“Three,” she says. “Only three today.”

            I feel her wipe my neck with the cold green cloth she carries. She scrubs my neck down before I hear her pick up the first one.

            It should hurt. I know it should hurt.

            I’ve done it too much. Too often, each time too soon. The sharp pain feels weak now. I feel it spread through my neck, suffocating me for a second before it slowly diminishes.

            I used to be scared of this. The pain, the suffocation. How much was added in. How quickly she did it, always to return the next day with more.

            It used to scare me.

            It still does.

            I hear her throw the remains away, along with her cloth. She washes her hands before she pulls out a new cloth from a box. She picks up another tray before walking over to the next child.

            I rub the edges of my neck, feeling the bruises and lumps that have formed on the sides. I stare at the lumps that have formed on my hands. I swallow, feeling the clump of saliva that falls down my throat.

            I do this over and over.

            I shut my eyes.

            I wish I could see myself doing this. Seeing myself swallow the lump that falls. Seeing the purple and blue bruises that sit on my neck, just like they do on other children.

            What do I look like?

            I asked Rosa this once, the girl who lay next to me in her own metal bed. She shrugged weakly.

            You look like yourself.

            But what color are my eyes? My lips?

            She stares back at me, her eyes slowly turn soft.

            Don’t you think if I knew I would say? She whispers.

            Then I realized the reality again.

            Something was wrong with all of us who lay in these beds.

            Rosa was nearly blind.

            I had one leg.

            The boy next to me had six fingers and could not speak.

            We did not look or seem like those who stared back at us from the TV.

            Why do they keep us here? I asked her.

            She sighed.

            We are different from the other kids. We are dirty they say. Contaminated.

            She said these words harshly. She spited them out. For a moment I stared at her before she looked away.

            I turn over to see the bed where a new child lies in the bed where Rosa once lay. She wails softly for her mother.

            I feel bad for her.

            Yet I cannot relate.

            I did not know my family.

            Maybe I didn’t have one.

            Rosa told me its because they took me away early.

            It’s easy to tell the difference between having two legs and one.

            They knew who I was from the beginning.

            I imagine my family on some days.

            I would have a sister like Rosa, kind and sweet and soft. A brother who would let me play all his games. I would greet my mother and father, both so loving and sweet. I would not live here. I would live in a home. Even the worst of homes could not be as bad as here.

            At least homes don’t numb your neck.

            “Lights out!” The woman barks.

            There is no reason for this. No one talks or even gets up here. Everyone begins to breathe less though, to breathe quieter as if one loud breath could harm you.

            I hear the girl next to me sleep in short and quick breaths.

            The boy on the other side of the room snores.

            A sudden wave of exhaustion begins to pour over me, though I have done nothing to exert my energy.

            I shift over to my side, shutting my eyes.

            I let the wave of exhaustion take over my body.

           

            I remember the day Rosa left.

            She wore the white gown she’d worn every other day, except it was now fresh and clean. She had no luggage with her like the people who travel on the TV do. Her bed had been made, clean and sharp, a corner slightly folded over for someone else.

            Rosa, are you leaving to return to your family?

            She looked over at me; her back still turned away, craning her neck over her shoulder awkwardly. She glanced at me before her head turned away again.

            No, she said quietly. I am leaving for good.

            What do you mean?

            I could see her shaking the back of her head.

            Rosa, I continued, speaking louder. Why aren’t you going to your family?

            I could see her walking over to my bed, now in long strides as she crossed the floor.

            I have outlived my purpose here.

            I tried to speak as she stopped me.           

            You will understand one day, she whispered. She began to walk away when she stopped. She turned around.

            Leave. She said. Promise me you’ll leave here one day.

            What do you-?

            Promise me.

            Her eyes stared at me, filled with hope.

            I nodded at her. I promise.

            She hugged me tightly.

            I watched as she walked over towards beige door that stood in the corner of the room. She paused there for a moment when a woman with a green cloth came out, motioning her through the door, which then shut behind them.

            Five minutes later the woman came out and began scrubbing her hands under the sink furiously.

            A sudden wave of panic rose over me.

            Rosa had not come out.

            I was seven at the time.

            I did not understand this.

            I thought Rosa had left.

            The woman would not have allowed her to leave, let alone help her escape.

            I sucked in my breath as if I was now suffocating again.

            Rosa was dead.

            She had been killed.

 

            My eyes flew open, my head throbbed, my heart beat frantic as beads of sweat began to form, and then running down my face.

            I stared at the TV above the sink.

            3:46am.

            I crawled down under the covers, slowing my breath.

            Rosa.

            Rosa.

            Rosa.

            Her voice echoed in my head.

            I have outlived my purpose here.

            She had lost her purpose here.

            But what purpose did any of us serve?

            I felt hot and sweaty underneath the covers, my chest still pounding.

            I pulled the covers up, spotting a glance of sunshine beginning to glow through the window that stayed near the ceiling. A ray of gold and red flickering through.

            Rosa.

            The sun began flickering more, glowing brighter and hotter, its shadow growing bigger.

            I turned over once again, avoiding the sun that now began to creep over my sheets. A sharp pain thudded through my neck.

            Bruises.

            Welts.

            Scars.

            The shots and the medicine.

            I shut my eyes, squeezing them shut.

            I wish this would all go away.

            But I knew.

            It all made sense.

            We were being tested.

            None of us could be cured of our differences.

            The differences we had between the people of the screen.

            We were tested for others.

            I remember seeing an old man walk in one day.

            It was the first time I had seen an old man.

            He had mumbled something to a brown-haired woman as he pointed and observed the child in the corner.

            The child had had blood drawn from her.

            She had entered that room a week later.

            Rosa had become that girl.

            It made sense.

            Rosa had died.

            She was no longer useful as a test case.

            She had outlived her purpose.

            They would never let her leave.

            A wave of anger and disgust flew over me.

            Rosa had died for others.

            She’d been a sacrifice.

            That meant the rest of us would die the same way.

            A sense of panic arose in my chest.

            I couldn’t breathe.

            My heart began pounding as my head began to feel lighter. My arms began to weaken.

            I tried to scream but all I could hear was the pulse in my ears.

            A woman came out of the beige room, looking over at me for a second before groaning. I could hear her pick up something, the deep ache once again returning to my neck.

            The feeling of suffocation disappeared as she gripped my arm, she was gritting as she began dragging me out of the bed.

            She dragged me to the room.

            I screamed, my arms and legs flying.

            She smacked me in the face.

            I could feel blood pouring out of my nose as she dragged me in, shutting the door behind her.

            I gripped the handle as she pulled me away, my grip slipping from the metal handle. She threw me onto a table, stabbing something into my leg.

            I groaned.

            You don’t understand, do you? She says angrily. This is hard for me too. Killing children one after another. They don’t deserve this.

            Then why do you do it? I mumbled.

            She shook her head. I did something a long time ago.

            I felt her push the trigger; the ache seemed to worsen the harder she pushed.

            She let go, pulling the needle out.

            I’m sorry, she whispered. But none of the children can know the things we do.

            We can’t risk it, Her faint voice murmurs.

            The world began to fade dark into the edges.

            My throat began to contract.

            The darkness began overflowing my vision as I watched the woman go blurry.

            I gasped as the world had disappeared.

            The woman.

            She had pulled her arm off, a prosthetic I believe

            Only the rich could afford such a thing.

            And the woman had pulled hers off, her left arm remaining.

            The woman had one arm.

            I stared at her as the world vanished from my sight.

 

            The darkness seemed endless.

            am i dead?

            A light began to glow in the corner, slowing forming into words.

            Continue system shut down?

            Yes.

            No.

            I shut my eyes.

            I now realize what this means.

            I was a robot.

            I had not been born like those on TV.

            They had made me a robot.

            Now it’s up to me to decide whether to shut down or not.

            Whether I die or not.

            I glance at no for a moment, wondering if I should do it.

            The pain. The hurt.

            I could die in peace.

            I was nothing but a mere robot.

            But then I would have no meaning.

            I think of Rosa.

            The promise I made to her.

            She would’ve chosen yes.

            The children. The woman. Everyone.

            Yes.

            I think of the man who walked in.

            The children that died.

            No.

            No. No. No.

            The system was flawed.

            It gave no purpose. No meaning to the life we lived.

            I stared away from the two letters.

            I would live.

            I would choose yes.

            I would live for them.

            I would live to see the day this monstrosity would fall and die.

            Where we could all be free.

            I stare at the words that glow in the corner.

            Yes.

            They flicker before the words go dark again.

            A glowing ball appears, growing and growing, blinding me.

            I howl in pain as the lights burn my eyes.

            Then it stops.

            The ball gets dimmer as it spreads, creating texture and feeling.

            I see Rosa’s face.

            For a moment I believe I am dead.

            Then I see the shadows of the beige room behind her.

            She grins at me, kissing my cheek quickly.

            Am I dead? I whisper to her.

            She shakes her head.

            No. You are alive. You chose well.

            I sigh with relief.

            What happens now?

            Rosa laughs happily.

            We leave. We are free now. The children are free. Free from wrath. Free from the inequality in which these people had forced us into. We will prove our worth them. Show them who we are. We will fight.

            I smile at Rosa.

            The door creaks open as the woman walks in.

            She grabs Rosa’s hand.

            Rosa grabs mine.

            Are you ready? She asks.

            I feel my heart beating quickly.

            I nod.

            The woman takes off running towards the wall as Rosa and I follow.

            We run.

