#prompt2.4

After I’d been given the key by Christopher, her previous protector, I took over as her protector even though I didn’t want to at first.  Over the past year, I’d come to think of her as a third grandmother. She was so wise and kind. I made a point to visit her at least a few times a month so she wouldn’t be lonely all the time.

“I am… I am alright.” Her voice sounded heavy.

            “What’s wrong, Marta?” I was worried about her.        

“There is something you need to know. Retrieve the book from the shelf marked with your name.”

            “You have a book with my name on it?”

            “Each of my protectors has had their own book.”

            “What’s in it?” I asked her.

            “We will discuss that after you find it.”

            “Wait you don’t know where it is?”

            “No. But I know it is here somewhere.”

            I sighed and turned around. Every wall was covered from floor to ceiling with books. I started with the shelf closet to Marta’s mirror.  I clubbed the ladder to reach the highest shelf and began scanning the spines for the names.

            “Are you sure there is no accio spell that will make this easier?”  I said, as I started scanning the second section of books.

            “What was that?”

            “You know that spell Harry Potter uses to help him find stuff.”

            “Who is Harry Potter?”

            “Never mind.” I turned back to the book shelf and after ten more minutes of searching I found it.  “Here it is.”

            I brought the book to Marta. It was bound in heavy brown leather and the writing was in gold. Decorative swirls encased my name both on the spine and on the cover. The pages were thick and yellowing. It was clear that the book was written many years before I was even born.

            “How old is this book?” I inquired, setting the book on the small round table next to the mirror.

            “It is only a bit younger than I am and I am now 607 years old. I have spent the last 400 in this mirror.”

            I did the math in my head. “So you spent 207 years outside of the mirror? How long do nature fae usually live?”

            “I was nearing the end of my life when the war started. Most of us lived to be between 200 and 250 years old before the war.”

            “Did you write the books for the protectors?”

            “No. I did not write them. My first protector, Dimia wrote them.”

            “She wrote them all? That’s impossible.”

            “But she did. There are other magical folk who live long lives as well. Dimia was a prophetess.”

            “A prophetess. Got it.” I mumbled under my breath.

            “Most prophets live to be older than the average human. They can reach 200 years of life.”

            “That explains a lot. But what you’re saying is that Dimia knew that I would be here protecting you this far into the future?”

            “Yes. She did. She also knew that you would be my last protector.”

            “How can I be the last? Won’t you live forever as long as you stay in the mirror?”

            “As long as I stay in the mirror, yes. But there is evil in the world Margana.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Only one prophet can be alive at a time and the knowledge of the previous prophet is passed down to the newer.  The current prophet is not a kind man. He uses his power for evil, not good. He knows am here and I know that soon he will come for me.”

            “No.” I stammered. “He can’t reach you here. You are safe.”

            “He will find me here. It has already been foretold. The book you have in your hands is the key to my survival, your survival and your family’s survival.”

            I thought about the younger sister, Cindy, and my parents. “Now you are telling me my family’s involved in this too?”

            “Yes. I am very sorry.”

            “But this book holds all the answers?” I asked hopefully.

            “It is the start of the answers. The rest you must solve by yourself.”

            “How am I supposed to do that. I’ve never done anything but keep you company. I can’t possibly be the protector you need me to be.”

            “Ah, but you can, and you will.” Marta closed her eyes. “I sense movement within your home. You must go now. Take the book. Read it in its entirety and come back when you have finished.”

            “But Marta. I-“

            “Go now and do not doubt your abilities.”

            I looked at Marta and at the book in my hands. “Okay.” I replied and put out the torch. The book felt heavy in my hands now. All of the sudden the well-being of my family was in my hands. What was I going to do?

I walked back through the hallway into my den and closed the door. Sitting down on the sofa, I opened the book to the first page.

Margana Rose Jacobs, Last Protector of the Last Nature Fae, Marta.

    The voices leave her after that and she’s stuck building her life back up. Some things are lost to her, but she manages to win back her friends and after a while things go back to normal. She’s content again, but in the back of her mind she realizes that she misses the voices that used to talk to her and give advice or make funny quips. There’s nothing quite like someone who you can rely on twenty four / seven and knows all your innermost thoughts, literally.

      It’s a couple years later when she hears his voice again, and she does a double take when it comes not from inside her head, but from a man standing behind her.

    “Hey!” he says and taps her on the shoulder, “you dropped your wallet.” He looks older than what she imagined, but only a few years older than she is and it has been years since they last ’talked'. She must be staring because he gives her a concerned look and asks “Are you alright?”

    “I’m fine, thanks,” she says and takes her wallet back from him. She doesn’t stop staring though and before she realizes it she’s blurt out “Have I seen you before?” which is of course a ridiculous question. The more appropriate question is “Have I heard you before,” but saying that would sound even more insane.

    “I don’t think we have,” he replies, but she swears she can slight smirk that says he knows what she really wanted to ask and isn’t being helpful. “I’m Andrew,” he says and holds out his hand for her to shake, “I’m here on vacation.”

    “Katie” she says and shakes his hand, “you just seemed very familiar.” There’s an awkward pause between the two after that. “Well thank you for picking up my wallet. I don’t know what I’d do without it,” she admits.

    “Wait,” he says as she turns to keep walking, “if you’re free someone this weekend. Maybe we can get coffee or something. It would be nice to have someone show me around the area.” He looks hopeful and for some crazy reason she decides to say yes.

         She shows him a couple of the local sights and she decides that she enjoys his company. He’s not planning to stay around after tomorrow, but maybe they can keep in touch with one another. They’re sitting down drinking a cup of coffee when he gets pensive.

    “You’re happy,” he says, “I can see it now. You weren’t happy before.”

    “Before?” she says, “you didn’t know me before.” He looks at her sadly.

    “But I did,” he insists, “do you not remember?” She looks at him steadily and they share a look of understanding.

    “I thought I had gotten it wrong before when I heard your voice, but I guess I wasn’t. Why have you come back?” she finally replies.

    “It’s time for us to leave for good. I came to see if you would have wanted to come with us.” he says, “but I see that you’re happy. Much happier than we ever could have made you.”

    “How were you inside my head?” she asks, “you’re in front of me now.” He gives her a secretive smile.

    “If I told you, I’d have to take you with me,” he responds and gets up to leave, “Instead, you’ll just have to be content with the fact that it happened.” He gives her a hug before he leaves. “I really liked you, Katie.”

*       *       *

        Quent spent the night tossing and turning. If true love couldn’t overcome the barrier between different species of barnyard animals, then what on Earth could? He decided to ask his good friend Uno, the draft-horse, what to do. Uno was well-versed in matters of love.

        “Uno. Uno! Wake up!” Quent pecked at Uno’s ankle.

        Uno snorted and tossed his head. “Whaddayawant Quentaroo issa middle of a night sajfxwkj zzzzzz....”

        “Uno! Wake up! My heart is troubled! I need your wise equine advice!”

        “Well y’come ta th’right place then m’boy...” Uno mumbled sleepily. “When ‘t comes ta th’ladies I’m a pretty smooth... uh... well, y’know....”

