THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE |
Dhasi Mwale lives and works in rural Zambia. She's waiting on the release of her debut novel and tells stories on Twitter and her blog. You can follow her at https://twitter.com/DhasiMwale or swing by https://DhasiMwale.wordpress.com |
Evolution
When it gets hard to breathe I think of Enyru’s smile, of Enyru’s touch, of Enryu’s arms around me and the feeling of dying slowly disappears. I take a deep breath that dispels the phantom scent of Enryu. My extra sensitive nostrils pick up the smell of sweat, oil and testosterone off my landlord and compound my failing respiratory functions. I’m chocking again.
I need water. I just need a minute under water.
Enryu says the Seyn haven’t evolved to be completely independent of aquatic breathing. Who’d think a race that developed evolution technology couldn’t change their own physiology.
“I’m sorry but rules are rules.” The landlord runs a nervous hand through his greying hair and I hate him instantly.
I hate everything about him. I hate that he can sweat when my body is at the point of giving up, choosing water conservation over heat regulation. I hate that he controls the one commodity that makes it easier to pretend I’m human.
“Is there any way I can get it turned back on? I can pay.” I fumble with my purse.
He waves his hands to stop me. “It’s not about the money. Water is a precious resource here. It will come back on at midnight. If you need to cool down you can go to the municipal pool, most folks do this time of year.”
I suppose if I’m still alive at sundown I can sneak in. I haven’t been in Unity for long but even I know the locals won’t take kindly to an alien in their town, especially a Seyn.
“You really ought to be careful with your water consumption, miss. I wish I could help but my hands are tied. You understand?”
I think he wants me to absolve him of the guilt associated with causing a pregnant woman discomfort. I won't’. “I guess that’s that then. Have a good day sir.” I say and slam the door in his face before he responds.
#
I’m suffering the effects of either heat stroke, heat exhaustion, or dehydration. Whatever it is, reminds that I know too little of what I’ve become.
I miss Enyru so much my heart hurts. I think the baby feels it too. I swear sometimes I can feel what it feels like I used to with Enryu. A slight telepathic link between mating Seyn that kindled rumours that we were a race of mind-controlling freaks. As if it wasn’t hard enough to be a race on the brink of extinction. I suppose things weren’t any better for us before the Sanctions.
Us. It’s starting to become normal to think of myself as one of them. Acceptance?
I chuckle to myself, out loud I realise when a child points my way. His mother casts a worried glance my way and leads him away.
Can she tell that something about me isn’t quite right? A sixth sense that species use to distinguish their own? At some level, I can tell when I meet another Seyn. I wonder if I could do that with other humans before.
Although, I’d known Enryu wasn’t quite right when I first met him. And no, this wasn’t because of the possessing instant crush I had on him. Beneath the irrational urges spurred by my raging hormones, there was something, an alarm that sounded in his presence, warning me of his alien nature. But did I listen? No, I ran into his arms and ended up here.
I flop to the pavement suddenly exhausted, breathing harder but receiving no air. Part of me wants to give up right there on the dusty pavement outside the municipal pool.
I want to forget Enyru. To forget his laugh and how my heart warms up when I’m with him. I want to believe that there is no possible way he survived the raid on Delta Five, the smuggler controlled space station we’d called home before the Coalition soldiers came.
If I believe he’s dead with all my heart I can stop trying to get to Pylomaya. I can stop hiding and surrender.
The baby kicks and my heart shatters. I can’t make that decision. I have to live. I have to get him or her to safety. Whatever little safety Pylomaya will offer us.
“Chiko right?”
I look up to a familiar face smiling down at me. I search my brain for her memory. Baker or grocer? I’m not certain which but I know her from one of the four shops.
“Hi.”
“Going for a dip?”
“Pondering the option.”
Her smile has a warmth that calms me down and eases the choking sensation.
“I never use that pool. I imagine it’s a cesspool of human filth.”
“Well, there aren’t that many options.”
