should find a whole mouthful by morning.”

* * *

He awoke with a jerk and a yelp, the afterimage of a monster smothering him still sharp in his mind. He looked around in a panic, at all the other, mostly naked bodies in the dim light of the fire’s embers, snuggled in the animal furs they used as blankets. Something tickled his nose, it obscured his sight slightly. His hand crept to his face, sweeping aside the fringe of hair that hadn’t been there a few hours ago. Leaning up on his elbows, he look around at the roundhouse.

It was so strange, and yet, it almost felt natural, sleeping with so many. They seemed to have no concept of privacy and even though the idea was utterly alien to him, he’d had no trouble getting to sleep. Then his tongue brushed the back of his teeth. He allowed it to probe them, all smooth, all flawless, not a sharp bit, not a chip, not even a hint of plaque. He reached up and gave his front tooth a tug. It didn’t budge, and he felt it, tugging on his jaw. He’d really grown a completely new set!

“A whole new life? And a whole new world, a whole new way of life, to go with it?” He eased his way out from beneath the fur he was sharing with another couple of people and, spotting his boots in the dim glow from the embers, pulled them on and made his way outside, staring up at the sky.

The stars were needlepoint clear, not a hint of blur or distortion. The three moons gave their strange multi-shadowed illumination. “Even my eyesight? It really has returned me to my prime! I could be like this for centuries! I…” He sighed. “I refuse to be a burden! Retirement was bad enough. I need…” Another sigh followed by a nod of determination. “I had six months. If he chooses to strike me down, no great loss.”

He made his way to the temple and the altar of Lyrane within.

* * *

“Please! I don’t know the ways of these people, their rituals or ceremonies, but I need…” He took a shuddering breath, staring into the eyes of the statue defiantly. “My life in my world’s over, the healing magic used to cure me, it’s done too much! It’s rejuvenated me and I can’t go back! My people lost all the skills this village takes for granted, but I refuse to be a burden. I need to be useful. If you want to strike me down for what I’m about to ask, do so. I don’t know how they pray to you, but this is how my people do it!”

He collapsed to his knees and placed his palms together, bowed his head and clamped his eyes shut. “Please, mighty Lyrane, I beg you. Grant me the strength, teach me how to overcome the anger of what was done to me. Give me the self control I need to be a warrior in this village. I’ll give anything to become a warrior here, everything, not that I have much to give!”

A voice echoed in his head. Remove thy raiments, prostate thyself on mine altar and repeat thy prayer.

His hands were already unfastening his belt unbidden as his gaze snapped back to the face of Lyrane. The light had increased in intensity, the entire chamber was lit, banishing every shadow in it. “Y… Yes, Lord.”

Now his hands had purpose, he shrugged off his tunic, under tunic, boots and hose, clambered up onto the alter and lay, face down on it. The cold of the stone sent a shiver down his spine, but he gritted his teeth and... “Please, mighty Lyrane, I beg you. I’ll give anything, everything to be a warrior of this village. Grant me the strength and self control to become one of them. Teach me how to overcome the anger within me. Please!”

I accept thy sacrifice!

The light within the chamber intensified yet again, but this time, the light had a weight to it. It forced him down onto the altar stone, every inch of his body felt like it had a hundred pounds on it to the extent he couldn’t move an inch.

A flash of memory. The fairy stroked his brow, removing the pain of what’d been done to him but at the same time, his body began to itch, every inch of it from the top of his head to the tipsof his toes. Another flash, this time, he was surrounded by nothing but whispering voices and claws, claws that ripped open his stomach and pulled out his entrails, claws that tore his arms off, his legs, claws that stuck them back on, as if they’d never been ripped off, but the pain! It was like living throughit allover again.

Brian began to sob, to weep, to scream, and then the darkness was gone. He stood at the bar of his local, almost empty pint glass in hand, he swigged it down, bade the barman goodnight and staggered out and up the steep main street of Robin Hood’s Bay, only to turn the corner towards his house and run headlong into that thing that’d looked exactly like him. It picked him up before he could even yelp and

“Please, Mr Wilks. Take a seat.”

Brian sighed and sat at the desk, facing his GP. “How bad is is?”

“Bad. Very bad. Even with Chemo or radiotherapy, it doesn’t look much better.”

“But it was just an ache!”

“Cancer can be insidious, Mr Wilks. And this one… A particularly sneaky one, it kept itself hidden until it was too late. It’s spreading throughout your body, it metastasised.”

Brian stared at him in horror. “How long?”

“For an active life or not feeling too bad? Maybe a month. Things’ll get steadily worse after that.”

“I meant do I have left?”

“I know. I’m trying to ease you into that bit of news. Six months, but the final two…”

“Six?! Six months!?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. We’ll do everything we can to make your final days comfortable, but that’s all we can offer at thi

Brian sat in his easy chair, staring as raindrops ran down the window. God, he was bored. He picked up the remote and flipped through the channels again, finding nothing of interest. Midafternoon TV… Why did they put so much drivel on? Who in their right mind watched, let along enjoyed that crap?