“My love has shunned me because of the difference in our species, Uno. I don’t know what to do. It feels like... it feels... I feel... awful. How can I win her back?”

“Well, m’boy Quentarino, when it comes ta th’ladies, ya gotta impress ‘em. Maybe if ya do some’n real brave, it’ll show yer lady friend wha’s what... now lemme sleep, kid...”

“Oh, thank you Uno! I knew that I could count on your experience.” But Uno had already drifted back off to a land of apples and fresh hay. “Hmm... something brave, eh? I’ll do something brave. That way Yuliya will see that love can exist even between a chicken and a sheep.” And in saying that, Quent decided that there was no use in wasting time. He would fly the coop right then and there. He hop-fluttered up to the open window and stealthily crept out from a hole under the fence and walked into the night.

*       *       *

Yuliya woke up to the farmer’s shouts, which was unusual. Typically, Quent was the one who woke the entire farm with his proud crowing – or was it roostering? Yuliya shrugged and followed her fellows out to pasture. In the back of her mind, though, there was a small niggling of worry.

*       *       *

        Quent was lost. After leaving the farm, he had followed the dusty roadside, reaching larger and larger intersections until he reached a noisy forest of steel and glass: the city. He had carelessly wandered in, strutting under streetlights as the city slowly filled with cars and people. And now...

        “Foortyy fiirsst street. Well, that isn’t helpful at all. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Quent swiveled his head from side to side, searching for something – anything that would prove to Yuliya his bravery. A sparkle caught his eye inside a dumpster. Quent went to investigate.

        Rooting through canisters of Ovaltine, Cornetto wrappers and rotting banana peels, Quent found what he had glimpsed earlier: a brass oil lamp. “Whoa! I bet Yuliya would love this ancient oil lamp! Although I really don’t know what a sheep is going to do with an oil lamp... Wow. This is really a dirty oil lamp. I’d better polish it off a bit.”

        And Quent took his wing and rubbed it over the lamp.

        And the grime and dust slowly disappeared from the lamp.

        And the lamp shone in the morning sun.

*       *       *

        Quent was lost. Again. And now he was being followed by a crazy floating blob.

        “Ho! Thou stone-eared duck! Art thou not listening to me?! I hath said I could granteth thee thine wish!”

        “Be quiet, you. I’m trying to drag this lamp back to my beloved Yuliya so that she’ll see that nothing will get in the way of our love!” Quent exclaimed.

        “Verily, that exact thing is what I am trying to tell thee!” the blob protested. “For I be a mystical genie! And since thou hast rubbed the lamp, thou hast liberated me and I can useth mine incredible mystical genie powers to grant thine wishes!”

        Quent was skeptical. For one thing, his mother had always told him not to trust strangers – especially floating and blobular ones. And then there was the sheer improbability that what the genie was saying was true. “Oh yeah? Prove it, genie. I wish for it to rain right now. I want it to pour cats and dogs! Figuratively.”

        “As thou wishes it,” said the genie obsequiously, and snapped his fingers. Immediately, thunder cracked and the heavens opened. Quent was soaked in seconds.

        “What did you do that for?!” Quent, irritated, snapped at the genie. “Now I’m soaked! It’ll take even longer to get back to the farm. You’re really a useless genie, you know that?” The genie pouted and started grumbling to itself as Quent trudged through the downpour.

*       *       *

        It was already late afternoon and Yuliya was kind of worried about Quent. She hadn’t seen him all day, and usually he tried to follow her around or watch her at a distance while she grazed. She hoped he hadn’t done anything rash after their talk the previous day.

*       *       *

        Quent’s life was in danger. While he was wandering through the gloomy city streets, idly mumbling to himself, he had off-handedly mentioned that he wished he could get back to the farm faster. But the genie overheard him.

        The next thing Quent new, there was a violent updraft. Quent instinctively flapped his wings, and the small lift that he gained from that somehow propelled him onto the top of a garbage truck. The garbage truck, now at the end of its work day, sped through the wet city with reckless abandon, making its way to the outskirts. And Quent clutched desperately at the side railing with his talons, his beak clamped firmly down on the handle of the lamp. The genie smirked and crossed its arms. Quent was too terrified to make a comeback.

*       *       *

        At twilight, the truck barreled past the farm. Quent belatedly realized this and hastily fluttered off the truck. The genie had been silent for a while now, but it suddenly spoke up. “Wherefore art thou doing this, duck?” it asked softly. “If thy love dost not love thee, simply asketh me and I shall make it so that she dost.”

        Quent grunted, “Because it’s true love, genie. I’m the one who loves Yuliya, so I have to prove to her my love through my brave quest. If you did it, then you would deserve her love.”

        The genie was stunned. “That... beeth the most foolish thing I have heard in many a year. She shall not know if thou wishes for her love. ‘Twould be much simpler, methinks.”

        “Be that as it may be, I won’t do it,” Quent said stubbornly.

        They spent the rest of the journey to the farm in silence.

*       *       *

        As Quent snuck back in, he saw that all the other animals were asleep. He dragged the lamp over to the sheep enclosure and whispered, “Yuliya. Yuliya! Wake up! I have returned triumphantly!”

        Yuliya looked at Quent bleary-eyed, and then snapped into awakeness. “Quent! Where were you all day?! I was so worried!”

        Quent dropped the lamp and stood up straight. “I went on an adventure for you, Yuliya. I went on a quest, to a distant land, and brought back an incredible treasure. Look!”

        Yuliya turned to the lamp, and then the genie, and then back at Quent, and then the genie again. She did this several times. Quent, wide-eyed, looked at her expectantly. “Umm... well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Quent. What... what exactly is it?”

        “It’s a lamp,” Quent said as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “A brass lamp. I brought it for you.”

        “That’s nice, but... what is that blobby thing above it?”

        The genie remained silent, so Quent answered, “That, my dear Yuliya, is a mystical genie. But enough about that. I went on a quest for you to prove my love! Surely love that can instigate a quest is love strong enough to overcome even the barrier between chicken and sheep!”

        Yuliya tilted her head and looked at Quent. “But... you have a genie. Why can’t you wish yourself into a sheep? That way we truly can be together.”

        Quent was puzzled. “But... I’m a rooster. Even if I turned into a sheep, that wouldn’t be me. Yuliya... don’t you love me, even though I’m a chicken? Don’t you love me for me?”

        “Of course I do, Quent,” Yuliya said hastily. “It’s just... never mind. Let’s talk in the morning, Quent. It’s so late.”

Quent paused for a moment. “Yes, you’re right. We can talk tomorrow, my beloved.”

*       *       *

Yuliya opened her eyes and made sure that Quent was asleep. Then she walked over to the lamp and rubbed it with her fluffy white wool.

The genie slowly rose out of the lamp, and intoned “Whosoever rubs this lamp shall be granted three wishes.”

Yuliya made her wish.

*       *       *

The next day, Yuliya woke to the farmer’s shouts, which was unusual. Or was it? For some reason, Yuliya couldn’t quite place her finger on why that should be odd. She meandered over to the rams and nudged Quent.