            Faster.

            And faster.

            We begin to rise, over the wall, our feet no longer touching the ground.

            We begin to fly.

           

           

                       

           

           

 

 

Death is an odd being. Most expect Death to be an intimidating skeletal creature with a midnight cloak draped across their bony shoulders. To be cruel and precise. But this is not necessarily true. Death is a young girl, her piercing blue eyes full of curiosity and recklessness. Her soft blonde hair reaching past her waist, she walks with a sort of grace and innocence. Humans may as well be her playthings, toying with their precious lives. Coming unexpectedly, about to snatch their life away, then deciding against it at the last second. Death doesn't know what she is doing. She is simply curiously prodding, messing with us, not aware of or even caring about the consequences.

Oakley is a small old town. The roads are dirt, and the buildings a dull gray stone. The only ornate structure is an exquisite fountain lying in the center of the buildings, though it hasn't worked in years. The little water that still rests at the bottom is frozen over. A fifteen year old boy, Breslin, stands in the middle of the street. There is laughter surrounding him, joy warming the ice ridden town. There are children knocking on one door, then another, their cheerful caroling filling the frosted air. The streets are crowded that day. Breslin thinks it is strange, as people should be inside in the midst of the deadly of winter, but deep down he knows why all the families are flooding out into the snowy streets; it is Christmas Eve. Christmas means friends and family, laughter and generosity, lights and smiles.

 

Oddly, this doesn't seem to apply to Breslin as Christmas holds painful memories. While trudging through the mobs of rosy cheeked children and smiling parents, they automatically cringe away as if he was the Black Plague. He tries to not let it bother him.

Breslin knows he is so hated because of this exact day last year when some of the boys he went to school with were childishly taunting him. His younger sister, Freya, had passed away unexpectedly the night before.

 

Breslin remembers it clearly; she was not ill, nor was she cursed with some injury. She was sleeping in her bed like any typical night; the fire was going, making her chamber comfortably warm. No one knew the reason for her death, there was no reason. He remembers the next morning; a morning he would do anything to forget. Breslin was putting on his coat when he heard his mother's cry piercing the silence of the stone house. He leapt up the stairs, his thunderous footsteps echoing in the frigid hallway. When he reached Freya's room, his sister was being cradled in his mother's shaking arms. Freya looked as if she were sleeping. Her mousy brown hair was tangled and she had on a thin, white nightgown. She looked peaceful, too peaceful to belong to this world of cruelty and destruction, but now she belongs to another world. He remembers pain;oh so much pain. He remembers hollow sadness. He remembers helplessness. He also remembers rage. A burning, uncontrollable, reckless madness. When he walked the white powdered streets the next day he remembers glaring at every passerby. Throughout the day the townspeople seemed stunned. Breslin was known for being a meek intelligent boy, a teacher favorite, a gentleman. When walking back home, a group of boys had the nerve to taunt him. Breslin wheeled around and punched the leader of the group, Desmond, in the nose. He remembers punching and kicking and wrestling. He remembers blood and foul words being spit in each other's faces. It took three large men to pry Breslin off of Desmond.

 

Now, the whole town is wary of him. Breslin glares at the ground while recalling the memory. He takes in his surroundings, too happy, too cheerful. His innocent six year old sister died on this day, happiness should not be present, but it is. Breslin stalks off, away from the smiling crowds. He starts to run, as if he can run away from this town, from his memories, from reality. He doesn't know how long he runs but his muscles burn and his limbs are numb from cold, he can no longer recognize his surroundings, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even halt when the stone town fades behind him and he finds himself in a ice coated forest. He sprints deeper into the unknown tangle of trees. He finally stops. His heavy breaths produce white clouds against the chill. A tear rolls down his face as he gazes at the landscape of the winter forest. Freya would have loved it here. The sky is darkening and logic is screaming for Breslin to go back, but his heart tells him to stay. He lays down on the cold ground, gazing at the black sky. All he wants is to be with his sister again. A thin layer of snowflakes now coat his entire body and the cold feels like a million needles plunging deep into his flesh. Logic starts to scream even louder but he doesn't listen. He couldn't even if he wanted to, it's like he is frozen to the forest floor. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye Breslin spots a little girl peering at him from behind a tree. When she approaches him with cautious, yet purposeful steps, he sees her eyes. They are wide and curious, their color a captivating bright blue.

"What are you doing?" she giggles

Breslin does not answer.

She starts to approach him and offers him a hand. Automatically, Breslin reaches up to take it. He seems to float up from the ground, standing with inhuman ease. He peers behind him to find his body still lying on the frozen earth, motionless. He stares at the innocent looking child in horror.

"Who are you?" He whispers, stunned.

"Death" she responds with a mischievous smile.

It would normally be difficult to believe that this small child clutching his hand is Death, but under his circumstances it is quite convincing. His body is lying behind him and he feels lighter, as if in a dream. This girl seems to be the only thing holding him in this trance. Breslin then remembers the reason why he was lying on the cold ground: Freya.

"Please take me" he begs, "I need to, I need to see her"  

"See who?" Death questions, tilting her head.

"Freya! My sister, Freya! Please please please take me!" Breslin's eyes are full of insanity and he is shaking with anticipation. He will see his sister again, he will.

"Hmm" Death pretends to be thinking.

"No" she responds coldly as she lets go of his hand. Breslin falls. He hurtles back into his frozen body. The pain of the cold pierces him once more.

"Please" he whispers with the last of his energy, "take me"

He sees the little girl again. She is smiling, "Why should I take you? I think I should just go find someone else." she declares while skipping away from him.

"Wait" he calls in a strained voice.

Death turns around and smirks. She's playing with him, they both know that.

"I need to, please. Please take me." he pleads in a strained whisper. It is hard to speak, as it seems the cold had transformed him into a block of ice.

Death strides towards him again, "Maybe I will, maybe I won't" she taunts, reaching out her hand once more, "but do you really want to leave now?"

 

Breslin was about to screech 'yes' as loudly as he could, but a sudden thought stops him. Did he really want to leave now? Abandon his widow mother? Give up his future, his life? Or did he want to join his young sister so badly that he would give up all of that? He opens his mouth to answer. Death smiles and nods along to his words, and does as he wishes. Though she knows that he will come to regret his choice.

Then she skips away to find another soul to play with.

Trapped

 

4:20 a.m. I sit up from the bitter, cold concrete floor. I’m greeted by a steel wire bed with a twin mattress delicately placed on top. My heavy panting breaks the steady silence, while tons of panicked thoughts pour into my head. Where am I? Why am I here? Where are my friends? That doesn’t bother me. I just know I want to get out. Out of this horror. I silently step towards the door and jiggle the doorknob. Its locked, of course. I immediately whip around and look for an object that could bust the door open. A hanger. Yes! I jab the hanger into the keyhole and it quickly unlocked, creaked open, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

    Flash forward. My name is Lindsey, I’m 17, and I disappeared 2 years ago. I’ve been here, underground in this cellar for the whole time, trapped. Living off minimal food, water, and almost no showers whatsoever. I have found small clues about the person who abducted me. He is middle aged, maybe 35. Dark, greasy hair, pale skin and chapped lips. I have no sign of any other identification. Nights are hard here. Loud screams wake me up in the middle of the night. I’m rarely fed, and boredom always lingers around. I’m becoming impatient for the day that I get out. If I ever do.

    Things are always coming back to me about the night when it all went down. It was 3 of my friends and I. Nate, Oliver, and Lydia, walking home from a Friday night football game in early October. The quickest route was through the woods, so we took it of course. Suddenly, a dark figure jumped out and injected Lydia with some sort of drug. She passed out. My immediate instinct was to sprint. He was too fast and caught up with me very quickly. The rest was a blur. Every now and then I would wake up and see the man unlocking doors and stepping onto elevators, dragging the cart I was on behind him. I was extremely puzzled the whole, yet my friends were the only thing on my mind. Besides surviving, of course. Then, I awoke to this horror. To my surprise, I haven’t gotten hurt in any way by him. I’m still unsure of what he’s planning, if he’s planning anything at all. I hope he’s planning nothing at all. 

I really miss all of the people and all of the luxuries I had back home. I’ve been starting to regret what I had said to everyone and how mean I was to them. I wish I could go back and apologize for everything, but I can’t. I feel so bad about it. 

    How fun. Another day in this prison cell. My singular meal today: a slice of aging wheat bread, plain oatmeal, and water. I try to keep it down, when I just want to throw it all up. At this point, I want to die. Whether I kill myself or someone else does. I just want it all to stop. My brain, my heart, my kidneys...my life. I can’t live in these conditions much longer nor do I want too. I could never imagine myself to be like this. Why would you ever want to keep someone cooped up in one place for so long with nothing to think about or do? If you tried to do that to someone, I would consider you as a sick, nasty person. All I can do is sleep, and wait. Sleep and wait, on a continuous cycle. Tonight, I chose to sleep. But this time, I don’t want to wake up. 

I have no clue what time it is. But the pounding at my door both startles and wakes me. “HELP ME, HELP ME!!” an unfamiliar feminine voice yells. I yank open the door, startled by what I see. An individual girl covered in crimson colored blood. “Come with me.” she says. I swiftly follow in her steps. We walk through the hallways and come to a run down wooden door. She opens the door and it leads to the outside, which leaves me in shock. It's been 2 years since I’ve seen grass or sunlight. Happiness floods my senses. It's almost too great to handle. The sun warms my skin, putting an immediate grin on my face. Then I notice what it actually was. It was all a dream. I wake up back in the same place I’ve always been. This drives me insane. I need to get out. 