A series of similar flashes, all centred around how mind numbingly boring retirement was.

The last day of work, the cake, the candles, the joke laden retirement card, the dread in the pit of his stomach at what he’d do with himself.

Then a montage of his work.

He’d heard of lives flashing before peoples eyes when they died, but in reverse? This continued, and so did that horrible itch, flashing through the defining periods of his life. Raising his kids, the pride he had when John gave him a granddaughter, the worry about the mental state of Gareth, but also the pride he had in him when he joined the Royal National Lifeboat Institute. His wedding, his first meeting, then the event that led to that first meeting.

The last year of school… That weedy kid was getting the shit beaten out of him again, and Brian had stepped in, only to get the shit beaten out of him, too. Four against one was never a winnable situation, but it had led to him meeting the kid’s sister.

Helen… God, he loved her, but after his retirement, even that began to grate. There really was too much of a good thing, being forced together when previously, the majority of their time had been spent apart, too busy, too distracted… If he hadn’t been given six months to live, he might’ve even considered divorce, now the kids were grown, but he still loved her, but at the same time, resented what being together meant. He was useless. A nothing. Chucked on the rubbish tip and forgotten.

Then Coban’s words came back to him, about how the people here handled handfasting. Maybe that was the key to a good life, after all. Maybe ’til death do us part was an idiotic religious rule.

The memories continued to flash back through his childhood and seemed to slow when it reached his years as an infant. Something shifted, something profound changed within his mind, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

The light intensified again, and in a blinding flash, returned to its original intensity.

Arise Brinan Am Lyrane. Arise, my Amroth.

He could move again, and that word, it flooded his mind with meaning, even though he’d never heard it before. Concepts it would’ve taken paragraphs to define, in a single word. He rolled off the altar and landed on the floor with a clatter, staring at his gauntleted hands. At the armour on his arms, his legs. He sprang to his feet, bolted out of the temple in a panic.

Amroth. Him? He was an Amroth? A man who’d given up his entire life to his god? Son, beloved, vessel, slave, monk, paladin, and so much more, but he didn’t know how he knew what it meant.

He emerged from the temple into broad daylight. He must’ve been glued to that altar for hours, but in the light of day, he managed to force the panic down and examine himself more closely.

The suit of armour he wore was the most beautiful artefact he’d ever seen in his life. Polished steel engraved and inscribed with the finest patterns of gold he’d ever seen. A deep red cloak was clasped at his shoulder by an incredibly ornate and bejewelled broach and even the cloak had embroidered borders of incredibly intricate design. The gauntlets looked odd, not separate armoured gloves, but part of the arm pieces. Alarmed, he twisted and turned, looking for any join, any strap or fastening. The suit seemed, on closer inspection, to the a single piece, and he had no idea how to get it off, if indeed, getting it off was even possible. Around his waist, a belt and scabbard.

There was no sound when he drew the sword, no sssss. Even that was exquisite, covered in the same style of patterns as his armour and he somehow knew, this blade would never dull, never break, and he imagined it possessed greater powers than those, too. He had a whole new lifetime to learn how to use them.

He began to calm down as he saw his situation in the stark light of day. To anyone else in this world, becoming an Amroth might be a struggle, they had family ties, community expectations and responsibilities, but he had nothing. Until the temple, he’s been worthless, but now?

“I might get to like this life. Hope I do because it doesn’t look like I have any choice in the matter.” A deep sigh. “Instead of asking to use Olban’s ring to take me home, I’ll ask them to use it to bring Helen here.” He sniggered. “Oh Lyrane, a few" he brow wrinkled, trying to find a word... He shrugged. "A day wearing their clothes and she’ll be as young and sexy as me! We could build a whole new life together and everything’ll be new again. I doubt I could ever be bored, here.”

Those were the days, when summer stretched before us like a lounging jungle cat. Lazy, languid, full of promise. When the mulberry trees were heavy with fruit and our lips and fingers were forever stained purple. We gorged ourselves until our tummies ached and our bodies sang with fructose.

As the sun beat down on our little brown bodies, we would gallop down the hill, our legs whirring a little faster than was comfortable - through the gate and with a SPLASH, launch ourselves into the murky waters of the dam.

Games of chase and tag, the odd attempt to half-drown a sibling, swimming like sleek little otters. Our hands were clever then, when we'd build complicated mud bathing systems on the clay-mud banks - small pools to heat the water, and a large pool to bathe in.

Later, we'd catch our horses, put their bridles on, take some snacks and ride up into the hills. Winding through the trees, searching for adventure. We'd hide from bandits, we swear we'd heard sneaking - and then canter wildly up the hill to escape their clutches.