“I know you and I are hardly acquainted but I have a pool you can use if you don’t mind.”
“I couldn’t impose.”
“I insist.”
“I wasn’t going to swim anyway, just dip my feet in and cool down a little. You don’t have to worry yourself.”
The woman drops into a squat, inches from me, an indecipherable look on her face. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “If you don’t get water soon you’ll kill your baby. You’re already having trouble breathing.”
I stare into her eyes terrified, half wishing I was physically capable of hyperventilating. She knows. Oh God, she knows!
“Come on Chiko. What do you have to lose?”
#
Her name is Valerie and she’s the baker. I’ve been to her shop a few times since I moved here. I’m not much of a confectionaries fan but I like to treat myself with a cupcake once in a while.
My mother was huge on cupcakes. It’s the one happy memory I have from childhood. Mama frosting cupcakes in the kitchen while I watched shows about other planets and intergalactic spaceships and wished I’d someday fly to the stars. An impossible dream for an African child from the third world. But then I’m a relentless believer. Just look at me now, transformed into an outcast alien species but still fighting.
Valerie lied. She doesn’t have a pool. She does, however, have enough water to fill her large bathtub.
I eye the water suspiciously still unsure about my host.
“Don’t worry. If I was going to report you I’d have done that already.”
“How did you know?” I ask.
“I used to work for a Seyn health care centre. In this heat, it wasn’t so hard to spot you.”
“That worries me.”
She laughs. I still stare at the water and refuse to get in. “Don’t worry. No one else knows. Is Chiko your real name?”
“Yes.”
“I knew a Chiko once. Charming girl from central Africa. It’s an unusual name for a Seyn.”
“I used to be human,” I say.
She raises one brow and my cheeks heat up. I've said too much. Is the heat getting to my brain? In the two years Enryu and I lived off the grid, I’d never given anyone this much information about myself. Even the smugglers on Delta Five knew next to nothing about us. As long as Enryu flew their ships and fixed their engines they left us alone. It was easier back then even when the world we once knew collapsed around us. We had each other.
I keep myself from crying and climb into the tub.
#
I dream of Enryu. He holds me to his chest and we sink to the bottom to the ocean where no one can harm us.
I open my eyes and I’m still in Valerie’s tub. My body hasn’t felt this good in weeks. My cheap room has no bathtub and I take water where I can. Usually in brief soaks in basins. It keeps the tender gill filaments inside my nose moist but does nothing for my overall hydration.
I’m not certain how long I’ve been in the tub but I am sure this is the last time I’ll be here. The baby senses my tensing muscles and shifts. I rub my belly and send it all my love. “I’m sorry, my love. I also wish we could stay and do this every day but it’s not safe here anymore.”
I drown the voice that screams that nowhere in the known universe is safe for Seyn. I have to believe for baby. I must. I empty the last of the berry-infused water Valerie left for me and leave the comfort of the tub.
I find Valerie wedging a watermelon. “Refreshed already?”
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t spotted us.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a shame what the Coalition is putting you through. It’s practically genocide.”
I rub the back of my neck but say nothing. I’ve heard just about every opinion about the Coalition’s decision to revoke Pilomayan citizenship, put sanctions on the planet and, redefine and remove us from the species protection act. I understand both sides. The fear from the human majority and the despair from the Pilomayan side. I understand and refuse to have an opinion on the matter.
All I want is my Enryu. All I want is a home where we can be a family even if the universe hates us.
“So, former human,” Valerie says and offers me a watermelon wedge. “You volunteered for evolution therapy?”
“Yep.”
I’m not going to tell her how our ship was hijacked by a Pilomayan survivalist sect. How we were forced through unregulated evolution therapy. How I would have died if I hadn’t had Enryu.
“Wow.”
I’m glad she says no more. We finish the watermelon wedges in silence only because I don’t want to be rude and leave too soon but I have to eventually. I slide off the kitchen stool.