I sprint to the door and rip it open. I run to a dark red antique wardrobe and stop. I stand silent for a few seconds, when I ask myself “Do you hear that?” Noisy footsteps thump down the cement corridor. I was so scared. I frantically hop in and gently close the door. The small space was uncomfortable and itchy, plus I probably got a few splinters. But I just had to deal with it.

    After what seemed like hours of short breaths and waiting, I don’t hear anything. Which is a green light to finally move. I step out to stretch my legs, amazed to see a handgun in the mid-section of my forehead. The culprit? The man who abducted me. If you were in this situation, what would you think in this moment? To scream? To kick or punch the man? To cry in terror? I didn’t do any of those. I just stood there, dumbfounded in shock.

    “Please, please don’t pull the trigger.” I begged. Seconds passed. “Too late, princess.” He says. And his thumb pushes the trigger, giving me no time to make a move. I’ve never been in so much pain. Not just physically, but emotionally. At this point, I knew I would never see the light of day again, or my family. It all happened so quick. All I had to do was walk in the forest. An average, everyday thing. And then I ended up here. I’ll never get out now. Goodbye. 

 

The Structure was all that was left, all that the people needed. Or so they thought.

The humans flocked to the Garden, which was fertilized by human waste, and picked their share of food. Seeds were collected and a new Garden began each spring. The people then rushed to a single, clean freshwater spring that their home had been built around. The sprawling maze of stairways, boardwalks and buildings that were the Structure spread for miles and miles, until the haze of distance concealed its outer fringes. Here, the last of humankind lived their simple existence.

The eager young boys and girls would foray into the Structure’s far reaches, searching for discarded pieces of the hodgepodge of materials it was made of to fashion into toys. The adults would do the tasks that needed to be done, like caring for the Garden or fixing components of their homes that were damaged by acid rain.

For storms were the only thing in life that inspired fear. The acid storms that caused their houses to slowly disintegrate, the droplets that did insidious damage to their rooftops. The remnant of an ancient horror that lived on in the stories passed down among the adults. The horror of the outside world. For the grownups, when the rains were infrequent and they had little to mend, spoke of the land beyond the Structure. A land where long-dead humans’ remains lay among the mounds of metal and plastic and charred earth. Shattered glass was heaped in the skeletons of cities. Thick smog permeated the air. A world that had once been humankind’s home, before the last survivors had used scraps of all they could find to build a shelter against the apocalypse. They chose to create it around a freshwater spring, deep-rooted and unsullied by pollution.

Thus the Structure grew and grew until it engulfed all they knew. The grown folk still knew these shreds of history, keeping them hidden from the children until they could handle it. For it would scare them, the adults thought, to know the deadly reality beyond their pleasant illusion of an uneventful but safe life.

All that the children knew of the world beyond was that the acid rain came from there, and that it was somewhere they never needed to go. They had their plants--beans, grains, fruits and vegetables. They had their toys, and adults could occupy themselves with card games or repairs.

Still...in the youngsters’ hearts, there was a longing. An unconscious memory rooted in their deepest dreams.

Dreams of a better Earth than the one they had inherited.

Swaths of beautiful forests, wildflowers blooming and four-legged creatures darting among the trees. And feathery beings flitting in the air, borne on wings that were soft but strong. Streams of water that didn’t have to be rationed out from a small pool. Broad crimson deserts and majestic, snow-capped mountains, mild, grassy hills and sparkling turquoise seas. A pristine natural world that was lost to the ages. And yet...could there be a way to bring it back?

.   .   .

Seikatsu was eating a plate of red beans. The bland, almost flavorless food was more appetizing to look at than to taste. Unfortunately, it was one of the only forms of sustenance in the Structure Garden. Some beans were kept uneaten to be planted, and a new crop would grow. This was a custom that could not be abandoned, or all would perish.

Seikatsu was full of nervous energy. As she lay on her mat of woven flax from the Garden, spooning the beans between her dry lips, she wondered. Much of the Structure was wood. Where did that wood come from? And what of the other substances?

Sighing, she rose, setting her empty plate beside the mat. Naturally inquisitive, she wanted answers. To know why she was here. Know why they were all here, in the ancient labyrinth they called home.

She opened the door and looked out. Beyond the firelight that streamed through the doorway, she could see the dawn, which was partially obscured by clouds. A wind stroked her hair, evoking a strange longing in her. It was a harbinger of a storm, meaning indoor confinement until the acid rain passed, as well as more work for the grownups. They would have to cover the spring to keep it safe to drink, among many things. Despite this, storms always stirred something in Seikatsu. A half-forgotten instinct to rush out into the torrent and dance and laugh and rejoice at the coming of rain.

She wondered if there had ever been a time when rain wasn’t dangerous. Had it once been clean and fresh, like the spring they drank from?

Seikatsu stepped out into the wind, welcoming it as a friend. Soon, she would have to retreat behind the threshold to shelter her from the elements. Now, however, she let the distant precursors of thunder grumble without cowering by the fire. For, unlike her family, she was not afraid.

.   .   .

“They say it’s crumblin’. That after all these years, the foundation o’ the Structure is crumblin’.” Although Marvin, Seikatsu’s grandfather, was often gossipy, this time his words did not seem like just another rumor.

Disturbed, Seikatsu’s parents leaned in closer over the fire they sat beside. “You really,” said Joseph, the father, “think it’s going to cave in? Will we all have to go...outside?” He said outside like it was a curse, repulsive and ugly. He feared the tales he had heard of it, and didn’t like the thought of even going near it, let alone living there.

Seikatsu’s mother was still more afraid of the outside world, because she knew more about it, having studied the ecosystem when unoccupied. Knowledge does not always conquer fear.

“That’s what they’re sayin’,” said Marvin, sinking onto his chair’s flax cushion as it rocked creakily, back and forth. His wrinkled face seemed to grotesquely undulate as the shadows of the firelight played over it. Behind him, through the open doorway, a whoosh of air forboded the storm that was advancing, far off.

“S-so,” Joseph said unsteadily, “when would this cave-in happen? And where did you get this news?”

“The people are talkin’ about it, all over town. They say it’ll happen soon. It’s been a danger for a long time, we just didn’t know. They just found it days ago, a collapsed section to the left o’ where the children go to play. They looked into it, and saw that it was goin’ on all over. It’s crumblin’.”

And it was true. The countless pillars, the innumerable networks of scaffolding that supported the Structure-- they were threatening to give way.

What if they all, gradually or even in an instant, fell away, and everything they had ever known would be gone?

 

.   .   .

When the storm passed, Seikatsu stepped outside. The clouds were pulling away and the wind was dying down, so the neighbors’ voices were now audible above the fading gusts. The air was filled with a heavy vapor that was slowly lifting. The weather didn’t seem like the wake of a natural terror. More like the remnants of a natural wonder.

Seikatsu stepped into the emerging daylight. She inhaled the fresh air, air the more scientific adults were surprised was still clean, what with greenhouse gases in the outer world. They assumed the Garden exhaled it, creating a pocket of air to shield them from smog.

Having eaten long before the sun rose, she was ready to do what she always did. Wander the Structure.

Her steps took her past the warped banisters to the Garden staircase, down the long flight of steps, and across a wide platform. They led her away from the Garden, skirting the central spring to avoid the crowd that would undoubtedly be there. She was not thirsty. As she walked around it, she saw her mother and father. Their faces were worried. Probably just thirst, Seikatsu told herself.

She trudged down the long pathway into the less traveled regions, then turned in a new direction. Left. Usually she took the middle or right path, but today, she ached for something new. As she went, she grew absentminded. She had had a dream. What were the details? Green, everything was green. What else?

In the midst of her pondering, she failed to see the sign.

DANGER! CRUMBLED FOUNDATION!

DO NOT ENTER!

Seikatsu was beginning to recall more of the dream. There had been water in it, curtains of it cascading into a pool like the spring back home. From there, it tumbled down a long stream until it disappeared. And the plants! They were everywhere! Not just vegetables and beans and fruits, either. There were towering brown shafts, topped by hundreds of glistening leaves, and winged feathery creatures which flew, chirping, among the branches. Were those trees? The living towers that were cut into logs, which were then used to create some of the Structure?

Behind her, while she racked her memory for more, the sign vanished in the distance, and she was beyond hope of realizing her predicament. Until it was too late.

Seikatsu looked at the path ahead. A thin ramp lead upwards, and then the boardwalk went down and could no longer be seen. She stepped to the top of the ramp.

Suddenly, she was teetering on the edge of an enormous drop, and below her were the remains of the rest of the walk. The gulf she threatened to topple into was massive, and beneath, a vast heap of cracked bridges, smashed buildings, bent stairways and snapped railings all lay about. A huge portion of the Structure had collapsed, leaving it crumbling on the earth far below. Far off, Seikatsu thought she could see something more than the broken shards.

What it was she could not register in that frantic moment. All this she took in in an instant, as she precariously wobbled on the edge. Then she flung herself backwards, narrowly avoiding a fatal plunge. She landed painfully on her back, bruising her head on the planks. Her relief at surviving melted when she heard the wood groan under excessive weight, then snap with a crack. Seikatsu and the whole mass broke off of the Structure and plummeted down, down to the ravaged ruin under her. Then darkness enveloped everything.

.   .   .