Little engineers we were. Always making, creating, building. Like the cubby across the creek, where we felled slender trees with our little hatchet and constructed a yard for our horses using saplings and bailing twine. Then we made a log cabin, small, sturdy, with no roof. And as soon as it was made, we abandoned it, to play by the pear tree - throwing the fruit at each other and yowling when contact was made.

Mum would inspect our bruises and tut, as the sun sank from the sky - and the mosquitoes hummed to life. Then feed us around the battered dining table and gather us on the couch, hugging us close as she read a story and did all the voices.

Some days, a friend would join and we'd take them rowing on the dam, to show them the duck nests and the secret stack of rocks we'd balanced there. Sometimes we'd play by the house - in the shade of the verandah, complex games involving paying tolls with leaves and racing around on our scooters and bikes.

Other times we'd collect banksias and trade them for a particularly fine stick or smooth pebble.

One day faded into the next - as the sun burnt down and the grass turned crisp and brown. Summer, it was the best of times.

I blink.

I blink, and I am there, with you, at the beginning. Our first date, I think. Maybe the second. You look young. Healthy. It’s 20 years earlier. We are kids, poor in life but rich in hope.

You're wearing the blue dress I loved, and your hair is up. Your nails are red. You stopped painting your nails at some point. I'm not sure when, but I think I know why.

I feel overwhelmed to be in this moment again, not sure why or how. I just stare at you, eyes wide, jaw slack.

I smile, and you smile. Feeling awkward, you kiss me. "What?" you say, seeing the puzzled look on my face.

"I'm just happy," I say. "I can't believe I’m here."

You smile and kiss me again. This time you mean it. My hand touches your cheek, and you lean into it. You're real. This is real.

And I blink.

I blink, and I'm some time else. We're fighting. I'm in the middle of yelling something. Your face is red. Your nails are blue.

It's three years later. A month before the wedding. It was a stressful time. We fought a lot. You threatened to call it off twice. You gave me my ring back a week before the ceremony. Cold feet. That night I went to your apartment, and we fought and then laughed and made up and drank a bottle of wine and decided to elope.

We were married at the court house the next day. Your parents were mad, but we told them we would still go through with the bigger ceremony. It was paid for already, so why not?

But that's not now. That's weeks away. Now I am in your apartment, and you are yelling at me. You call me selfish. You say I'm an asshole. But this me, the me I am now, is not angry. You are here. I don't want to fight.

"You're right," I say. "I am an asshole. I'm sorry."

You look at me oddly, waiting for the "but ..." Waiting for me to regroup and come back harder. I never apologize, and it throws you. You're like a prize fighter whose opponent just went down without a punch. It's a win but a confusing victory.

You glare at me and turn around, without a word. You're still mad, but I'm not. I reach out and squeeze your shoulder. You're warm and alive and real. I don’t want to let go. “Please,” I say. "I need to ..."

And I blink.

I blink, and it's later. Our honeymoon. We're in the ocean, the waves lapping at our legs.

You're in your white bikini, your hair sun-streaked, your skin tan. The moonlight is bouncing on your eyes. Your hand holds mine, and you stare at me with that look you give when I slip away, far away. That look that says to come back home.

"Sorry," I say.

"As long as you're back now," you say, pulling me into your arms.

We kiss, and I taste the salt on your lips. I smell the ocean on your skin. Your body is soft and warm, and I pull you tight, feeling you breathe against me.

I know how this night ends. We make love on a towel on the beach and fall asleep with sand in our hair. This was my favorite night. On my desk at work is a photo of you in this bikini, taken on this beach, on this night.

When it gets bad, when you struggle, and I work late nights to pay the mounting bills, feeling guilty that I have to choose between money or you, I will look at that photo and come back to this moment.

But now I'm here. And I kiss you and squeeze my eyes tight and fight back the tide of emotions. I don't want to leave.

And I blink.

I blink, and it’s Christmas. I have Lucy in my hands, and you squeal when you see the puppy. You smile and hug me and tell me you love me.

And I blink.

I blink, and it’s New Year’s. We are in Times Square. My company sent me here to help open the new branch, and we lived in a nice apartment for six months, enjoying the big city life. Your hand is in a mitten, and you grip me tight as we stare up at the dropping ball.

“I love you,” I say, but you cannot hear me, because the crowd is so loud. 5. 4. 3. I squeeze your hand tighter. "You're going to miss it," you say.

“Please don’t let me go,” I say to you, to me, to anyone.

And I blink.

I blink, and you are in your bakery. You opened it the week before. I have a dozen roses in my hand, and you are beaming.

And I blink.

I blink, and it’s dark. We’re in bed. You are on top of me, and I am inside of you. You ride me, your nails in my chest. You lean down, your hair brushing my face. You moan, and your mouth opens.

I grab your arms and roll over, on top of you now. I stroke your hair and look into your eyes. “What’s wrong?” you say. “Why did you stop? I was close.”