“You can't’ leave yet.” Valerie’s lips curve up in the most curious way. “It’s about to start.”
My brow tightens and I stare at the woman whose face lights up as if in anticipation. “What?”
“You should sit down.” She waves me back to the stool.
My face is locked in what might be my fiercest of frowns. I open my mouth to speak and that’s when the pain hits. I groan and grab my belly as if it will drop. It sure feels like it. The pain hits again and I buckle to the floor. My vision blurs. I know what is going on but my brain goes into a frenzy.
It’s not time yet. I have a whole month before the baby is due. I know it. “What did you do?” I manage to look up at Valerie no doubt that she has something to do with this. The pain dulls.
“Come on. Let’s get you to some water.”
She reaches for me. I extend my hand to slap her just as another contraction hits so instead I grab her hand and squeeze. In the cycles of pain and confusion, I accept her assistance and am led into her basement.
Such a basement! I have vivid recollections of places like this. The memories visit me in my daily slumber. Large vats of saline water to hold mother and baby. The tubes that connect them to the fluid supply and the drugs that dull the senses and turn off the flight or flee response.
I’ve witnessed so many of my kind die in places like this. Forced to breed over and over again till they expired.
I shudder and scramble towards the stairs. Another contraction hits and I lose my balance. I want to scream but no sound comes out. I want Enryu. I want him to swoop in and save me.
“Please, please. Why are you doing this?” I ask in between contractions.
Valerie helps me into an empty birthing tub and begins to fill it up. “I like you Chiko. Honest. But a girl’s got to make a living and they pay top dollar for Seyn babies these days. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when you popped into town. I waited and waited and here you are. Oh steady there, love. Hold on to these when the contractions hit.”
She goes on talking as if she isn’t committing the most heinous crime. She walks me through the birthing process and I know the chemicals I’ve absorbed in the fluid make me obey her. My mind wants to rebel but I can't. I want to brave the contractions and take my baby to safety. I need to take us to safety.
“Please. Please,” I cry. “Don’t take my baby away from me. He’s all I have. Please.”
She cups my face and rubs my forehead. Her face is set in what I could have mistaken for pity hid I not seen the greed in her eyes. “Darling girl, you’ll have another baby. And another. And another. You won’t remember this one.”
Oh, God! She’s turning me into a breeder. Why did I think she’d let me go? I push into the next contraction. My will fights the onset of drugged submission to no avail. My mind knows to fight but is disconnected from my body which obeys and pushes.
“Just one more push, girl. We are almost there.” Val hovers over me in demented glee. All that kindness gone from her features.
A loud crash shocks us both to a halt. She jolts to her feet, opens her mouth and another loud crash drowns her words.
I can worry about the noise. I should. But I’m too far gone in the birth process. She disappears from my sight and I continue the act unassisted.
In this moment there is only me, my baby and the memory of my love. I drift into a motion picture of my past. A montage of love. Lost in the bliss of memory.
I want to believe it's the drugs in my system but I know too well that I'm tired. I don't want to run and hide. I want to have my love back or cease to exist.
I can not say how much time passes or how I deliver my baby by myself. How I cut his cord. Or how I pull myself out of the tub and onto the floor. Is it my survival instinct or my baby's? I'm too tired to care.
The crashing draws closer and with it heavy footfall. Several heavy feet shuffle around above me. The door flies open and I push myself behind the tub. This can't be the end for me.
I hug my baby closer and curl into a ball. If they should harm me, he'll be safe.
A pair of boots enter my line of sight. "What the.." A deep voice gasps.
I lift be my head until our eyes are locked. His eyes are wider than mine. As if this ruddy, carrot haired boy clad in the garb of local police hadn't expected to find me here.
I want to beg. To plead with him to let me go but I'm dumbstruck. My lips start to quiver and I bite down on them.
"Find anything?" A voice calls from above.
The ruddy boy pauses, his gaze piercing. It's the longer second I've ever lived through.