Quent shook his head, his magnificent horns catching the morning sunlight. “What do you want, woman? Can’t you see that I’m sleeping?”

“It’s me, Quent. Your beloved Yuliya. How are you on this fine morning?”

“What are you talking about? Since when are you my beloved? What is this madness?”

Yuliya’s heart plummeted. Fear gripped her stomachs. What was wrong with Quent? Why couldn’t he remember that he had courted her the previous day, showing off his spiral horns and toughness?

“Move out of the way, Yuliya. I’ve got work to do.” Quent pushed past Yuliya.

Yuliya stood rooted to the spot, watching Quent’s receding back.

He didn’t look back.

9:43 AM

        You wake up two hours or so later feeling quite refreshed. You take a quick shower; have a bowl of oatmeal with some brown sugar and raisins.

You’re not even sure why you called in sick today, to be perfectly honest with yourself. You’re feeling pretty much fine, after all. Not even sneezing. Perhaps you just wanted to sleep, perhaps you wanted the day to just chill out. Your job, after all, can be pretty stressful.

That’s it, you conclude. It’s because you’re too stressed. Too bogged down in the pressures of the workplace or something like that. You need to clear your mind.

You decide to take a walk.

10:25 AM

        Your eyes didn’t deceive you when you looked out of the window earlier: it really is nice out. The autumn leaves rustle in the gentle wind, and the sun’s rays feel like a warm embrace. Birds chirp merrily from their treetop perches, while squirrels dart along the ground. Couples laugh at picnic tables. A mother pushes her giggling baby along in a stroller.

        You feel so peaceful right now, as though all of your worries have vanished into smoke. You’re practically radiating positivity.

        You sit down at one of the picnic tables, taking in the beauty of nature and the serenity of a pleasant autumn day.

        A small creature eyes you hesitantly from behind a bush. You can’t quite make out what it is, just two yellow eyes, like lanterns, peering at you curiously through the shrubbery.

Then the shrubbery ignites and is reduced to ash, and you very rapidly come to a pretty good hypothesis.

        Standing behind where the bush used to be is an adorable creature: black skin, bright yellow eyes, clawed feet, a tail that ends in a rather lethal-looking spike, and a pair of leathery wings. It smiles at you, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. It tilts its head and looks at you with a sort of timid curiosity, its eyes wide. It sneezes, and a tiny puff of fire gusts from its nostrils.

        “Hey, buddy,” you say, walking up to the creature. It cocks its head to the side even more as you approach. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to see you as a threat. Perhaps it’s related to your expertise in dealing with creatures of its ilk, or perhaps it’s just a nicer youngling than most.

        You’ve gotten close enough now that you can touch it. You move your hand down slowly toward it, and rather than attempting to murder you viciously, the creature nuzzles it affectionately.

        With a sudden motion, it snaps its head downwards, causing you to draw your hand back in fear. It comes back up from the ground with a stick. It motions its head toward you, and then toward the rest of the park.

        It wants to play fetch.

Oh goodness, it’s ridiculously cute. This has got be the cutest baby dragon you’ve ever seen. And by far the friendliest.

Gosh, even when you take the day off you can’t avoid work, can you? The dragonling happens to be a wonderful specimen. And, uh, of course you’d love to take it home with you to keep you company. That too.

Unfortunately, the law is the law, so you’re forced to leave it where it is.

It cries out as you go, a heart-rending sound that makes you feel as if you may rank up there with some of the worst people ever.

That’s OK, you decide. You’re going to have to pretend you didn’t see it anyway. Your boss would kill you if he knew you had.

1:17 PM

Well, that was a nice, refreshing walk. You grabbed a light lunch on the way home, too: a salad with some kind of deliciously tangy dressing and more add-ins than you could care to name. For a salad, it was actually quite filling, leaving you somewhat groggy.

You decide that the best course of option at this point is to take an afternoon nap. After all, if you’re taking a day off, you might as well enjoy it. You want to be fresh and relaxed when you have to work again tomorrow.

As soon as you go into your apartment, you head straight for your bedroom. You climb into bed, rest your head against your pillow, and close your eyes.

Goodness, is your bed cozy. Like floating on a cloud, wrapped in comfort. You don’t think you could feel stressed right now if you tried.

Well, actually, now that you think about it, that baby dragon is pressing on your mind. It was so young, and so adorable, and all alone, and it just needed someone to study, er, nurture it…

Your eyes snap open. You should do something. You should go back for it. To capture, er, adopt it.

But no matter, you decide. A good nap will help you forget all about it. It’ll survive out there. After all, you know that young dragons have a mortality rate of somewhere around 60%. Which gives it a better chance of surviving than not.

This statistic, combined with your incredibly comfortable bed, is enough to help you rationalize not going back to the park.

You close your eyes and fall asleep within a matter of minutes.

1:53

        An enormous clash from the kitchen wakes you from your slumber. Glass breaking.

        Oh dear. Someone has probably broken into your house. Just what you need on your day off.

        Loud footsteps come from the kitchen. Whoever this intruder is, they are woefully incompetent at moving silently and stealthily.

        Sighing, you move yourself out of bed, scanning the room for something you could use as a weapon.

        An umbrella! One of the long ones, with a hooked handle on one end and a point on the other. That will do nicely.

        Wielding the umbrella like a baseball bat, you head toward the kitchen.

        What you find there is a strange sight indeed.

        The good news: a burglar has not destroyed your window, entered your home, strewn your pots and pans everywhere, decorated your table with a rather large burn mark, amputated two legs from your only kitchen chair, and torn apart a pair of oven mitts that had a decent sentimental value to you.

        The bad news: the baby dragon you saw earlier has done exactly that.

        Given your job, you don’t even need to question how it found you. Any researcher worth their salt knows that dragons have a very strong sense of smell.

        It must’ve misconstrued your interest in it as affection. You just wanted to look at it more closely – after all, you identified it almost immediately when you saw it as a very rare species. A very rare species which, as your luck would have it, is prone to forming close bonds.

        The dragon looks at you with what you could swear is a mischievous grin. You clutch your umbrella more tightly.

        Then, in a sudden motion, it takes off and swoops straight toward you. You duck just in time as it sails into the living room.

        You whip around, but the damage has already begun. The dragon is using your curtains as a scratching post. They’re torn to shreds within only a few seconds.

        “Hey!” you shout. “Stop it!” You wave your finger at the dragon in a manner that clearly indicates No, don’t do that. It follows your finger with its eyes, then makes a leap for it.

        You jump out of the way just in time. The dragon decides that perhaps the sofa would be a better target.

        Before you can even shout at it to stop, the dragon lets loose a stream of fire onto your sofa. Oh dear. This sofa was a recent purchase. You had selected white because you thought it looked clean and crisp. Looking at the large scorch marks on the sofa now, you’re regretting going against the salesman’s suggestion of black, or even burnt orange.

        “HEY!” you yell. “I will not tolerate that in my apartment!” You’re fully aware that this species is highly intelligent. Which means that it is both able to understand you fully, and mischievous enough not to.

        It smiles at you and then sets your couch alight.

        “STOP!” you shout as it eyes your coffee table. Thankfully, it listens to you.