If she was on her mat, why was the ground so jagged and rough? Why did every bone in her body ache? Seikatsu opened her eyes. And closed them again, believing that in a blink it would vanish. It didn’t.

She was alone, on a bed of mud. She sat up, brushing off her filthy clothing, and surveyed her surroundings. She couldn’t believe what she saw.

A real live tree was growing in front of her. It was scraggly and withered, its leaves brown and sickly. Still, several green shoots peeped from its branches, signifying life blossomed in it yet.

Seikatsu rose to touch the tree. She immediately stumbled, dazed from her long fall. She was lucky to have survived it--she had slipped from the boardwalk in midair as it dropped, and landed, by good chance, in a pile of mud. She realized this mud must have been created by the acid rain. As it had saved her life, however, she felt indebted, oddly, to this toxic sludge. So far from trying hysterically to clean herself, she grasped the tree to steady herself and looked beyond it.

What she saw was a wasteland. Past the corona of destruction that radiated from the Structure, there was even more wreckage. Dented trucks lying on lopsided highways and lofty spires rested among demolished buildings, their glory devoured by time. Wheeled contraptions she guessed were cars were scattered throughout the roads, peppered with rust. It was a scene of ancient carnage.

Yet all around it, plants were growing. Hope and life in the midst of all this sorrow. She had heard, in snatches of phrase from the grownups, of the deathly world beyond the Structure. And some of those words were true. But maybe there was something left over from that older world she dreamed of. Something remaining that could be cultivated. For across this scene of death there were more trees, lichen and moss covering them, and shrubs and grass and bushes rooted among the ruined buildings.

“Seikatsu!” came her father’s voice, eerily loud over the silence that had burrowed into every inch of the scene. “Are you all right?”

Astonished, Seikatsu looked up. Her father, her beloved father, was far above her, right behind where the boardwalk had snapped a second time.

“Don’t just call down to her, Joseph! Let’s climb down and help her!” said her mother Lana, joining her husband. “You don’t need to,” Seikatsu answered. “I’m fine.”

“I knew they were right,” said Marvin, shuffling from behind the couple. “It really was crumblin’.”

Then all three adults stopped and stared. Their attention shifted from the girl on the ground to what was behind her. The world beyond.

A wind blew, and they all flinched, thinking of acid rain and being caught far from home in the midst of a corrosive downpour. Instead the wind merely tousled their hair and the trees’ leaves.

Perhaps the outside world was not as bad as they had suspected.

At that very moment, they heard an odd noise, like a short, inhuman yelp. A furry, four-legged creature poked its long-eared head from behind a caved-in skyscraper, sniffing enthusiastically. Seeing the unfamiliar, two-legged newcomers, it growled. Then, hesitantly, it sniffed again and wagged its tail, approaching them cautiously.

The four humans did not know then that this was a dog. Soon, they would guess it from history passed through the Structure’s inhabitants.

Suddenly, another creature appeared. It flapped effortlessly through the air, chattering animatedly. It rode on long, feathery limbs that Seikatsu remembered were called wings. A bird, she thought.

An ecosystem still thrived on their planet, persisting despite the pollution.

“But how?” Seikatsu asked. “How did they survive with the acid rain and the smog?

“It seems,” said Lana, “that they found their own ways to adapt to the ancient climate crisis. Maybe the trees stretched their roots deeper to reach safe underground water, or developed their leaves to repel the toxins, and then the animals discovered how to tap into the trees’ resources.”

“And the sky!” said Joseph. “It’s not smoggy--it’s clean! What happened to the poison in the air?”

Lana was about to give a lengthy answer on the absorbance of carbon dioxide through photosynthesis and the greenhouse effect, but her daughter spoke before her.

“Does it matter?” Seikatsu asked. “What does matter is we have a world to live in. A world filled with wonder and joy and life. We can mend this wreckage and care for the animals. Our lives will have a purpose: to preserve all life.”

“Maybe we can even stop the acid rain,” said Marvin.

“Let’s get the others,” said Lana. “Humankind will leave the Structure and be itself again.”

 

Peronel climbed out over limbs still marked from last night. A murmur of protest rose from her still-sleeping lover, but Peronel could not stop. She muttered an apology and pulled herself to the mirror, barely able to look ahead.

 

There, she stood, amid clothes hurriedly and less hurriedly pulled off from last night. Unmarked, but for the usual bruises. Still dreadfully without.

 

Quickly, she must pull on her clothes quickly. The buttons of her shirt tremble with her fingers as she tries, tries, tries to fit plastic disks into small holes in soft, white cotton. Next week. She’ll try again next Friday and next Saturday, maybe someone else -- maybe then. It’s times like this that she’s most grateful for her dark skin -- the blue veins of desire would not have shown well anyway, and she needs only to wear a sheer top and long pants to hide her lack over the years.

 

Why this particular emotion? The nebulous thing romcoms were based on, the clear-cut yes or no children alternatingly hid or showed off and learned about in health class, that thing her parents told her would burn inside her, that desire. Biologists worked so, so hard to try to uncover its secrets -- all she wanted to know was how to live without.

 

She stretches out, fully awake now. It's her house - she always insists - and she knows where to find things. Breakfast after nights like these, nights spent with strangers in the dark because it hurt too much to lose acquaintances, were somehow always easier.

 

It wasn't as easy at twenty, when she first moved out on her own. For one, her cooking just plain sucked. Oh, people were always so polite about it, but even she could tell. Practice, however, seemed to give her an edge in morning meals, and now she could cook foods that were not only edible but divine.

 

Soft morning sunlight streamed through the window and touched her skin like countless strangers’ hands. It left her unsteady, gripping at the counter and her stomach. Half an hour more.

 

A groan comes from the bedroom. (“Lights off,” she said last night.) Peronel takes the eggs (over easy) off the oven and strolls back into the bedroom. (Advantage of working at home: irregular hours and nobody to gossip about her at the water cooler, nobody to see her without.)

 

“Rise and shine,” she says. “I made eggs. You said you had to get to work by…?” Peronel wants this to be pleasant. It feels a little less like using their bodies when it is pleasant, some almost-apology, some remuneration. It’s easier for everyone to overlook things, when it is pleasant.

 

“Thanks. Eight thirty. Mmm, what time is it?”

 

“Seven forty.”

 

“Damn. Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”.

 

It’s easy, like this, to know what to say. It’s like with breakfast -- enough practice and you learn how to get it just right.

 

Peronel looks as her lover rises, beautiful blue stretching over skin. She is jealous -- wishes this could be like a movie, one of those she watched so much as a teen the DVDs’ colored coatings all flaked off (whose titles she re-wrote in acrid black sharpie), where she’ll find the right person, where she’ll find her skin lined with blue, where she’ll be alright, normal, functional.

 

(At fourteen, when her Brianne, who would marry the best friend of her husband and move in next door, they had this all planned out, told her, in whispers, that she’d gone blue for Tommy Hill, Peronel shrugged and wished her luck. Up until sixteen her parents had been so, so glad that she never had any blue lines, but then they started worrying, silently. At seventeen, Brianne stopped being her friend, after a shouting match about trust and telling me things, Peronel. She chose a college that was far away and cultivated, well, a presence. Kids used to whisper in the hallways of her school, wondering if she was natural or simply like they used to say about dark girls, so dyed in blue that you couldn’t tell that difference.)

 

In the kitchen, her lover writes something on a napkin before passing it across the tiny table. The plates are lined in blue, like her mirror -- Erosite, like her skin should be. If she does -- if she isn’t without, she needs to be sure, and her mother liked them, helped her pick them out when she’d moved in. It’d taken four stores and half a day.

 

“Here.”

 

“Oh, thank you.”

 

“Geez, would you look at it? I’m giving you my number.”

 

“Oh, thank you.”

 

“I -- look, you don’t have to use it, if you don’t want to. But, you know, last night was fun. All of it. So, you know, if you ever want to -- well, just send something over.

 

Peronel smiles and wants this person to be the one, if only so she can stop looking. She remembers the bruises from last month, from someone who noticed, and fights to keep her lips upturned, eyes soft. She doesn’t get to reply before an exclamation catches her attention, and she looks up at her lover again.

 

“Shit, what do you put into this? It’s delicious!”

 

Peronel laughs, surprising herself when it isn’t another lie. This lover is quite likeable, more’s the shame. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Milk?” she asks, pocketing the napkin.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Setting a glass on the table, Peronel walks to the fridge to get the milk. It’s seven fifty. Her hands still quiver, almost imperceptibly. It’s not fair -- she cannot get to know this lover or any of the others or her neighbours well enough for them to start asking. Her hands want to shake, want to grip themselves in her hair and pull, want lines to appear in her skin even if she has to scratch them there herself. Her vision is blurring, though she’s sure she’s not crying, yet. It’s why she’s clumsy enough to spill it, onto her lover’s steadying hand.

 

She turns to get a towel, but not before noticing the table cloth stain blue, lines melting off her lover’s hands to reveal --

 

“I’ll get going,” comes a shaky voice, but not before Peronel’s hand clamps down on her lover’s wrist, another rolling up her own sleeves

 

(“Can’t leave too many marks,” she remembers, from last night. Another statement, another acquiescence she was more than glad to take at face value.)

 

I’m the same, she wants to say, but she’s crying, crying into warm, open arms that feel like warm blankets and not like iron brands for the first time. She remembers last night, in a bar full of lined people waiting, wanting, and remembers being approached by her lover, skin full of blue lines. It was dark, when they had been together, and her lover had retreated afterwards, to the bathroom. Dye, she thinks, giddy.