“I know,” I say. “I just don’t want it to end.”

And I blink.

I blink, and we’re on the couch. You have a cold, your head on my chest. I hand you a box of tissues.

"What's happening?" I say.

And I blink.

I blink, and I am at the bar with my friend Bob who is talking about his wife and how annoying she is and how he wishes he could find someone like you.

And I blink.

I blink, and we’re eating dinner.

And I blink.

I blink, and we’re laughing. You take a sip of wine and tell me to stop.

And I blink.

I blink, and it’s snowing outside, and we’re making soup.

And I blink.

And it's dark. I hear you sleeping beside me, on your side, facing the wall. I stare up at the ceiling with the small crack in it as a car alarm goes off in the distance.

And I blink.

I blink, and we’re in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. Your hand clenches mine tightly. I had forgotten how strong you were.

You're hoping for a girl. I'm hoping for a boy. The doctor is explaining the risks associated with your pregnancy.

He starts to give us odds and you squeeze harder. I don't want to see what comes next.

And I blink.

I blink, and we’re driving, and our song comes on the radio, and you sigh and dab a tissue to your cheek and look out the window. Your nails are green.

We lost the baby a year ago. I remember thinking I wasn't sure if we would make it, and when we did, I was relieved. But that happiness did not last long.

“I want this to stop,” I say. “I know what’s coming up, and I don’t want to live it again.”

You look at me, puzzled. Not really angry, just sad.

And I blink.

I blink, and it's three years ago. You are sick. Frail, already. I skipped past the tests and the treatment and the remission and the hope that slowly turned to the worst fucking part of it all.

We're at our home. We're at the dining room table we bought at the thrift store, the one with the bum leg that I tried to fix but just made worse.

"It will be OK," you say, catching my eyes. "This will work." But it won't.

I smile, emotions overwhelming me. I'm helpless. Useless. We're broke. You closed your bakery the year before. We've already lost all of our savings. My insurance will not cover what is coming, and we will not be able to afford it.

I know how this will end. I know the path we're on, and I can't be strong. Not now. Not this moment.

I was never a great husband. I was a good husband. I tried to be great. But it was beyond my reach. I worked too much. I did not say I love you enough. I was selfish. I took you for granted. I missed too many moments thinking there would be more.

I look in your eyes, and I think of how much you will need me and how little I will be able to do to stop your pain, and I cry. I weep. I wail. I cannot stop. I've never cried like this in front of you before.

"Don't," you say, weakly, your hand cold on my back. "Please ..."

You were always stronger than me. I bury my head in my hands as you wrap your arms around me. I sob, my breath coming in shallow bursts. You pull me tight, and I sink into your arms. I close my eyes tight. Please ...

And I blink.

I blink, and you are in bed, sleeping. I dab a cool cloth on your head. Your eyes open, gingerly. They are glassy because of the drugs, but you manage a smile. “Hi,” you say.

I don't want to see this again.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I wish …”

And I blink.

I blink, and it's two weeks ago. You're gone. I'm alone, sitting in a tiny, cold apartment.

You fought hard. No surprise. You always did. The doctors gave you two months, but you turned it into a year. Every day was difficult, but I hope they were all worth it.

I am at the table. The table with the bad leg. There's a glass of warm whiskey in front of me, brushing against my finger tips, and an uneaten can of tuna.

Lucy is gone, too. She has been for several years. We did not get another dog because it was all too much.

I'm holding a photo of you, framed. Our wedding photo. I'm in a dark place. My head throbs. My eyes are blurry. Not from tears. I haven't been crying.

A stack of condolence cards are to my left. A stack of bills are to my right. Ahead of me is a lonely life full of pain and longing. I have not lived it yet, but it's just as clear to me as the past.

I think about what I have to look forward to and what I lost, and I feel the emptiness of despair. A void is slowly closing over me that numbs my soul and senses. I would cry, if I could, but I am too lost for tears.

"I hate this," I say.

And I blink.

I blink, and I'm in a diner. I'm drinking a cup of coffee.

I recognize this place. It was the 24-hour grease pit near campus, the one I went to almost every night, to study, because my roommate liked to have loud sex with his girlfriend.

My biology text book is open. A half-eaten donut sits on a small saucer beside me. I am a senior in college.

This was where I met you for the first time. This is the night. Five minutes from now you will come in the door with a few friends. You will sit down behind me as I read this book and eat this donut. You will say hi and ask me for some sugar and notice my biology book and ask which class I am taking. I will tell you, and you will ask me if it is hard, because you are looking to take it next semester, and I will say it is, and you will introduce yourself, and pretty soon you have left your friends and are sitting with me, and we're talking about horror films and global warming.

I ask you out. You accept. We date. We fall in love. We marry. We get a dog. You get sick. You leave me. It takes 20 years, but it feels like a blink of the eye.