"Nothing here. Just an empty birthing centre."
His brow softens and he turns heel.
I need water. I just need a minute under water.
Enryu says the Seyn haven’t evolved to be completely independent of aquatic breathing. Who’d think a race that developed evolution technology couldn’t change their own physiology.
“I’m sorry but rules are rules.” The landlord runs a nervous hand through his greying hair and I hate him instantly.
I hate everything about him. I hate that he can sweat when my body is at the point of giving up, choosing water conservation over heat regulation. I hate that he controls the one commodity that makes it easier to pretend I’m human.
“Is there any way I can get it turned back on? I can pay.” I fumble with my purse.
He waves his hands to stop me. “It’s not about the money. Water is a precious resource here. It will come back on at midnight. If you need to cool down you can go to the municipal pool, most folks do this time of year.”
I suppose if I’m still alive at sundown I can sneak in. I haven’t been in Unity for long but even I know the locals won’t take kindly to an alien in their town, especially a Seyn.
“You really ought to be careful with your water consumption, miss. I wish I could help but my hands are tied. You understand?”
I think he wants me to absolve him of the guilt associated with causing a pregnant woman discomfort. I won't’. “I guess that’s that then. Have a good day sir.” I say and slam the door in his face before he responds.
#
I’m suffering the effects of either heat stroke, heat exhaustion, or dehydration. Whatever it is, reminds that I know too little of what I’ve become.
I miss Enyru so much my heart hurts. I think the baby feels it too. I swear sometimes I can feel what it feels like I used to with Enryu. A slight telepathic link between mating Seyn that kindled rumours that we were a race of mind-controlling freaks. As if it wasn’t hard enough to be a race on the brink of extinction. I suppose things weren’t any better for us before the Sanctions.
Us. It’s starting to become normal to think of myself as one of them. Acceptance?
I chuckle to myself, out loud I realise when a child points my way. His mother casts a worried glance my way and leads him away.
Can she tell that something about me isn’t quite right? A sixth sense that species use to distinguish their own? At some level, I can tell when I meet another Seyn. I wonder if I could do that with other humans before.
Although, I’d known Enryu wasn’t quite right when I first met him. And no, this wasn’t because of the possessing instant crush I had on him. Beneath the irrational urges spurred by my raging hormones, there was something, an alarm that sounded in his presence, warning me of his alien nature. But did I listen? No, I ran into his arms and ended up here.
I flop to the pavement suddenly exhausted, breathing harder but receiving no air. Part of me wants to give up right there on the dusty pavement outside the municipal pool.
I want to forget Enyru. To forget his laugh and how my heart warms up when I’m with him. I want to believe that there is no possible way he survived the raid on Delta Five, the smuggler controlled space station we’d called home before the Coalition soldiers came.
If I believe he’s dead with all my heart I can stop trying to get to Pylomaya. I can stop hiding and surrender.
The baby kicks and my heart shatters. I can’t make that decision. I have to live. I have to get him or her to safety. Whatever little safety Pylomaya will offer us.
“Chiko right?”
I look up to a familiar face smiling down at me. I search my brain for her memory. Baker or grocer? I’m not certain which but I know her from one of the four shops.
“Hi.”
“Going for a dip?”
“Pondering the option.”
Her smile has a warmth that calms me down and eases the choking sensation.
“I never use that pool. I imagine it’s a cesspool of human filth.”
“Well, there aren’t that many options.”
“I know you and I are hardly acquainted but I have a pool you can use if you don’t mind.”
“I couldn’t impose.”
“I insist.”
“I wasn’t going to swim anyway, just dip my feet in and cool down a little. You don’t have to worry yourself.”
The woman drops into a squat, inches from me, an indecipherable look on her face. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “If you don’t get water soon you’ll kill your baby. You’re already having trouble breathing.”
I stare into her eyes terrified, half wishing I was physically capable of hyperventilating. She knows. Oh God, she knows!