        You bend down toward it. “If you promise not to do any more damage,” you say, “I’ll give you a treat.” Obediently, the dragon plops down on the middle of the rug. “Good,” you say. “You wait right here.”

        You go into your kitchen, stepping carefully over your battered cooking vessels, and make your way to the fridge. You pull out a large ribeye you had been saving for a special occasion. You suppose that this certainly qualifies as a special occasion.

        You go back into the living room, where the dragon is waiting patiently. It perks its head up as it sees you enter, steak in hand.

        “Here,” you say, throwing the steak on the floor near the dragon. “You enjoy this, you little devil.”

        The dragon inhales deeply, and before you can tell it not to, it breathes out a gigantic torrent of fire, charring the steak to a crisp. The dragon coughs, and smoke wafts from its nostrils. That’s enough to alert the smoke detectors. A loud beeping echoes through your apartment.

        Time freezes for a second, and then the sprinklers kick in.

        The dragon screams in discontent. As you happen to know, dragons, like cats, despise water. Desperate for an exit, the dragon shakes its wings and eyes your window. It hops up onto the sill.

        “No,” you say. It feints forward. “No,” you repeat, more firmly. At that moment, a rather large drop falls from one of the sprinklers and slams into the dragon’s head. “NO!” you shout, but it’s too late. The dragon has made up its mind. It crashes through the window and soars out into the afternoon. As you watch it wing away, you can swear it gives you an evil little smile, as if to say, You can’t get rid of me, silly human. I’ll be back. Remember, I like to form close bonds.

        You sigh, leaning against the wall and sliding down into a sitting position. You’re getting a headache from the smoke detector’s persistent beeping, and the water from the sprinkler is soaking you to the core.

        A knock on the door cuts through your misery. “Hey, it’s the landlord,” a voice shouts. “We had a noise complaint, so, uh, I’m gonna need you to let me in so I can check everything out.”

        As my father continued to recover, everyone could see the unbreakable bond between my father and mom evolve in a love so strong that everyone not only adored them but also envied them. While it was clear that father and mom were absolutely in love with each other, father knew that his history as a gang member would only bring mom down in the long run. Therefore, on the day father was discharged, he left without saying goodbye to mom.

        After my mom found out of father’s departure, she searched for him in hopes of bringing him back into her life. At this point, mom realized she couldn’t live without father, even if he was a member of a gang.

        Mom’s search led her to father’s gang. By the time she found them, however, news had spread that father had left the gang weeks ago, and had been given the necessary punishment for trying to leave a gang. No one knew father’s whereabouts.

        In the end, mom found father barely alive in an alley behind the house where father grew up. Supposedly father’s father wouldn’t take father back in as his son, and promptly slammed the door in father’s face. With nowhere to go, my father stayed hidden behind the house, barely able to move. At that moment, my father wished for mom to appear and save him.

        By the time mom got to father’s childhood home, father was lying unconscious. She immediately proceeded to treat father’s most severe injuries. When father was mostly stabilized, mom moved father into her car and drove back to the hospital as quickly as she could.

        A week later, father woke up and realized that mom had saved him. Father then truly believed that mom was his guardian angel, and he knew that mom was the one for him.  

        After that, father and mom were inseparable, and a year later, they got married.

---------------

        Fast forward a couple of years, and I was born. Mom passed away, and a part of father died that day too. Mom’s death triggered something inside of father. Whether it be because of the violent side of him he acquired in his gang or not, father changed. He never smiled again.

        Father resorted to alcohol and violence to grieve and mourn. He took out all his anger on me. He was a dirtbag of a father. The sight of me reminded him too much of mom, and I can still recall the way father looked at me whenever he beat me—he hated my guts. He blamed me for killing mom. He couldn’t stand the sight of me. He wanted to kill me. But for some reason, he never did.

        Maybe it was because he was too drunk to stay conscious for long.

        The day I turned sixteen, my father was in an unusually terrible mood. He whipped harder than usual, and he kicked with more determination, and he yelled more aggressively than usual.

        After that particular beating, I was left on the cold ground in the kitchen, my back bleeding and aching so much that the slightest touch or movement felt like an arrow stabbing me in the back.

        I had had enough—I was going to run away.

        The thought of living on my own, honestly, was terrifying, but knowing that I’d be away from my father and his abuse, I knew I’d be in a better place living on my own.

        As the pain in my back began to ease away, I made my way past my passed out father, up the stairs, and into my room. I began to throw clothes and essentials into my backpack as quietly as possible. If my father heard even the slightest sound, I’d be busted. I couldn’t carry a lot of stuff, but I decided to bring a water bottle, two changes of clothes, some matches, and money that could sustain me for about a week.

        I’d always thought about leaving the house and never coming back, but something always kept bringing me back to the house. Maybe it was me hoping that father would change back to the loving person he was when mom was still alive. A part of me thought that because I supposedly looked so much like mom, shouldn’t father love me just even a little bit?

        But I knew that part of my father was never coming back, and so I ran.

        Making my way down the stairs, I headed towards the front door. Before I reached it though, I felt a hand grab the bottom of my leg. Turning around, and looking down, I saw my father looking at me menacingly. Horrified, I kicked my father in the head as hard as I could. That got my father to let go of my leg, and I sprinted out the door without a moment to delay.

        Running as fast as I could, I soon began to hear my father following behind me, screaming at me for being a murderer and a thief. He was trying to get the attention of the neighbors. My father was determined to kill me when he got his hands on me, and he almost did.

        It had been raining most of the day, and the grass was extremely muddy and wet. For some reason, my drunken father managed to keep his balance intact. I, however, kept slipping in the muddy grass. At one point, I lost my balance and nearly face planted into the mud. I kept trying to get up, but every few steps, I would fall again.

        Soon enough, my father was close enough to grab me, and when I thought that I was done for, I felt two pairs of hands grab my shoulders, one on each side, and lifted me off the ground and into the air. Looking behind me, I saw my father’s confused, but angry face grow smaller and smaller.

        Turning to face the people who had saved me, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. These people, if I could really call them that, had human-sized wings growing out of their backs. I thought I was dreaming.

        I was about to ask my saviors questions when I heard something coming from behind us. There were more humans with wings.

        After what seemed like ages, my saviors, whom I later learned were Melanie and Finn, and they rest of their flock, brought me to a cave, and began to treat my wounds. The whole time, I just sat quietly, admiring them. I’d fantasized about being able to fly, or know magic, or wield the four elements, but never would I have believed such things existed hadn’t I seen it with my own eyes.

        I was in a trance when Melanie said,

        “You must have questions for us.”

        “Wait, what?” I turned to face her.

        Smiling at me, Melanie said,

        “We’re your guardians. Born to protect you when you needed and wanted help.”

        “So, you’re saying that I didn’t need your help before?”

        “Precisely. You always managed to win your own battles on your own against your father, so we saw no need in rescuing you until you wanted out of that lifestyle. And that day was today.”

        “But what makes me so important? Why do I have my own personal guardians?”

        “Because you possess the powers to heal the wounded. You were born to be the savior of the world.”