I know what lies ahead. I know how much I love you but how much pain comes with it. It all starts in less than a minute.

And I blink.

And I'm still here. Waiting for the door to open. My foot twitches as I close my book, ready to get up and leave.

I can walk out the door. I've been given a chance to do it all over again. Take another path. Try another life.

I want to. I need to. I don't think I can do this again.

And I blink.

And the door opens. And you walk in.

You're 22. Your nails are painted yellow. Your hair is in a ponytail.

The woman I loved. The woman I love. You glance at me and smile. I smile back. My heart jumps into my throat, strangling me. My breathing comes in short, shallow bursts. You sit down behind me.

I can smell your perfume. You're inches away.

I know the future. I know what lies ahead. I could leave right now.

You say hi, and that's all it takes. I do not move. I cannot move.

My eyes are wide open. And I do not blink.

I

Clouds, pretty and supposedly delicate. It didn’t matter where she looked, all that filled Lilith’s eyes was the sight of the clouds. That’s what happens in an open field.

“Ah, another sky enthusiast, I see,” a voice called out. Lilith looked up and saw an older gentleman looking at her. He was a wealthy man, wearing a clean, neat, navy blue suit, accompanied by polished brown shoes.

“I always get lost in my own world when I look up,” Lilith sat up, sheepish from getting caught. She always chose a remote part of the field, away from the street and away from the crowd, so that she wouldn’t be found.

“Well, I believe the true beauty is at night. Tell me dear, how do you feel about stars?”

She glanced back up, “Stars? Well, the galaxy, the dark night sky,” She paused at the man standing before her. “Well it has to be my favorite.”

“Then, would you like to come to my planetarium? It’s new and I would love to have passionate people at its opening, tomorrow night.” He handed Lilith a business card.

“I’d love to, Mr…Morselli,” she said, checking the card.

“I hope to see you there,” he paused. “Miss?”

“Lilith. You can just call me Lilith.” She smiled back at him.

“Miss Lilith. Have a good day now,” he walked away, leaving her to ponder at the clouds once more.

What a strange encounter, Lilith thought as she laid back down in the thick, green grass. She let the cool spring air glide over her body and rustle the ground next to her, as if she was communicating with the world. She stared up, encapsulated once again by the clouds.

Lilith was a simple girl, from a background filled with slums. She wore battered, worn out, passed down clothes with dark colors so you couldn’t see the dirt and stains it was riddled with. Yet this man, covered in the essence of money, stood before her, inviting her to see the things she desired the most. The beauty of the night sky was in her grasp.

Lilith began worrying, what would she wear? She was too poor to purchase clothing that would fit in with those of higher society. All that was available were the already beaten up dresses her grandmother had made for her years before she passed.

In the end, she decided it wasn’t worth it, since Lilith could see the beauty of the night sky from where she was, the open field she spent all of her free time at. She didn’t need some fancy telescope to view the same things her eyes saw.

“What’s so special about a planetarium anyway,” Lilith mumbled to herself, getting up to leave. Who would just go running to a stranger’s offer anyway? I met him today, who knows if it’s even safe? She thought to herself. Her mood was now ruined from thinking about her own circumstances.

II

A few days had passed since the exhibit at the grand opening of the planetarium. Lilith had not visited the field since her encounter with the strange rich man. She did her chores, and then would find other things to busy herself, working odd jobs or doing favors for the neighbors. When she had nothing to do, she would lay in her old bed and stare up at the cracked wooden ceiling. It was as if she wished nothing more than to forget about her once blooming passion.

Instead, Lilith found herself in peculiar situations. She was fleeing death by mere inches, even seconds. It started subtly, since the night of Mr. Morselli’s presence. At first, things like cars coming out of nowhere when she crossed the road or maybe a stone to her head thrown by the little children playing around. One day, when she went to wash her clothes by a nearby creek, she slipped on a mossy rock and almost fell into the water and hit her head, if not for a fisherman nearby to help her.

Just rotten luck, Lilith thought at the beginning, until the dangers became distasteful. They were no longer mere accidents or moments of coincidences to Lilith. She realized she was actually forced to avoid death, from once a week to once a day. Lilith became paranoid, cautious with every step she began to take, worried about what was next for her.

The situations altered from simple flip of the coin accidents to severe problems like her roof caving in while she slept, wild animals chasing her as she maneuvered her way to the water, and so on.

The only place where she might be safe was likely the field, she thought. Lilith assumed that since it was such an empty and wide space, nothing too terrible could happen to her. Or at the least, she could see it, whatever it is, coming.

It was now months after the encounter between a girl of the slums and a man of prosperity, an unlikely cross. Lilith returned to the field, the place that held all of her hopes and dreams, now tarnished to become a place of refuge.