 

“Is it -- it is true?”

 

“Peronel -- but --”

 

The clock beeps, her eight o’clock alarm. She sets it to remind herself to get going, before someone notices the office hidden away (it’s easier for Peronel to work at home, to avoid the questions and the abundance of blue lines, half-hidden, and it’s easier for Peronel to pretend she doesn’t, to her lovers, because it’s not normal and people notice what isn’t normal and what-if-they-start-asking).

 

“Come over when you get out. I work from home,” Peronel replies, cheeks heating. Oh, gods, it’s like she can say anything right now.

 

Her lover nods. “I get off at five, with a twenty minute bus ride.” The city, Peronel recalls, is always easier to hide in. It’s why she chose it, after all.

 

Peronel smiles, closing the door as her lover runs out of view. One warm -- not searing -- shower is in order, then a day of waiting for something better than losing the feeling of hands upon her skin. It’s like -- she looks out as her lover, maybe something more, runs off to the subway -- twilight, half-dreaming. But she’s past pinching herself, is too old for those kinds of things for all that she’s twenty four.

 

Her hands reach into her pocket, pulling the napkin out, trembling with someone other than pain. She looks down at it.

 

“XXX-XXX-XXXX

“-- Morgan. Want to go get some coffee?”

        ­­­­          Mysteries Of Life

            “Dude, are you my friend or foe” I asked Hiro. “Oh come on, now you blame everything on me” he defended. “Jack, Hiro, you guys have been arguing for like an hour now” Mia claimed. Mia is my girlfriend, she has been my girlfriend since we were in 2^nd grade. Oh right, I didn’t even tell you guys why we are fighting for! My best friend Hiro and I have been arguing because of my math grade. I copied off his paper in a math test and I got an E- as a grade. If I had copied off answers from someone else’s paper I would have got an A+ as my grade instead of E-.

            Anyway, Hiro is my best friend and also my worst nightmare ever. I don’t really say that he is my worst nightmare ever because of this event, I said that with the fact that he was the most amusing bully I have ever had. Yep, he was a bully and yes I understand the question you are having. It is “How is he a bully if he is in the same grade as you right?” Well, believe it or not it is the way I was treated when I was young. Then when I was in 4^th grade it all came along one day. He came to me and apologised to me when I was in the cafeteria eating me lunch. From that day Hiro and I were the best of the best friends there were. We were so cool that everyone kept following us every were we went and that was our amazing history. We were then called the cool dudes. That is why we call each other dude mostly.

            Then I called mom and said “I wasn’t going to come home soon because my friends and I are going to hang out”. Awesomely she said okay. So, my friends and I took off to our favourite mountain. Yes, I did mean mountain. We are going to the smallest mountain of the Alps to hang out, like a picnic. It is our favourite place to go.

            After we climbed half way through the mountain we all slept for some time. After we woke up we played a few games, built tents, and even found a cave that we could sleep in. Then we decided to play hide and seek together. I was supposed to be it (the person who finds others). I tried for a while to find where they are hiding. Then I gave up. I called them back, I said I give up, but no one answered. I packed all the stuff we brought and started walking home having a feeling that both of my friend’s parents called them to come home.

            Once I was in town I saw everything messed up. I found trees on the middle of the roads, house roofs tore apart, most of all I saw no one in town. The town looked like it was deserted. After that I went to my house to search for my mom and dad, but no one answered me. I was so scared that I screamed, cried, and after all of that, I still couldn’t find anyone.

            I felt like everyone left me alone. I felt lonely. Even the busiest place (the community centre) was deserted. There were cars, but most of them wasn’t even up the right way. I mean even the busiest road was deserted and most of them were upside down. I searched for Hiro and Mia, but I guess I didn’t have luck. I sat in the middle of the road and wondered where everyone could have gone. After a while I figured it out, my town was hit by a tornado and I also figured that it was a really powerful one indeed.

            I couldn’t be more stupid. I shouldn’t have left my town. I should have been inside my house and lived with my parents when I could. Right, I could still meet my parents by going to heaven. Yes, yes, yes I do know that it is not the time for joking around. I decided to go and search for humans than are still alive.

            I searched for people but my luck is terrible today. So, I couldn’t find any one. After searching I decided to go to the closest town in search of my parents. I still have hope that I will them one day.

            I travelled to the closest town. I reached the town in mid night. I had to find a place to sleep. So I found a small opening between two buildings. I decided that it was my satisfied bed room for the day. The next day I started searching for my mom and dad. I walked on streets that I didn’t even know the name of. I asked every single person I saw if they saw my parents. I also described my parents for them to notice.

            I went through few more days like this and then one day I lost my hope. I decided to do what I thought was a joke. I decided to commit suicide. So, then I chose the perfect cliff. When I was ready to fall I heard something.

            I heard this…….. “Jack wake up, you are going to be late to school” yelled mom. I woke up looking at the Darth Vader shaped drool on my pillow. “Jack, your friend is waiting for you outside” mom yelled again.

I raced myself through the closet and ran outside wondering who that friend might be. Once I was outside I noticed Hiro waiting for me near the garden. “So, you finally woke up” he explained. “Alright, alright, stop bragging and let’s get going” I sighed. Where are we going again? He asked. To school, what do you think? I argued back. Suddenly, Hiro laughed like there was no tomorrow. When I asked him why, but then “there is no school today” he replied.

I was shocked, thrilled to be honest. “Then why exactly are you here” I asked. “Who, me? Dude we have our game today, remember? He answered strongly. “Right I totally forgot about the big basketball game we were having” I stated. Wait a second it is Saturday already? I exclaimed. “Yep, why” he questioned. “Dude, I totally forgot about my project in Math class, I got to go bro, I myself still have a lot of work to do.

“Dude before you go” he added “Happy Birthday”. Everyone popped out of the bush and hugged me like anything including Mia. I told everyone how happy I was to see them and also I explained some of the event occurred in my super weird dream, but I also told them it was never going to happen. After that we all celebrated my birthday with a giant Oreo Cake. After that dream I will be great on everything I do, including the basketball game on Sunday. Oh, no my math project I still have to do that. Alright, Bye for now.

 

 

 

 

 

                   

I was close to leaving the late shift at the local drug store, the one with the neon lights plastered outside and all, listening to those ceiling speakers softly hum elevator jazz. It was pretty empty around this time and since nobody else was here and I decided to light myself a nice cig. They always made me feel a little bit less lonely cause smell of the smoke was one that I’d never forget, it always felt familiar no matter where I was. It really did. Anyway, I had no idea why they converted the store to a 24-hour shop because nobody really ever came in, except for men expecting late night rendezvous or drunks who were getting their daily nighttime dose.

You see, Candy, my co-worker, had needed to leave early for God knows what, so I took over her shift that day. The store was generally silent except for the deep rumble of the A/C and the whines of the fluorescent lights. I didn’t mind it at all, though. I actually kind of liked it, to be honest, because I was all by myself. The only thing was that it was real lonely because all I could really do was sit and wait for some troublemaker to come busting in for one of their 3 a.m. needs every once in a while or watch the desolate, kind of depressing security tape over and over.

A few minutes till three, the door chimed lightly signaling the arrival of my replacement. My strained eyes shot up to see Dan, in all his glory, coming in with a tipsy smile on his dumb face. “Hey,” he said a little too loud and I swear I could smell the beer saturated on his breath from where I was. He put on his nametag, ‘Dan’ printed nicely in Sal’s signature red cursive, and leaned over the counter. “I think I can take it from here. You can go home now.”

That was code for ‘get out, I want to sit down and you’re in the only seat in the entire goddam store’.

“For Christ Sake, it smells like ash. Are you smokin’ in here?”

I shook my head, and could feel the heat rise to my cheeks. Under the counter, I stomped on the bud and kicked it under the counter. I’m pretty sure there were at least fifty of my old cigarettes under there, to be honest.

“You gonna go?”

I nodded and hopped off the chair. I just wasn’t in the mood to be pulverized by his glares today, however, I would have loved to be burned with one look of his eyes, but today I wasn’t really feeling it. I scurried out, the door jingling behind me.

After I got kicked out, I went outside and looked up to the abyss above me. I hated whenever the sky was pitch black. For some reason it made me feel like I was lost, and like I’d be stuck in it forever.

And just to my luck, the sky was so dark that I couldn’t see anything but black. Usually there would be a couple of stars hanging around, so I’d feel like I had company, but tonight they were all hiding, which made me feel real alone. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like going home. It wasn’t like there was anyone to go home to anyways.

I decided that I would just follow the path of streetlights, but to be honest I had no real destination in mind. I just wanted to feel the wind in my hair, to remind me that I was alive. I had to do that a lot. I don’t really know why.

I think it was stupid of me to think that it would help, but there was something about lights that were comforting for me. I had always loved them as a kid. During my youthful days, I could never sleep without a nightlight, or always had to have some sort of lamp on. Of course, I got made fun of by all my friends because they thought I was some sort of pussy that couldn’t even sleep with the lights off, but I guess I didn’t really care what they thought. It just kind of showed me that they didn’t really understand me, and that they weren’t real. It’s kind of sad actually.

But, ironically, one of my favorite memories was when our electricity wasn’t working and the lights were completely off. I found myself left in the darkness and I don’t think I’ve had ever been so scared in my whole entire life. I cried and cried till my mother came in, and she found me curled up in a ball, and wrapped me in a blanket, till I was all cozy. She stuck these glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars and planets on my ceilings. I always loved to look at them because it reminded me that I wasn’t alone and she was always there for me. Maybe that’s why I look for those damn stars every night.