“Come on Chiko. What do you have to lose?”
#
Her name is Valerie and she’s the baker. I’ve been to her shop a few times since I moved here. I’m not much of a confectionaries fan but I like to treat myself with a cupcake once in a while.
My mother was huge on cupcakes. It’s the one happy memory I have from childhood. Mama frosting cupcakes in the kitchen while I watched shows about other planets and intergalactic spaceships and wished I’d someday fly to the stars. An impossible dream for an African child from the third world. But then I’m a relentless believer. Just look at me now, transformed into an outcast alien species but still fighting.
Valerie lied. She doesn’t have a pool. She does, however, have enough water to fill her large bathtub.
I eye the water suspiciously still unsure about my host.
“Don’t worry. If I was going to report you I’d have done that already.”
“How did you know?” I ask.
“I used to work for a Seyn health care centre. In this heat, it wasn’t so hard to spot you.”
“That worries me.”
She laughs. I still stare at the water and refuse to get in. “Don’t worry. No one else knows. Is Chiko your real name?”
“Yes.”
“I knew a Chiko once. Charming girl from central Africa. It’s an unusual name for a Seyn.”
“I used to be human,” I say.
She raises one brow and my cheeks heat up. I've said too much. Is the heat getting to my brain? In the two years Enryu and I lived off the grid, I’d never given anyone this much information about myself. Even the smugglers on Delta Five knew next to nothing about us. As long as Enryu flew their ships and fixed their engines they left us alone. It was easier back then even when the world we once knew collapsed around us. We had each other.
I keep myself from crying and climb into the tub.
#
I dream of Enryu. He holds me to his chest and we sink to the bottom to the ocean where no one can harm us.
I open my eyes and I’m still in Valerie’s tub. My body hasn’t felt this good in weeks. My cheap room has no bathtub and I take water where I can. Usually in brief soaks in basins. It keeps the tender gill filaments inside my nose moist but does nothing for my overall hydration.
I’m not certain how long I’ve been in the tub but I am sure this is the last time I’ll be here. The baby senses my tensing muscles and shifts. I rub my belly and send it all my love. “I’m sorry, my love. I also wish we could stay and do this every day but it’s not safe here anymore.”
I drown the voice that screams that nowhere in the known universe is safe for Seyn. I have to believe for baby. I must. I empty the last of the berry-infused water Valerie left for me and leave the comfort of the tub.
I find Valerie wedging a watermelon. “Refreshed already?”
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t spotted us.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a shame what the Coalition is putting you through. It’s practically genocide.”
I rub the back of my neck but say nothing. I’ve heard just about every opinion about the Coalition’s decision to revoke Pilomayan citizenship, put sanctions on the planet and, redefine and remove us from the species protection act. I understand both sides. The fear from the human majority and the despair from the Pilomayan side. I understand and refuse to have an opinion on the matter.
All I want is my Enryu. All I want is a home where we can be a family even if the universe hates us.
“So, former human,” Valerie says and offers me a watermelon wedge. “You volunteered for evolution therapy?”
“Yep.”
I’m not going to tell her how our ship was hijacked by a Pilomayan survivalist sect. How we were forced through unregulated evolution therapy. How I would have died if I hadn’t had Enryu.
“Wow.”
I’m glad she says no more. We finish the watermelon wedges in silence only because I don’t want to be rude and leave too soon but I have to eventually. I slide off the kitchen stool.
“You can't’ leave yet.” Valerie’s lips curve up in the most curious way. “It’s about to start.”
My brow tightens and I stare at the woman whose face lights up as if in anticipation. “What?”
“You should sit down.” She waves me back to the stool.
My face is locked in what might be my fiercest of frowns. I open my mouth to speak and that’s when the pain hits. I groan and grab my belly as if it will drop. It sure feels like it. The pain hits again and I buckle to the floor. My vision blurs. I know what is going on but my brain goes into a frenzy.