        Though I knew she was being serious, I couldn’t help but laugh.

        “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

        “I kid you not. You do having healing abilities.”

        Still skeptical of Melanie’s assertions, I inquired,

        “Okay, so assuming I really do have healing powers, and I’m not saying I do, we’re just assuming here, why haven’t I been able to heal myself before?”

        “You’re powers are meant to stay dormant until your eighteenth birthday, and therefore you haven’t felt the power that’s building up inside of you.”

        “Why should I trust you?”

        “You don’t have to. But I promise you, we’re here to protect you.”

        “Okay, I’ll trust you on that one.”

        After that, Melanie and the rest of the gang never left my side. And as Melanie stated, on my eighteenth birthday, my healing powers began to surface. At first I was able to heal only small cuts, but as my powers grew, I was able to heal many other people’s physical injuries—and that makes me stronger every day.

-----

“Do you think I could train ants?” asked Matt, turning the stick over in his fingers. Every time the ant reached the bottom, he flipped it, sending the insect on another iteration of its useless struggle.

“Nah man, bugs are too stupid. Look, it can’t even get off a stick. How’s it gonna learn a trick?” explained Jerry. “Hey, that kinda rhymed!”

“I could give it food every time it did something right,” insisted Matt. “That’s how I trained Max.”

“Dogs are smarter than bugs, stupid,” Jerry retorted.

“Yeah, but–”

“Will you two stop fuckin’ around with those bugs and get over here! I got the bottles set up!”

“Yeah, stop fuckin’ around with the bugs!” said Jerry.

“Your Mom’s a bug.”

“Your Mom’s a bug.”

“Shut up and get over here!” said Trevor. “Jeezus, I go to all this trouble and all you guys wanna do is fuck around with ants.”

“Calm down, we’re here. Sheesh,” muttered Jerry.

“So what kinda gun is it?” asked Matt. “Like, what caliber?”

“My Dad said it’s a .32 millimeter.” He took the the gun from his pocket along with a few loose shells. It was a black snub-nosed revolver with a dark wooden grip.

“Can I hold it?”

“Yeah, but be careful. It’s loaded,” warned Trevor, gingerly handing the gun to Matt. Matt threw away the stick and took the weapon in both hands like it was a relic. “It’s got a hair trigger and the kickback’s a bitch. Trust me, my Dad took me down to the range. Almost broke my nose the first time.”

“Holy shit, dude,” gawked Jerry. “You, uh, you sure it’s okay to take this stuff? Your Dad won’t miss ‘em?”

“Nah, he’s at work. Won’t be back ‘til, like, nine or something.”

“What about the bullets? Won’t he notice they’re missing?”

“Sometimes when he’s drunk he shoots squirrels in the backyard. One time he used up a whole box! He won’t notice.”

“Is it hard to hit a squirrel?” asked Matt. He held the gun at arm’s length and looked down the ironsight, thumbing the hammer and pretending to shoot the bottles.

“My Dad never hit any, but he was drunk, so, yeah. If it wasn’t moving and I was close enough, I could probably do it.”

“Seriously cool, dude,” said Matt. “Can I take a couple shots?”

“That’s why I brought it. Go crazy, dude.”

Matt took aim at the bottles, sitting on old tree stumps at the far end of the field. He closed one eye and stuck the tip of his tongue out of his mouth. He gently began to squeeze the trigger and–

BANG.

The pistol swung back in an arc and clocked Matt in the face.

“AUGH! Fuckin’ shit!” he screeched, falling to the ground and cradling his nose.

Trevor fell to the ground too, howling with laughter. “H-h-holy shit man, I told you the kickback was a bitch. Oh Jeezus, the look on your face was great. You were like, ‘Wuh?’” He made a face like a surprised goldfish, putting his hands to his cheeks.

“Shud up man! God damn.” He moved a hand from his face. “Shid, I god a nozbleed,” said Matt, gazing stupidly at the blood on his fingers.

Jerry knelt down next to him. “Let me see your face.” Matt slowly removed a shaking hand from his nose. Jerry squinted at it and made a face. “Don’t think it’s broken, but it’s bruised for sure. You’ll probably get a black eye.”

“Aww, shid man. My Mom med me promise nod do ged in a fighd again. When she sees this… jeez.”

Trevor’s laughter stopped immediately. “Hey man, you better not tell on me.”

Matt frowned, then stopped when it hurt his nose. “Ow. Trebor, you know I ain’d gonna do thad. I’ll figure somethig oud.”

Trevor nodded uncertainly. “Okay.”

Jerry swung off his backpack and fished out a rag. He wetted it with a water bottle and gave it to Matt. “Clean yourself up. Then rip off a strip and plug your nose.”

“You brought rags with you? What the fuck do you need those for? Gonna rub one out in woods?” asked Trevor.

“Be prepared,” Jerry shrugged, replacing his pack.  “Hey, let me give it a try.” He picked the gun up from the ground and dusted it off. “How should I hold it?”

“Fuckin’ Boy Scout doesn’t know how to hold a gun. Keep your right arm straight, left bent a little. Matt had his arms bent too much. Yeah, that’s right. And legs a little farther apart.”

“You could of dold me this stuff,” complained Matt through the rag.

Trevor grinned. “You never asked.”

“Fug you, man.”

Jerry took aim and fired.

BANG.

“Ow! Shit, that’s a lot louder when you’re holding the gun.”

Trevor laughed. “Yeah, I know. That was a pretty good shot, though. You hit the stump. Try aiming a little higher this time, and hold your breath. I think that’s supposed to steady you a bit.”

Jerry took aim, held his breath, and fired.

BANG.

The bottle shattered, spraying water and glass into the air. Trevor had filled them up at a nearby creek beforehand.

“Wow man, second shot. Nice.”

“Here, you take a turn. I think I’m gonna go deaf.”

Trevor took aim and fired the remaining three shots without stopping. One of the remaining bottles exploded. Trevor flipped open the chamber, fed in more bullets, and swung it back shut. Five more shots and the last two bottles were gone.

“Nice one, man.”

“Thanks. You were pretty good too. Wanna try again?”

“Nah man, I’m good. Don’t wanna rupture my eardrum.”

“Pussy. What about you Matt?”

Matt shook his head vigorously. “Fug no, man, I had enough.”

Trevor spat on the ground. “Come on guys, really?”

“We don’d eben hab anythig to shood ad.”

“Besides, check out the sky, dude.” Jerry pointed west. “Looks like it’s gonna rain. We should head back if we don’t wanna get soaked. Plus, your gun could get wet. Do you know if it’s waterproof?”

Trevor squinted at the broiling mass of clouds in the distance, rolling forward like dark seafoam. “Shit man. Shit. My Dad’ll definitely notice if gun’s fucked up. Okay, you’re right. Let’s get going.

-----

They’d been walking fifteen minutes when it began to rain. The transition was fast, from dry to pouring in seconds.

“Shit! Jerry, gimme your backpack. Don’t let the gun get wet! Shit, shit!” He ran behind Jerry without waiting for a reply, unzipped the bag, and stuffed the revolver in. “Goddammit! Shit! Do you think it got too wet?”