Anyways, I was walking along the edge of the park, everything lit by streetlamps and cars passing by, and small gusts of wind that sang sweetly in my ear with perfect harmony. The trees were dimly lit, and their usual bright green color was unnoticeable. It was kind of peaceful, because everyone was asleep, and even the bars that were usually filled to the brim with people, who drank alcohol like it was water, were closed.

I had been walking for no longer than seven or eight minutes when I saw a little pudgy figure, a few feet ahead, sitting alone on a bench and reading what looked like a pocketbook. As I inched closer, I peered at the peculiar woman in front of me from behind a large black trash can because I kind of blended into the darkness with my all black clothing, She was around 80 years old, had a small bowler hat on and was reading some book by some ancient author that people in her time had probably loved or something. It was quite odd for a person like her to be out in the park during the middle of the night. Certainly, I would be expecting an old person like her to be fast asleep in home in her, or watching soap operas in a big velvety chair, like my grandma used to do.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”

I froze, and every single drop of blood in my whole entire body flushed to my cheeks. ”Uh, g-good evening.” I stuttered out incoherently.

She pushed her glasses up, squinting at me hard. She paused for a few seconds, contemplating on my face. “Do I know you, young man?”

“No,” I shook my head. “No, ma’am. B-but is it alright with you if I sit here with you for a couple minutes?” The thing that surprised me was that she didn’t look suspicious of me at all. I mean, if I were her, I would be skeptical as hell.

To be honest, I couldn’t really believe the words that were coming out of my mouth. I was never really that type of person to be so forward. Maybe it was the darkness, and I had been getting desperate from some company, but I had no idea what I was saying, and more so, why I was saying it. She kind of gave me a hard look, but scooted over a couple body lengths so the both of us could fit on the bench.

“Most certainly,” she closed her book with a soft thud. “I don’t think I’ve ever had company this late.”

“I don’t think I’ve been out this late.”

And get this, she then gave me a smile, but one of those real genuine, kind smiles, the ones that show you that they mean well. I hadn’t seen one of those in a very long time, and those made my hands sweat even more, cause only my mom used to smile at me like that. Nobody really smiled at me these days. And even if they did, I could always see right through them, and could tell that they weren’t real. But when she smiled at me, a familiar sense of warmth rushed through my body and embraced every single cell from my head to my toes. It almost made me want to start bursting out in tears, I was so happy. I almost did.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“Sam.”

“Well, it’s a goddam pleasure to meet you, Sam,” she stook her hand out. “My name is Janice.”

“Nice to meet you, Janice.” I shook it lightly.

“So what brings you out tonight on a warm, summer night, Sam?”

“I don’t really know.” I said. I really didn’t. “I just came off of work and thought that I’d take a quick walk.”

“You just got off of work? It’s—“ she looked at the watch. “Two past three! What on earth do you do?”

“I work at Sal’s.”
            “The one a few blocks from here?” She motioned down the wide path I had just took sparsely lit with lights. She seemed surprised for some reason.

I nodded.

“Oh, I go there all the time to get my groceries. It’s a very nice place, that Sal’s.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I guess it is.”

There was a lull in the conversation, an impending silence for a few minutes. I think she was expecting me to say a little bit more, or bring up something else but I was trying my best not to sweat through my clothes, cause I was so damn nervous. I hadn’t really talked to anyone in a long time.

Janice coughed a little bit and pursed her lips together. “Well, Sam from Sal’s, I can tell you right now—I am a mediocre self-taught therapist.” She let out a small laugh. “And no man in his right mind would take a walk this damn late. Darling, if you need a walk at three in the morning something is very off. It is clear to me that something is on your mind, I can see it, you can feel it, hell, even a child would be able to tell that something is bothering you.”

“Well,” I wiped the sweat on my pants. “There’s always something bothering everyone. I’m not the only one.”

“You have a point there, Sam.” She put her wrinkled hand on my shoulder and gave me a small pat. “However, you made the mistake of saying everyone. There are people in this world, like myself, who do not find problems anymore. Let me tell you, I am old, I know that, but I have lived long enough where I can say all my problems are non-existent.”

Not true. “I-I mean, I guess.”

“Don’t be so closed minded,” she frowned at me disapprovingly. I looked down and kicked a nearby rock away. “Your problems are only created by your own doings.”

I grimaced. I don’t know what path she was trying to go down, the enlightened hippie grandma, or the wise beyond her years stereotype. I just knew that either way, it wasn’t doing much for me.

“That’s not true at all. If you only blame yourself for your problems how do you explain death? Life is never perfect. People die.”

I realized I was shouting. I was shouting real loud, so loud, that I think we both were afraid I was going to wake up the whole neighborhood.

“You know, people die,” I said a little bit quieter. “And it happens. And you can’t do anything about it and they can’t either. And when they’re gone, what are you supposed to do? Not miss someone you loved so much—”

Memories were coming back.

“And just forget her? You know, it isn’t my fault—”

All of them were coming back at once, like a flood.

“That I miss her, but it isn’t her fault for dying. So what am I supposed to do,” I was shouting again. “Which is it?” My voice kind of broke on the last note. I guess I was pretty upset for her giving me all this bullshit, but I was more upset at myself for some reason.

Janice gave me a concerned look. “Who are you talking about?”

I stayed silent.

“Alright. But to answer your question, it is normal to mourn someone, Sam. And if that person was close to you, I know it’s very hard to stop. I lost my husband a couple years ago to cancer. I was devastated for God knows long.” She smiled sadly. “But I told myself I couldn’t keep living this way. I couldn’t keep drowning myself in my own self-pity and melancholy, because the more I would, the deeper I would sink. And let me tell you, it was hell to make that swim back to reality. But I did it. And everything is so goddam beautiful, Sam, everything in some way has its own beauty. You have to look up and look at the goddam stars, and see that you everything happens no matter if you want it to or not. You can’t live your life worrying about your problems, because they’ll just die with you. You won’t be able to get rid of them, so just don’t create them for yourself. It took me nearly seventy years to see, but if you would only listen and see that they are always there and that something is always there for you.”

“Then, what do I do with myself? I’ve tried. I-I can’t keep living like this. “I’ve been waiting all this time and nothing― “ Nothing was changing.

She grabbed my hand with her own and squeezed it tight. “Change is always available. Sam, honey, you’re the only obstacle in your way, so get out and let yourself be. Make your own sunlight. You can do whatever you want. Nothing is stopping you.”

And all of the sudden, I was crying. It really came out of nowhere. It really did. And the tears weren’t just a few small droplets, but waves of whatever had washed over me. I hadn’t cried since she had died. And nothing felt better to let it all out, and to just feel like there was at least some hope in this world.  

It was almost sunrise after we talked for a couple more hours and Old Janice had to get back to her house in order to make breakfast for her grandchildren. She said she was almost like a nocturnal animal, cause all she did during the day was sleep, but was restless during the night. She said that even if you couldn’t see it, there were always stars out during the night. She invited me to come over and meet her grandchildren, but I declined. I had another place I needed to be.

 

We sat like eskimos, huddled together, our eyes wide and blank. The door kept banging, and the voice continued. My mom started to cry, she got up and walked around the room, dialing a number.

“It’s okay”, she said, “They won’t do anything to us.”

But when her phone vibrated off, and even dad couldn’t hear our silent cry for help, she started to weep. It’s not comfortable hearing your mother weeping and a man banging on your door.

He came the next day, and his fists made the doorknob vibrate. He asked my mother for her name.

“What’s your name?” he’d get impatient, “tell me your name, god-damn-it” he slurred parts of his speech like Stallone. But Stallone didn’t make my mother cry.

I thought he was a coward. He was a monkey; an imitator. We all have a place, and that was his; a low-level sham that banged on people’s doors and tried to shove them letters and scream about vulture funds. My parents had a contract. A contract that asked good money for a 1 bedroom cold-tap piece of shit. Good money that my parents didn’t have.

It was a new chapter of fear for my mother. The screaming thugs came when dad wasn’t around, and we didn’t have any other choice but to sit there wide eyed. And mom would call dad, and then she’d cry. She cried so much I didn’t think we’d have to pay the water bill.

I was scared, but I couldn’t show it. When I’d walk with dad on Pearse St., his beer hand holding a bagged-up pale ale, his left hand on my shoulder, he’d turn. He’d turn and say, “Well, you’re growing up, you’re almost 15. I hope all this doesn’t scare you?” And I’d nod, just to stop his warm beer breath from hitting my face. And because I’d be a coward not to.

But still, there was something movie-like about all of it. It had become like a charade; a well-timed act of screaming and crying, screaming and crying. Something Woody Allen would film with some jazz music in the background. And it was fascinating because the menacing voice and the menacing man had become such a feared part of our days, yet we didn’t know his face or his name. We could have walked by him every day, and even given him a fake smile. We didn’t know.

All we knew was that those cowards knew to come when dad wasn’t around. Dad said he saw one of them when we were out of town. He said the guy ran off the second he pushed him off our lock. Cowards might have a strong voice, but if you look ‘em right in the eye they get scared. That’s what all this taught me.

And I’d stand with a voice recorder, holding it right next to the door, trying to catch a man that we’d never seen on his word. And one time, in the midst of loud jabber, he stopped. We didn’t know what it meant, we’d never listened to him. All we knew was that pounding was bad and silence was good.