The sun was about to rise when Lilith arrived. She sat down, the dewy blades of grass glazing across her legs. She laid down, taking a deep breath, feeling peaceful and letting her guard down. For the first time ever, Lilith realized how much this space meant to her. This was the only place she could be herself, be carefree, be a child again. The stress of being one of the older kids in the slums was something that weighed heavily on her, and this field was where she could go to just relax.

As she took deep, crisp breaths of the cool morning air, Lilith heard the crunching of footsteps approaching her. She opened her eyes sharply, looking towards the source of the sound.

“Here we meet again, my fallen angel,” a tall man spoke. While Lilith couldn’t make out the figure of the man, the sky a dark blue before the sun rose, she recognized his voice. She was no longer able to shake her surprise and this new, uneasy feeling.

“Mr. Morselli!” She said, startled. “What are you doing here? It’s not even daybreak!”

“Well Miss Lilith,” he paused, pulling out a piece of parchment. “You never arrived after I told you to come visit my planetarium. You seemed so eager too,” he added, sounding disappointed.

“I just thought that,” she stopped and he handed her the paper. “What’s this?”

“It’s an invitation. One that has no expiration. Please, come visit,” he pleaded. “What was it that stopped you before?”

“Well,” Lilith tried to look for the right words and gave up, discovering there was no way to sugarcoat the situation she was born into. “You’re clearly a man of incredible status,” Lilith motioned to his outfit. “I,” she motioned to her own, “am not. I simply do not have enough to make myself seem like I belong. I could never fit into that society and I’d rather not be looked down on.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you won’t accept my invitation because you don’t think you’d fit in? Why the devil would you care about that? You’re obviously an intelligent girl. I can tell by the way you speak.” He sat down next to Lilith, looking at the rising sun.

“People tend to dismiss me too early to make that assumption, so how did you?”

“I can just tell,” he answered with a wink.

“Oh,” Lilith was shocked. The two sat in silence as the sun began rising before them. The blades of grass changed colors, from almost black to a pinkish-orange, and then their natural green.

“I see why you like to spend your time here,” Mr. Morselli broke the silence. “If I help you with your clothing situation, would you please do me the honor of visiting?”

“I suppose then I wouldn’t have a reason to not.”

III

And just like that, everything ceased since she promised the strange man she would go with him. Her life returned to normal, no longer struggling with the constant fear of death. Although she thought it was strange, Lilith knew it would be easier if she submitted to his request. She didn’t have a reason to deny the invite anyhow – Mr. Morselli had delivered Lilith a long, floor-length, midnight violet dress. It had a sweetheart neckline, the sleeves draping over Lilitgh’s shoulders like a shawl. It was decorated with golden sequins and embroidered with constellations and stars, forming a galaxy as it wrapped around her body.

It’s perfect. This is finally my moment. She knew it had to have been expensive, much more than she could afford, but she believed it was just about time to have something good happen in her life, especially considering the past few weeks she went through. This was it, her moment to shine.

That night, Lilith dressed up to the best of her ability. Using the same technique she learned from making dye for the younger kids, she made a dark, red, cherry stain for her lips, the only form of makeup she wore. She wrapped her blonde locks into a loose bun, allowing it to drape over her face, and pinning it with a golden pin, molded into the shape of a lotus. It had been in her family for generations, and Lilith swore she would save this keepsake, no matter the cost. She wore the only other piece of jewelry she owned, a golden ring. It was a simple band, devoid of jewels, with only a short phrase engraved, ’Till Death. Lilith had no idea where the ring came from, but something always pulled her in about the ring, so she never wanted to be rid of it. Now, it seemed like a cruel joke, yet appropriate for the unique situation she was in.

Lilith finished getting dressed and waited by her window for her ride to arrive. She looked up at the night sky, wondering what it was like to see the world from so far away, to look down at everything else. She reached her hand out, attempting to grasp them as they twinkled back at her.

“Wishing to be one of them?” A familiar, deep voice broke Lilith out of her trance.

“I like to believe we all become one when we die anyway, Mr. Morselli,” she replied.

He smiled at her coyly, extending his hand for her. Lilith stepped into the carriage and was whisked away to the planetarium. The pair passed through Lilith’s small village and into the lively, bustling city. She was as nervous as she was excited, being in a new environment and surrounded by people who came from money.

Lilith looked up at the sky, searching for the one thing she was familiar with. Yet, the stars were nowhere to be found, hidden behind the lights of the city. Mr. Morselli, sensing her stress, reached his hand over to Lilith’s.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see them at the planetarium,” he paused. “I promise Lilith.”

She nodded in response, looking back towards the street as the two arrived at their destination. Mr. Morselli helped Lilith off the carriage and guided her into the planetarium.

“I failed to say this earlier, but that dress is divine. It was simply made for you.”

“Oh! Thank you for sending it to me. It’s the nicest thing I’ve owned. And the constellations are a beauty, truly,” she was bashful.