“No idea. We’ll have to test it later.”

“Dammit,” Trevor sighed. “Hey, did anyone bring an umbrella?”

“Nope.”

Matt shook his head.

“Boy Scout brings fuckin’ rags and but not umbrella. Christ.”

“The forecast didn’t call for rain. Besides, the wind’s too strong, it would blow away.”

“Be prepared my ass.”

“Yeah, be prepared.” Jerry fished a flashlight out of his bag. “Thought to bring this, didn’t I?” He flicked it on, providing meager illumination for the path ahead.

The boys continued another ten minutes in silence.

“Umm… guys?” He had to yell to make himself heard.

“What Matt?”

“Shouldn’t we hab passed thad power station by now?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, I don’t time our hikes.”

“No, he’s right. If we’re still heading toward town, we should’ve passed it by now. It’s this rain. I don’t recognize anything, and I can barely see.” Jerry paused to think. “We should hole up ‘til it stops.”

“WHAT? No way man, no. This could last hours. The rain will soak through to the gun by then. Plus, where are we gonna hole up? Under a tree?”

“If we keep walking, we’ll just get more lost! These woods are fuckin’ huge man, we could be lost for days! We gotta hole up! We could make a lean-to with some branches–”

“Shut up with your Boy Scout BS, it’s not gonna work! How ‘bout this? If we find a building, we hole up? That okay?”

Jerry groaned. “Fuck, this is stupid.” He stared at his feet, saw the rain dripping on shoes, and sighed. “Ugh, fine, fuck it! Let’s go.”

-----

“Think we should’ve holed up now?”

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Town’s close. Or the rain will let up soon. Shut up!”

Matt looked between his friends and decided to keep quiet.

“I mean, we’d be soaked, but at least we’d be able to backtrack later! Jesus, why’d I listen to you?”

“What, you think we should’ve followed the fuckin BS handbook? Gimme a fuckin’ break–”

“Yeah we should’ve! Then at least we might be home before dark.”

“Shut up! We’ll be home by dark.”

Jerry feigned a casual demeanor, and made a show of pulling up his sleeve to look at his watch. “I don’t know, it’s a quarter after six already…”

“SHUT UP!”

Lightning split the sky in two, ending it’s journey on a nearby tree, leaving it fried. Thunder boomed with deafening force directly overhead.

“HOLY SHID!”

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

“FUCK!”

Three bodies, silhouetted briefly against the flash, flew through the air and to the ground. The smells of petrichor and ozone lingered ominously in the air, like a wet car battery releasing charges.

“H-h-holy shit!” stutter Jerry, wide-eyed. “That was fucking close, man!”

“No shit! C’mon, lets get up.” Trevor wrenched himself out of the mud and wiped his pants.

Jerry stumbled to his feet. “Shit, man, I lost my glasses. Can you find them?”

“Find your own damn– ugh, dammit! Sorry man, just this is a shit day. Just don’t– push me, okay!”

Jerry sighed. “Okay man, I’m sorry. Fuck today.”

Trevor smiled. “Amen. Just gimme a sec.” Trevor picked up the fallen flashlight and scoured the ground. “Here they are. Covered in mud and shit. Let me wipe ‘em off for you… woah!”

In the reflection of the glasses stood the vague outline of a structure. Trevor returned the glasses to Jerry pointed. “Look over there, man! Shelter. Fuckin’ shelter! I take back what I said, whatever, let’s get the fuck in there and wait his shit out!”

Jerry squinted. “Sounds good. Weird we didn’t see it earlier.”

“Who cares? Let’s go!”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Look at Matt.” Jerry squatted down next to him, and Trevor shown the light on them. Mat was holding legs to his chest, back a tree, covered in mud, and shivering. “You okay man?”

“Shit.” Trevor knelt down on Matt’s other side, ignoring the filth soaking into his pants. “Hey man, it’s okay now. We found shelter. We’re gonna wait this shit out indoors. The Boy Scout and I even made nice.”

Matt didn’t acknowledge hearing them, staring blankly into the distance.

“Shit man,” Jerry whimpered.

“What!?” demanded Trevor.

“Dude, I think he might be in shock! They call paramedics for that shit! This is not good.”

“Oh, shit. Oh shit! Try and calm him down, then!”

“That’s not how it works!”

“Well you gotta do something. I don’t know shit about this shit!”

“Uh, uh, uh, Matt, okay, Matt, I know the lightning scared you. But, lightning never strikes the same place twice, you know? So we’re totally safe now. Just try to calm down.  Okay, calm down. We’re okay.”

Thunder boomed overhead and a streak of lightning torched a tree a few feet beyond them.

Matt sprang to life. “WHAD THE FUG! WHAD THE FUG! YOU SAID ID COULDN’D STRIKE TWICE! YOU FUGGING LIAR!”

“HOW THE FUCK–”

“JESUS SHIT–”

Another bolt slammed into the ground behind them.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

“RUN! TO THE BUILDING!”

The trio took off, following Trevor’s lead toward nearby building. As they ran, lightning continued to stab behind them, each blast paired with a crash of thunder. The strikes trailed them all the way to the building.

The boys slid through the doorway and collapsed to the floor in a heap. Trevor crawled out and leaned up to the wall, trying to catch his breath. Jerry got his hands and knees under him and puked, eyes tearing up. Matt lay limp on the floor, panting and mumbling under his breath. The only other sound was the rain, splatting on the ground outside, and the occasional rumble of thunder.

Trevor regained coherent speech first. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know. Lightning doesn’t do that.”

“Well I fuckin’ know that Jerry!”

“Whatever,” he moaned, dragging himself to rest against the wall. “At least we’re safe in here until the storm’s over.” He turned his gaze to Matt. “You okay, buddy?”

“Ugh…”

“Good. We’re all okay. We’re okay. That’s… that’s good.”

“Yeah, good. But where are we?” wondered Trevor. He shone the flashlight’s beam around the room. Rows of wooden benches filed up the room, ending at a podium and an altar. On either wall of the room were stained glass windows, depicting scenes of cloaked men and women with bereaved looks on their faces performing various tasks, illuminated every few seconds by the now muffled lightning outside.

Jerry forced himself up. “It’s a church. But what’s all that?” He gestured to a far corner of the room, where motionless dark shapes sat. “Wanna check it out?”

“Sure, sure, it’s something to do. You gonna be okay here, Matt?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m just gonna… gonna rest.”

“You sure dude?”

Matt nodded.

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

They walked down the center aisle, pews looming on both sides. Each one shone under flashlight’s beam, shining as if they’d been oiled. The floor was clear of dust and debris.

“Can I have my light back?” asked Jerry. Trevor passed it over, and Jerry shown the light on the ceiling. “This place looks old, dude. They didn’t have electric lighting. Those are gas lamps.”

“Figures. I mean, It’s not like people are gonna come all the out here to go to church. They probably last used this place awhile ago.”

“Weird.”

“Why’s it weird?”

“Everything’s so clean. The pews are shiny, the floor’s clean. Animals and plants would’ve gotten in here by now. But it’s all set up like they’re gonna have mass tomorrow.”