And for half an hour, we sat still. It was unusual for us to sit in the evening with a calm door. We couldn’t just go on with everything like it never happened.

My mom stopped crying, and like she loved to do, repeated, “It’s okay… they won’t do anything to us.”

But it was hard to believe those words from a woman whose eyes were never dry. And like usual, she started to pace up and down the room, but this time without dialing on her phone; it had simply become muscle memory.

But then he knocked again, and my mother started to sob again. By now all of this felt natural.

He slurred something like “blue doormat” that we didn’t get, but when he left we opened the door. And our blue doormat was gone.

That was when my mom became someone else, and the cold-tap and the small rooms and stupid things like dog shit on the street started to make her cry. It made her cry more than she had ever cried before. And all her anger she saved for my dad- like it was all because of him.

And even though my dad could bag up quite a few pale ales in his day, he said he worked hard for us. He said he worked like a 51-year-old jubilee painting at an art gallery. I didn’t know what that meant; I just knew he had a big, nice office where he could escape all of it.

So he’d tell my sobbing mom that he worked around the clock, and even though he had to leave us, he loved us a real big ton. Sometimes it’d seem like it was really all that paperwork at his office that he loved.

But then my mom had become so weak from all the stress and anger that she had started to give in. She couldn’t yell back the slurring man, and she couldn’t even stay silent, her mental state had become so jumbled and weak. Sometimes I thought that the man would come to my mom at night, and cut her nerves apart and put them all together in a different way, just so he could toy with her the next day.

My mom finally gave in. All she wanted was to give the man our contract and let out more tears… that was all that helped.

 

Dad didn’t mind, he was strong in hard times, but he’d try to help my mom out if he could. And even though he felt it shameful to surrender in his fight, and give our guns to the enemy, he let my mom do what made her feel better. And so she came around to dad’s office, and started to search through all of the paperwork, to find our contract. She searched everywhere; in the drawers, on top of the shelves, under our blue doormat… even under our blue doormat she couldn’t find the contract in my dad’s office.

A Different World

 

The thing about earth is that it's so small and yet this is the one planet that is so different from the others planets in the galaxy, so different that those things called humans has spread everywhere...

 

We live in a society that is advanced. People can read your mind and transport objects with them. This might seem interesting for a moment, but it can be used as a weapon.

 

Present Day

 

The world has turned into a Forbidden Forest.  Darkness is everywhere and people are wandering about trying to find whatever remains of their homes. A few years ago there was a civil war that tore everyone apart. The government was caught kidnapping ordinary people for an unknown experiment, trying to use their mutated brains to test them somehow. The rebels tried to fight back but the government was too strong. During this time, cities were destroyed and crops were burnt down by fighter planes. Now people are staying in safety camps where they have food, water, and shelter.

 

Where I am now is called the VISIT room. It’s where all the government’s experiments are, and it happens to be special. Why? I have no idea. It doesn’t seem like a very important place to me because there is dirt and dust everywhere. Plus, everytime it rains it looks like the roof is going to cave in. Somehow the people who work here seem to think this is a “top secret” room, but really they are crazy if they still believe that. At this very moment, there are people hacking into their system, breaking down their buildings until they are piles of rubble, and getting ready to aim their fire.

 

2 Days Ago

 

Shallow breaths, shallow breaths that’s the only thing that keeps me alive. Ann and Rune are alive and will come and get me. Keep it together, Cara. Shallow breaths…

I black out.

 

The blinding light is the only thing that keeps me awake. I feel a tiny needle poke into my lifeless arm.Someone says my name in the distance, but it’s to exhausting to talk. They let me sleep some more.

 

When I finally gain consciousness, I find myself in a dark, run-down, cold cell. There are no bars, just a bed and a toilet. I slowly walk to the front of the cell. This must be a joke. I propel myself forward into the muggy corridor. The carpet seems like it’s stained with something that looks a lot like blood. Suddenly, I see an outline of a person right behind me, I brace myself for impact waiting for the blow to come. Nothing happens. The person turns a dark shade of blue before walking right through me!

 

My heart is racing. What was that? I turn to look inside what seems to be a control room. There are switches everywhere and a remote control as well. Lastly, I see on the very tip of the control panel lies a bright red button. I know in the movies they say: Never press the red button, but they do it anyway, well that is what I did. Everything goes silent. I can’t even hear my own breathing. Turn around in a circle, a white globe forms around me. In the center of the of the globe lies 3 words: FIND THE EXIT.

 

What does that mean? The white globe dissolves around me making the temperature drop another 15 degrees. The lights in all of the rooms have all turned on, making hard for me to see anything. I look into the screen in the doorway, it says: Acess Denied, shutting down building in 5 min.

 

When I was still a child, I remember playing hide and seek with my sister, she would always tell me the key to staying hidden was to hide in hind sight. A whispering voice inside my head tells me to go to the beginning. Of course!

 

I race to the end of the corridor, from which I entered, the pale blue figure I saw earlier is nowhere to be seen. A book lies at the very entrance of the cell. The title of the book is An Adventure In Time. I look around, this is where I was when I first arrived, so the exit has to be here. I look up and see a yellow stained window. This is the only way out. I heave myself onto the ledge and pull the bars as hard as I can. Surprisingly, they come off. I break the glass with the bars and step into a room full of people.

 

All of them have warm smiles and are looking at me like it’s the happiest day of their lives. The leader says: Hello Cara! We are happy to say that you passed the initialization test. We are the leaders of the government, and have been watching you. You seem to have an interesting capability. Your brain can record and remember things to predict the future. We seek someone with this special knowledge for our secret mission. Will you agree to help us?

No, why would ever help you?

 

Present Day

 

Since I declined their offer, they put me in the VISIT room. They said if I didn’t agree to help them then I would never see my family again. I had no choice. I agreed to complete this secret mission and the only thing they told me was I was going to a different world.

5 Years Later

 

Dear family,

 

I hope all is going well, and that you are all healthy. I have had the experience of being involved in the greatest space mission ever. I have to say this has been a great change for me. The things I have seen on this mission, were only in my dreams before. I have to confess there is something  thing I regret . Though I have seen a lot of things in my time in space I realized that no matter what, family is the most important thing. The mission the government sent me on was to see if I, with my special capabilities, could live on a planet known as Wesater III by myself for a decade. I tried to get a hold of you, but they cut off communication from earth. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ended it. This was the message I sent:

MISSION FAILED, cannot be done.

So I know I chose to take this on myself, but if you can forgive me that is all I ask.

 

Love,

Cara

Sweat dripped into Fredrick Carlisle’s eyes as he slashed at the tangle of green vines in front of him. They had been trekking through the jungle for most of the day now, and Fredrick’s arms were beginning to ache from swinging the machete.

            “Master Carlisle!” one of the guides called.

            Fredrick stopped and rubbed his shoulder. “What is it?”

            “The men- they are tired, and the sun goes away. Gone far enough for day.”

            Fredrick nodded, trying to hide his relief.

            As the other natives began to make camp, Fredrick looked around. The jungle all looked the same to him and he couldn’t see very far into the distance.

            “You know, Fredrick, if you squint like that all the time, your eyes may never fully open again.”

            Fredrick spun to see Veronica standing behind him with a mischievous grin on her face.

            “Don’t be silly. And besides, that’s easy for you to say because you’re wearing a hat.”

            “You have a hat; you just don’t wear it,” Veronica pointed out.

            Fredrick opened his mouth to say something, but then sighed. Despite being seven years younger than him, she always seemed to get the best of him. Knowing this, Veronica smiled as she undid the tulle around her neck and took off her hat.

            “Enjoying the trip, brother?” she asked as Fredrick eased his aching body onto the ground.

            He glared at Veronica. “I’m not supposed to be ‘enjoying’ this. The only reason we’re out here in this god-forsaken heat is because Lord Hammond promised us thirty percent of the profits from this treasure.” Fredrick irritably swatted away flies. “I should have asked for more.” He glanced at Veronica and was annoyed to see her hiding a smile. “What?” he asked.

            “You never can see the adventure in things, Fredrick. Why don’t you stop thinking about the money and instead think about all the new things we’ve seen?”

            Fredrick sighed. “I can try, but honestly, don’t you mind this heat? I mean, it’s cold in Russia, right?”

            Veronica shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve lived almost all my life in the ‘perfect weather of the beautiful English countryside’!”

She was mimicking Mistress Orth, a very proud neighbor of the Carlisles.

            Fredrick had to laugh; Veronica was very good at doing impressions. But as she smiled and went to help the natives, Fredrick chastised himself for making the comment about Russia. He knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t be able to remember Russia because she had been a baby when she’d arrived in England. His seven year old’s memory remembered the event well. Now he was twenty-four and he still couldn’t forget the tugging on his heart when he’d first seen her. That had served him well after his father had died five years ago, when Veronica had been only twelve. His last words to his father had been a promise to look after her. Was he doing that now, he wondered, by dragging a seventeen year old girl into the jungles of Thailand? But looking back, he knew that if he had tried to leave her at home, she would have put up such a fuss that it would have been the easier option to take her along as he had ended up doing anyway. His first instinct was to protect her and leaving her in the company of all the gossiping women who made up the social circle of their community would not accomplish that.

            As Fredrick watched the natives, he realized that they seemed on edge. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. Veronica came up and handed him a tin plate of food.

            “Somehow I almost prefer it out here,” she remarked thoughtfully, sitting down beside him.