“You know that they are? I told you were you far smarter than you let people think.” He chuckled in response. “Come, allow me to show you what you seek my dear.”

He placed his hand on Lilith’s waist, guiding her to the telescope. It was magnificent, Lilith thought. It matched her dress, a violet body with gold accents, glistening under the moonlight. It seemed as though it was made for her; like this was where Lilith was meant to be all along. She placed her eye over the glass and listened to Mr. Morselli point out different planets and patterns.

“And this,” he began as he turned the telescope to the left with a gentle push. “This is a meteor shower. Have you seen one before?”

“Never,” Lilith whispered. “Wow.”

“I’ll leave you to enjoy for a while then.” Mr. Morselli chuckled at her response, walking away.

“Wait,” Lilith paused. She attempted to lift her eye off the glass but failed to do so. The hurling rocks that were previously moving across the scope were now heading forward, towards Lilith’s very body.

“What’s happening? Why are they getting larger?” She began to panic, calling out for Mr. Morselli. As the shower appeared closer and closer to Lilith, she saw that they were composed of stars as well.

“No…” After a few minutes of struggling, Lilith could remove her head as the scene before her became too large to fit into the scope. She looked in front of her, at the stars moving thousands of miles per hour, hurling themselves to the spot Lilith stood.

In a mere matter of seconds, she was crushed.

Various colors passed through Lilith’s eyes - her physical ones or perhaps the eyes of her soul, she could not tell. For a split second, all that Lilith could see was the blinding golden color. The color of the stars, the telescope, her dress. Just as rapidly, it became violet, then red, and finally a soft pink.

IV

Lilith felt her clothes becoming heavy, the feeling of water against her legs. She opened her eyes, and the view before her was something from dreams. She stood up, looking at a sunset, pink and orange, with champagne-colored clouds floating around. It was hovering over a pond, covered with white lilies floating over the large pond.

The water rippled as Lilith stood up, droplets gliding down her legs. She was now wearing a white, pearlescent dress. It was soft and longer than knee length. The lower half of the dress clung to her body, the falling droplets returning to where they came from.

“It took so long, my dear, for you to return to where you were always meant to be”

Lilith whipped her head around and was met with the familiar face of Mr. Morselli.

“What? Where am I? What are you-” She was cut off.

“Lilith, did you not find it strange? The way things happened around you after you abandoned my invitation? The obstacles you had to hide from, time and time again? And then, the way it all stopped?” As he spoke, Lilith walked towards him, gliding on the surface of the water.

“It seems like you know exactly what I’m thinking,” she began. “What is all of this? What happened to me? Where, pray tell, am I?” She laughed at the last question, baffled by the new dilemma she was presented with.

“Lilith, you are one of the reapers.”

“Reapers? What do you mean reapers?”

“You are a grim reaper, my dear. A being that avoids death, even when met with it face to face. You can only die at the hands of another. Myself. Welcome, to the sweet world of the hereafter.”

(Author's Message: Hi, there should be no other publication of this story, or any of my works, without permission. My works as of March 2025, should only be available here, on this account, or on Wattpad by @Ayifushere. Thank you!)

My first kiss had an identical twin sister. In a weird little twisted triangle, I actually started with a crush on the one who didn't kiss me, but ended pretty tangled up in the other one.

It ended with me settling in with her best friend.

Twisted little triangle, indeed.

From somewhere inside the fiery wreckage of that fiasco with the twins, I plucked some wisdom. My own little souvenirs from my visit to what certainly must have been adjacent to a circle of hell. Firstly, I learned that a dude named George was an asshole. He was pretty keyed up to throw down, but I laughed at him and turned my back. Turns out he had a thing for the girl who kissed me. Sorry, George. I never forced her to hands-free transfer to me her Mystery Mix Now & Later in the backseat.

Second, I learned that braces aren't awesome. Later, I learned that braces really suck for a different kind of kissing, if you catch what I'm throwin.

Third, I found that love finds us, we don't find it.

Love has found me a few other times throughout my life, and sometimes it was good. Other times, it was good for a while. On occasion, it was bad, but even before it went ugly, it was beautiful.

Those twins remind me that too much of a good thing is a bad thing. Two girls, identical in every physical way, but so very different. Two girls is probably one too many; life aint everything Penthouse Forum promised it would be.

One sister was kind and gentle, the other was all edges and angles.

When the edgy one kissed me, it cut.

Decades later, when I see her picture from time to time, I smile.

I hardly even notice the taste of a little blood.

The Kindergarteners in my classroom couldn’t understand why I would want to be gone for a whole week to go on vacation during the school year. When a few tears fell as I was about to wrap up my day, I quickly promised to bring back souvenirs for everyone.

While walking on the beach during my blissful week, I noticed seashells floating in the water. It didn’t take long to grab 25 of them. I decided to also use them as a lesson about how we are all different to avoid complaints about the various shapes and sizes.