“Hmm… yeah. Weird. Kinda creepy.”

“Should we… maybe not explore? You know, whenever people go exploring in horror movies–”

“C’mon, are you serious?”

“Lightning just followed us, dude. I’m thinking… maybe we should leave.”

“Leave! It was your idea to find shelter! Besides, the lightning might come again! Did you think of that?”

“I’m just saying we should think things through.”

“Whatever man. I’m gonna see what that stuff is.” He grabbed back the light and shone it on the corner.

The beam revealed a pile of cluttered old construction equipment; a cement mixer, jackhammers, hardhats, tool-belts, and scaffolding were scattered all over one another, as if swept into the corner by a giant broom.

“This stuff’s old as shit, dude,” murmured Jerry, walking over. He picked up a hammer and grabbed the flashlight from Trevor, scanning it over. “Made in 1916… dude, there’s, like, no rust on this thing. Fuck, there no rust on any of it!”

“This is weird, man. How does that… happen?”

Jerry was silent for a long time. “Maybe… look, I know you don’t want to leave, and with the storm, you’re probably right. But… let’s just stay by the door out, just in case, okay?”

Trevor nodded slowly. “Yeah… yeah, okay. That’s not a bad–”

The roar of thunder sounded like it had crashed right on top of the church. A chunk of the ceiling exploded, and charred planks tumbled to the marble floor, dirtying it for the first time in decades. Before any of the boys could react, another strike came and another, flashing the entire church bright white, on and off every second. The noise was continuous, alternating between thunder and the clatter of falling boards.

“FUCK! WHAT DO WE DO? FUCK!”

Matt ran to his friends, blabbering incoherently. He grabbed them each by the shirt, his eyes wide and twitching.

“WE’RE TRAPPED IN HERE! WE GOTTA GO! WE GOTTA–”

Lightning smashed through the ceiling overtop of them, arching over their heads and around them, down to the floor surrounding them. The white marble turned black and splintered, giving within seconds.

The boys fell into the dark.

The landing was soft, the chunks of rock tumbling past them, not leaving a scratch. The world in the dark was completely silent, a stark contrast to the maelstrom churning just feet above their heads. No thunder, no lightning, not even the patter of rain.

Trevor scrambled for the flashlight. He flicked it on, revealing everything in its slender cone of light.

Jerry rubbed his head and followed the flashlight’s beam as Trevor flicked it around. “A sub-basement?” he guessed. Old stonework, somehow in prime condition, made up the walls, and the floor seemed to consist of a pattern, one too complicated to figure out without seeing the whole thing.

“I mean, that stuff upstairs was old, but this… wow, this could be like, centuries. Like, Indian shit.”

“Who cares?” snapped Trevor. “Let’s just figure out how to get out!”

“But the lightning–”

“The lightning– fuck the lightning! I don’t give a shit! I just wanna get out of here, alright? We can figure that out later.”

Jerry groaned and felt around. “Matt? Where’d you go, man?” He found a shoe and moved up his body, leaning over his face. “Light over here, please.”

Trevor redirected the beam. Jerry shrieked and fell back, and Trevor dropped the flashlight.

His face was twisted in a grotesque grin, eyes leaking and bruised, mouth pulled into a smile like a marionette. Each breath was a hitching half-sob.

“He’s in shock again, he’s in shock again, shit shit shit!” Jerry’s voice echoed around the chamber.

Trevor couldn’t get the expression out of his head. The face contained more than fear. It contained pure, unadulterated terror and insurmountable confusion. It was the face of a man lost in every way possible.

“We… we have to go.”

“What?”

“We have to leave him.”

“Trevor, what the fuck?”

“Dude, we can’t carry him out of here, and there’s no way he’s coming out of that! Look at him! The best we can do is get help.”

“But…” he trailed off. A heavy sigh wracked his body. “Dammit. Shit. Shit! SHIT!” His voice reverberated around the black.

Trevor picked up the flashlight and shone it on his friend. He walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but man, we gotta go. There’s some weird shit going o–”

A sound like they’d never heard pierced the chamber. A low pitch squirming noise, incomparable to anything a sane person knew.

The boys were frozen. For a few precious moments, the only sound was their panting. Then it came again, louder, closer, everywhere at once.

Trevor raised the shaking flashlight and swung it around the group, breathing in irregular gasps. He crept over to the still paralyzed Jerry, and found his father’s revolver in the pack. He held it at arms length in one hand, pairing it with the flashlight in his other.

He did a three-sixty, searching, searching…

Something flew, flew, across the beam.

“Shit!” he tried to follow it. He caught glimpses, and each time he did his stomach clenched. The thing was made of colors and shapes utterly foreign. With each glance his mind slipped a little, like a scratched record, and it took him a second to remember where he was.

He recognized only one thing. An iron rod, about a half inch thick, stuck through the thing, impaling it. It was the only part of it he understood, and his brain latched onto it like a drowning man.

Without warning, the thing stopped in his beam. Seeing it all at once, the thing looked half-finished, as if there was supposed to be more to it. A thick substance, neither a solid or a liquid, dripped upward.

Trevor couldn’t look away. It was mesmerizing. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Something was breaking inside him. An image flashed across his failing mind; Matt, grinning, lost in his own little world–

Trevor yelled, shut his eyes, and fired. The shot in such close quarters nearly deafened him, but not before hearing a distinct clang of metal on metal. He opened his eyes on instinct, and the thing had changed, replaced by new, still incomprehensible, colors and forms. Then they shifted again. And again. They didn’t maintain shape for more than a second before switching.

Trevor was vaguely aware that he and Jerry were screaming. His mind was splintering like balsa wood. The thing was moving closer. The iron rod was gone somehow, and now the thing was entirely beyond him.

It touched him.

-----

Trevor was wearing a tool-belt and a hardhat, carrying a few two-by-fours under his arm. He was walking toward the church. He shrieked and dropped the wood, running the opposite direction, passing construction workers as he went.

“What the hell, Miller?”

“Where you going, Andy?”

He ignored them and continued his escape, lungs starting to burn as felt something touch–

-----

He was inside the church, and about a foot shorter. He looked down and saw white and black robes down to his feet.

“Jeremy?”

He turned, tears stinging the edge of his eyes. An elderly priest was kneeling down next to him. He put a hand on his shoulder, and Trevor flinched.

“What’s the matter, my son? What’s bothering you?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Trevor shuddered.

The priest frowned and slapped him hard across the cheek.

“I won’t be having that kind of language here, young man. Not in the house of God. Now come along with me to the confessional and tell me what’s wrong.”

He grabbed Trevor by the arm and dragged him to a small curtained off room, just as the fabric touched his skin, so did something else, and then–

-----

He had four legs, and tough, scaled hide armored his body. He looked around, trying to make sense of what was happening.

A rumble brought his attention to the sky. A chunk of rock, glowing with intense heat, screamed across the blue. In seconds, he could feel the heat consuming, but before all though was gone, something touched–

-----

He wore only a loincloth, and his hand was grasped around an iron rod. His skin was dark, and his hair was long. He gazed around the dense forest and found others, of both white skin, wearing metal armor, and dark skin, wearing next to nothing, all creeping forward in the same direction, the direction he was facing. They all carried iron rods.