            Fredrick looked at his sister in surprise. “What? Why?”

            “Out here, no one cares where you’re from, or what your last name is. Everything is so simple and honest too.”

            “But what about fine dresses and concerts and dances?”

            Veronica was quiet for a minute. “Fredrick, don’t you ever see it? The looks and the whispers? Forced politeness to my face and gossip behind my back. They don’t accept me, and they never will. Even your mother didn’t. I just- I don’t feel as if I belong there.”

            Fredrick’s mind again flashed back to his younger self. He had been ten when his mother had told him that Veronica was not a charity case, but his half-sister. Fredrick recalled the anger in his mother’s voice when she spoke of how his father had had a passionate affair with the beautiful daughter of a Russian nobleman, who had then died shortly after Veronica’s birth. “Your father didn’t have enough self-respect to leave that child in the frozen wasteland where it belonged.” His mother’s exact words. But Fredrick knew it hadn’t been lack of self-respect that had caused his father to bring Veronica home. It had been compassion. He too, shared that.

            He put his arm around her shoulders. “You belong with me, Veronica. I’m your big brother-” he smiled fondly “-and I’m going to take care of you.”

            Veronica smiled up at him. She rarely complained and even now the sadness vanished from her face. “I know,” she said.

 

 

 

 

Fredrick awoke, feeling damp, and muttered in disgust. For the purpose of traveling light, they had brought only one tent, which meant he had to sleep in his clothes. Every morning, he woke up drenched in sweat. He almost considered sleeping outside, but he didn’t want to leave Veronica alone. But something about this morning was different. Fredrick listened to the hum of insects and realized what it was. There was no indication that the natives were up and preparing the morning meal as they usually did. Careful not to wake Veronica, he opened the tent flap and stepped outside. And was promptly horrified. The camp was strewn about and all of the packs were gone. Their personal packs were stored inside the tent, but otherwise they had been left with nothing. Fear wound itself around Fredrick’s heart, squeezing tighter and tighter-

“Fredrick?”

Fredrick spun around to face his sister.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He moved slightly and she gasped.

“What –what happened?”

“They all just ran off it looks like,” Fredrick said grimly, inwardly cursing himself. “I shouldn’t have trusted Lord Hammond. The bastard.”

Veronica didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she came up beside him and laid her hand on his arm.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly.

“It’s my fault that I brought you out here,” he retorted, ashamed.

Veronica shook her head. “No. We cannot blame ourselves for the choices of another.”

She met his eyes and he knew that she was talking about more than just their current predicament.

Fredrick heaved a sigh. “My guess is that he wants the treasure all to himself and leaving us out here to die relieves him of having to give us thirty percent of it.”

A gleam entered Veronica’s eye. “And if we find it first, would we not get to keep it all?”

“I suppose, but there’s no way-” Fredrick stopped as Veronica raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re not serious? You’re suggesting that we go traipsing through the jungle with no food or water to find a treasure we don’t even know the location of.”

Veronica smiled tightly. “Yes.”

Fredrick stared at his sister. “You’re crazy.”

Veronica folded her arms stubbornly. “Fredrick. You’re not even going to try? You’re just going to let Lord Hammond do this to us?”

Fredrick sat down and put his head in his hands. “I can’t do what you’re suggesting, Veronica. I have to get you safely home.”

“I don’t want to go home, Fredrick.” Veronica’s voice was soft, but there was a hardness to her words. “Please.” The hardness vanished with that word.

Fredrick lifted his head and looked at his sister’s face. Something twisted inside him.

“All right,” he said finally. After a pause, he mused, “I think the guides stopped us because we were getting too close to the treasure’s location. We’ll keep going in the same direction then.”

Veronica nodded.

Fredrick gritted his teeth and stepped forward to slash at the first tangle of vines. It was going to be a long day. Night found them exhausted in their tent. The jungle hummed noisily as Veronica and Fredrick lay side by side. Tired as he was, Fredrick kept tossing and turning, unable to go to sleep.

Finally, he whispered, “Veronica?”

“Yes?” she responded.  

“Do you really not mind it out here?”

There was a pause and then she answered, “No, I don’t.”

Fredrick hoped she would say more, but only silence followed and eventually he rolled over and fell asleep.

Around noon two days later, judging from the light filtering through the trees overhead, Fredrick heard something that gave him a faint bit of hope.

“Veronica, listen,” he said excitedly.

His sister stopped. Then a smile slowly spread across her tired face. “It’s a waterfall,” she exclaimed.

Filled with new energy, Fredrick grabbed Veronica’s hand and began slashing wildly at the vines in the direction of the sound. A waterfall had been their only clue to the treasure’s location. They stumbled blindly in the same direction day after day, knowing that eventually their strength would give out and they would die just as Lord Hammond wanted them to –lost and forgotten. Their supplies dwindled away until they were gone. They continued on slowly, only being able to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of the waterfall became almost deafening, but Fredrick wondered what good the treasure would be if they died right after they found it. The leaves became wet and Fredrick and Veronica desperately dripped the tiny amount of water into their mouths. And then finally, after a number of days that Fredrick couldn’t remember to count, the jungle suddenly opened up before them and a spray of mist drenched them. Fredrick tried to shout with joy, but his dry throat only produced a hoarse cough. Fredrick’s joy was short-lived, however, as he watched Veronica collapse to the ground. He stumbled over to her and sank down beside her. He knew that since he was down, he would never get up. They had failed.

 

 

Fredrick’s eyes slowly opened to see an unfamiliar face leaning over him. When his eyes opened fully, the face smiled. “He awake!” it yelled. As Fredrick rolled his head to the side in the direction of the sound of footsteps, he saw his sister enter.

“Veronica,” he croaked.

Her face appeared above him. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Fredrick eased into a sitting position. There were three other people in the room besides his sister –two men and a woman. His brain started to roll away its fog and remember.

“Veronica,” he said carefully, knowing that at least one of the natives knew English, “who are these people?”

“Our saviors,” she said quietly.

Fredrick noticed the younger of the two men, the one who had entered with Veronica, inching closer.

“Can we talk alone?” Fredrick asked his sister.

Veronica turned to the young man and repeated the question. The young man gestured at the other two natives and said something in his own language. They left. Then the young man said something low to Veronica –something Fredrick couldn’t hear –and her face changed. After she nodded, the young man squeezed her hand before leaving.  

“Who is he?” Fredrick asked, a suspicion forming in his mind.

“His name is Mabitrai,” Veronica answered, and a slight flush on her cheek and glow in her eyes confirming Fredrick’s suspicion. “He convinced the others to care for us, knowing full well that we were most likely treasure hunters. We’re not the first outsiders they’ve encountered.”  

Fredrick frowned. “Would it matter if we were treasure hunters or not? Would not the fact that we are white be reason enough to kill us?”

Veronica’s eyes flashed. “They are not savages, Fredrick,” she replied angrily. “Mabitrai told his people they had a duty to help us as fellow men.”

Fredrick’s pride stung and suddenly he wanted to get as far away from here as possible. “When can we leave?”

Veronica’s eyes went to the ground and she shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t need to.”

“Don’t need to? We have to find that treasure!” Fredrick felt his voice rise.

“Fredrick, it’s here,” Veronica said quietly.

Fredrick stared at his sister. “Here,” he finally managed to say.

Veronica nodded.

Another moment passed before he said flatly, “That means we’re not getting it, right? They’re not giving it up.”

Veronica shook her head.

Fredrick grabbed a bowl from the table beside him and smashed it on the ground. “Everything we endured was for nothing!” he shouted. “We were going to live together and be rich!”

“Fredrick,” Veronica said, laying her trembling hand on his arm.

Fredrick looked at her to see tears in her eyes. He calmed himself.

Veronica swallowed. “The only reason I wanted the treasure was because it would enable us to go away from where I did not belong, but I have realized now that that situation would only serve to remind me every day that I did not belong. Here, I can belong. They simply accept me for who I am.” Veronica’s voice broke. “That’s all I really want.”

Fredrick rubbed his hands over his face. “And Mabitrai?” he asked, stumbling over the pronunciation. “Do you love him?”

Veronica grew shy. “I-I think I could.”

Fredrick stared long and hard at the ground and then sighed. “Does this mean you want me to leave you here?”

Veronica’s lips trembled. “I cannot ask you to stay. You don’t belong here, as much as I wish you did.”  

Fredrick’s chest heaved. “And what will I tell everyone back home?”

Veronica smiled slightly. “The truth will make for good gossip.”

Then her arms were wrapped around Fredrick’s neck, her tears wetting the collar of his shirt. “Will you come visit someday?” she whispered.

He nodded into her shoulder, not trusting himself to speak.

When the two of them emerged from the hut sometime later, Fredrick was holding his sister’s hand. He walked determinedly towards Mabitrai.

“Hold out your hand,” he said.

The young man did so hesitantly. Fredrick placed Veronica’s hand in Mabitrai’s.

“Take good care of my sister,” he said huskily.

A smile spread across the young native’s face as he brought Veronica’s hand to his chest. With his other hand, he indicated the waterfall. “Not treasure out there that important, but in heart that is.” He brought the hand to his chest.

Both Fredrick’s and Veronica’s eyes were wet as they met each other’s gaze and whispered, “Love.”

Fredrick left the native village feeling strangely more complete. True, he didn’t belong there because unlike his sister, he was an English aristocrat, but he knew now that he actually did have a treasure –a treasure in his heart.