Many happy faces appeared when they learned the meaning of souvenir and vowed to save theirs forever. The next day, a little lad looked a bit sad. When I asked if something was wrong, he said his mother was sick, so he gave his seashell to her, and it made her feel better. Glad I kept my own souvenir in my pocket. I didn’t know the purpose it would serve.

True story.

I don't know if God is real or not, if it exists or not, if it created this world or not. Or maybe God is real but didn’t create the world, or maybe God is real, created the world, but not for the reason we think. I don’t know if there is one God or many, if one rules over all galaxies or if there are separate gods for each individual galaxy.

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that people; they are real. They can be touched, felt, loved, and hated. They are dying and killing in the name of God, either willingly or unwillingly, but they are.

And if God is not real, then dying in the name of something that doesn’t exist makes no sense. But even beyond the question of whether God is real, people are still dying and killing in God’s name.

Is this truly a war of the gods between the real one and the fake one?

Let’s not get graphic, please, social media has already taken care of that. But think about it. Why?

In my opinion, the war isn’t about different types of gods but about the cultures built under the name of God. For instance, if one community worships trees as sacred while another cuts them down for paper and resources, conflict is inevitable. At its core, that’s the dispute.

In retrospect, it is not, never was, and never will be a war over God, but a war over culture. And the thing about culture? No one truly cares about it until there is competition.

Humans, whether created by God or not, are meant to live in harmony. But we are too animalistic to even acknowledge that.

8.2 billion people.

8.2 billion possibilities.

8.2 billion philosophies and ideologies.

And the ego that people carry and the belief that they are never wrong. And when people are never wrong, they can never be rational. And when people are never rational, they can never live in harmony. Rationality is the only seed needed for peace, because it builds perspective.

If I had to sum it up, I’d say: if humans were created by God, it was for one reason and that was to live. But we fucked it up. We took a bite from the fruit of knowledge, lost all our powers, became mortal, and to prolong our mortality, we altered living into surviving.

Surviving like any animal does in the jungle. But because we are social animals, we got creative with our survival.

And survival has one rule: last man standing.

That’s why people are dying and killing.

Cultural warfare: Last man standing. Who dies and kills? People.

Political warfare : Last man standing. Who dies and kills? People.

God’s warfare : Last man standing. Who dies and kills? People.

National warfare : Last man standing. Who dies and kills? People.

A beautiful world that could have been has now turned into a game of chess. The king and queen die last. But the first to be thrown out? The pawns. Then, one by one, the elephant, the horse, and the camel.

¯\(ツ)/¯

This is us, after eating the fruit of knowledge. No wonder it was forbidden. Maybe, MAYbe, MAYBE, Steve knew that his reflection couldn’t handle what was meant for him, or her, or it. But what difference does it make?

She threw in her whole world when she asked for a miracle... 25 wishes to be exact.

She took a "penny for your thoughts" and ran with it. As in she threw it down here.

I look up many times a day and usually only see hands from where I live down here. Living in a wishing well has not always been the plan... I definitely remember wishing to be set free and somehow, someway found my soul bound to this damn place.

I see her face peaking down at me. No one usually sees me... her eyes widen and her face goes away.

"Well, goddamn" I thought, " Did she just see me?"

I see her again, coiled black ringlets on pale skin and pink lips.

All of sudden, I taste it... I haven't tasted anything in 100 years, but I cannot mistake the metallic clang on my touch. Yes, a quarter but with it is the inexplicable taste of a human emotion I haven't tasted since I made an unwanted home down here,

hope.

The woman, or girl I cannot tell from all the way down here begins to yell, "Hello there, are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Oh honey," I thought. "If only you knew."

She waits a beat and then yells down again, "Hello can you hear me?"

No human has seen me, so it feels a bit incredible to me that I get to actual use my voice after all this time. My voice is a scratchy baritone as it floats upward.

"Well hello darlin;, can you actually see me? Did you throw in the quarter just now?"

Her eyes widen even more, I imagine she looks like a frightened doll at this point with her eyes bugging out from shock.

"Um, well yes, but I mean I don't think that is something to worry about right now, do you? You are obviously stuck, are you hurt?"

I had never had anyone ask after my wellbeing in quite sometime. I take a breath. I guess this is round 2 for trying to get the hell out of this wishing well prison.

"Oh little one... you have no idea..."

I shoot upwards finally free and stand before her. I know how I must look in short brown hair under a cap and a 3 piece suit.

Her gasp lets me know she is as confused as she has ever been, "But you, you," she looks from me to the well, eyes a steady green searching my own for answers.

I can definitely provide that and then some. "Well darlin', you asked for a miracle and by golly I think you got one."

Her second intake of breath has her gasping for air as she takes a step back, her black hair seeming to shine even in the moonlight.

"This is going to be fun," I think to myself with a smirk. "Now, let's begin shall we?"

_______________________________________________

To be continued...