He looked toward the clearing in front of him, and saw the thing, just in time for it to touch–

-----

        The kettle boiled, the fire crackled, and the rain fell. I thought about writing about these three sounds. Mr. Taira came in carrying a wooden box.

        “What do you think this is?” he said. He carefully lifted out a huge skull, with wide eyes and a grin full of sharp teeth.

        “A dragon!” I said.

        “Perhaps. That is what many called it. There is only the head.”

        “What else could it be?”

        “It could be anything,” he said. “People see what they want to see.”

        “Well, what is it?” I put my head close to the dragon’s eye. Out the other side, I could see the rain falling softly.

        “I don’t know. This was found in an iron mine, when I was the master swordsmith of Lord Shinsaku.”

        “Lord Shinsaku?”

        “A warlord. From the time when no one ruled and everyone was fighting for control. Once he took this city.”

        “Was he bad?”

        “Bad? No… He was just…foolish.”

        Mr. Taira poured the water and mixed in the tea powder with a whisk. I waited for him to continue.

        “He believed in things you can’t see. He, too, thought it was a dragon head.”

        “Why did he believe in things he couldn’t see?”

        “When you reach that age…If you never think about things, you’ll have so many unanswered questions in your head that you’ll have to come up with something to explain them.”

        “Something you can’t see.”

        “Lord Shinsaku wanted to grind up this skull and drink it, like this tea. He thought it would give him great powers.”

        “Would it?”

        Mr. Taira just looked down and shook his head.

        Another day, he showed me a spoon that always pointed in the same direction.

        “It’s not magic,” he said. “It always points to the top of the Earth.”

        “How does it work?” I asked.

        “I don’t know.”

        “Then how do you know it’s not magic?”

        “Is it magic,” said Mr. Taira, “when hot metal turns white? Is it magic when flowers turn into fruit?”

        I thought about this. “So what’s the difference?”

        “There is a difference. The foreigners use this to sail around the world, and we use it to read our fortunes. We see it as magic, and they don’t.” Mr. Taira turned the spoon around in his hands. “I keep all these things in here because no one wants to understand them. Magic is just another word for ignorance.”

                I don’t know whether Mr. Taira gathered all of his curiosities because he thought the rest of the world wasn’t ready to see them, or because he secretly wanted to believe in magic himself. Maybe both are true. I wanted to believe in magic. I think everyone does.

        I do know that he only had a certain number of things to show off.  When I had seen them all, I stopped coming. I think he looked sad the last time I came. The whole time, he was just lonely.

                I didn’t see Mr. Taira again until he was dying. His house was different, dustier and faded. He was surrounded by relatives who I had never seen, making him food and giving him medicine. They said he was always in pain, and could only talk for a short amount of time.

        “You again?” he said when I walked in. “I thought I’d never see you.”

        I wasn’t sure what to say. “I came to see if there was anything I can do.”

        “No,” he said. He moved his eyes towards his family in the other room. “They are doing everything.”

        I nodded.

        “They’re giving me so many horrible things,” he said after a while. “They don’t tell me, but they’re putting ground bones and dried fish in my tea. It’s killing me faster.”

        “It’s not killing you faster,” I said. I’m sure many people had told him this.

        “All my life… All my life I’ve never trusted anyone. And I die alone.”

        “You’re not alone, Mr. Taira. Your family is here.”

        “Do you think I can’t see? They are just paying their dues. They don’t care what I say. They don’t give me medicine to ease my pain, they give it to me because they think they have to!” Mr. Taira was panting.

        “But I see you don’t understand. It is only the ranting of a dying man.”

        I didn’t know what to say. He started to cough. I felt horrible.

        “You may leave now,” he said weakly.

I look at the sky

but then I am reminded

of what you said

still I sometimes see a world

They disappeared.

New ones of their kind reappeared, rapidly climbing to the heights their siblings had reached.

Blub.

She couldn’t stop, they were so mesmerizing.

POP

That sound associated with them created such a lovely, calming pattern.

It was almost better than that pitter-patter on the roof when it was pouring.

It was almost better than the habitual click-clack of Ben’s typewriter.

Blub. Blub. POP Blub. POP POP Blub. POP Blub. Blub. Blub. Blub.

The following succession of POPs was more satisfying than exploding a square yard of bubble wrap.

POP POP POP POP

“Why is she here?”

“I don’t—“

POP

Dusk was settling in. The days were getting shorter and shorter, the nights cooler and cooler.

Soon, she’d have to go back.

Soon, she’d have to sleep.

But for now, she expelled the air of her lungs into the loop.

Blub. Blub. Came the comforting sound.

POP assured her that whatever started also came to an end.

POP

She sighed.

They rose, getting more air than ever before.

The elegant ballet captivated her.

Blub. POP

By now, the edges of the clouds were a bright fuschia color.

The horizon was melting into a puddle of subtle blue and yellow shades.

Soon, the stars would come out.

Soon, she’d have to sleep.

But for now, she sat down, observing the spectacle through the thin films she created.

Blub. Blub. Blub.

Diaphanous, they fainted as soon as they awoke.

They withered as they bloomed.

There was no constancy, no possible predictions.

The fuschia had faded to a pale peach color, seamlessly melding with the impending dark night sky.

A few bits of conversation still filled the soft evening.

“Do you think we’ll make it up there?”

“Why?”

“Do you know of past generations?”

She rolls her eyes back into her head, losing consciousness for the space of an instant.

The darkness overtakes her for an instant.

In her mind, she covers every inch of darkness with a fresh coat of white paint.

The clean lines help her breathe regularly. She feels at ease, as though like them, she can dance rhythmically to and fro.

But what if like them, she just disappears?

Breathe in, breathe out.

Blub.

POP

The stars are out now. They also form patterns, they tell stories.

One twinkles: “Oh how I recall those days when Diane refused my love”

A miniscule flash passes over her. A shooting star.

She should make a wish. She should.

But she won’t. Not because she doesn’t believe in wishes but because she doesn’t want to set expectations.

That’s what he told her yesterday.

To live in the present. To stop projecting in the future and reliving the past.

Absorbing every detail of every moment.

To float. To carry her past without being burdened by it

The cloud covering the shiny crescent of the moon has passed.

Everything seems bright as she squints.

Blub. Blub. Blub. POP

Why only one?

Soon, that could be her.

Soon, she’d have to sleep.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Her stomach rose and fell like those delicate creatures had earlier that evening.

The grass tickled her bare legs, preventing her from falling asleep.

POP POP

The sound jarred her. Such a brusque, unexpected sound.

It had been so lovely earlier when the POPs and blubs were somewhat in sync.

But these were rough, uneven sounds that came and disrupted the peaceful night.

She rolled over on her stomach.

The delicate scent of humid earth and minerals wafted towards her, pulling her into another delirious reflection.

The rain came suddenly, boring into her frail body, wetting her gray hair.

But she didn’t move. This was it.

Now, she had to sleep.

Now, she had to say goodbye.

“Farewell”