It’s not time yet. I have a whole month before the baby is due. I know it. “What did you do?” I manage to look up at Valerie no doubt that she has something to do with this. The pain dulls.
“Come on. Let’s get you to some water.”
She reaches for me. I extend my hand to slap her just as another contraction hits so instead I grab her hand and squeeze. In the cycles of pain and confusion, I accept her assistance and am led into her basement.
Such a basement! I have vivid recollections of places like this. The memories visit me in my daily slumber. Large vats of saline water to hold mother and baby. The tubes that connect them to the fluid supply and the drugs that dull the senses and turn off the flight or flee response.
I’ve witnessed so many of my kind die in places like this. Forced to breed over and over again till they expired.
I shudder and scramble towards the stairs. Another contraction hits and I lose my balance. I want to scream but no sound comes out. I want Enryu. I want him to swoop in and save me.
“Please, please. Why are you doing this?” I ask in between contractions.
Valerie helps me into an empty birthing tub and begins to fill it up. “I like you Chiko. Honest. But a girl’s got to make a living and they pay top dollar for Seyn babies these days. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when you popped into town. I waited and waited and here you are. Oh steady there, love. Hold on to these when the contractions hit.”
She goes on talking as if she isn’t committing the most heinous crime. She walks me through the birthing process and I know the chemicals I’ve absorbed in the fluid make me obey her. My mind wants to rebel but I can't. I want to brave the contractions and take my baby to safety. I need to take us to safety.
“Please. Please,” I cry. “Don’t take my baby away from me. He’s all I have. Please.”
She cups my face and rubs my forehead. Her face is set in what I could have mistaken for pity hid I not seen the greed in her eyes. “Darling girl, you’ll have another baby. And another. And another. You won’t remember this one.”
Oh, God! She’s turning me into a breeder. Why did I think she’d let me go? I push into the next contraction. My will fights the onset of drugged submission to no avail. My mind knows to fight but is disconnected from my body which obeys and pushes.
“Just one more push, girl. We are almost there.” Val hovers over me in demented glee. All that kindness gone from her features.
A loud crash shocks us both to a halt. She jolts to her feet, opens her mouth and another loud crash drowns her words.
I can worry about the noise. I should. But I’m too far gone in the birth process. She disappears from my sight and I continue the act unassisted.
In this moment there is only me, my baby and the memory of my love. I drift into a motion picture of my past. A montage of love. Lost in the bliss of memory.
I want to believe it's the drugs in my system but I know too well that I'm tired. I don't want to run and hide. I want to have my love back or cease to exist.
I can not say how much time passes or how I deliver my baby by myself. How I cut his cord. Or how I pull myself out of the tub and onto the floor. Is it my survival instinct or my baby's? I'm too tired to care.
The crashing draws closer and with it heavy footfall. Several heavy feet shuffle around above me. The door flies open and I push myself behind the tub. This can't be the end for me.
I hug my baby closer and curl into a ball. If they should harm me, he'll be safe.
A pair of boots enter my line of sight. "What the.." A deep voice gasps.
I lift be my head until our eyes are locked. His eyes are wider than mine. As if this ruddy, carrot haired boy clad in the garb of local police hadn't expected to find me here.
I want to beg. To plead with him to let me go but I'm dumbstruck. My lips start to quiver and I bite down on them.
"Find anything?" A voice calls from above.
The ruddy boy pauses, his gaze piercing. It's the longer second I've ever lived through.
"Nothing here. Just an empty birthing centre."
His brow softens and he turns heel.
Leah Cioco (@cioco_lei) is a rising freshman at University of the Philippines-Visayas and a Rising Star Scholar of Wedu Global. Originally an essayist and a journalist for local publications, she did not start writing fiction seriously until she finished a Creative Writing course at Harvard in 2018. As aa non-fiction writer, her works have been featured in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, the Visayan Daily Star and Wheninmanila.com. In her other life, she is a content creator on YouTue and a mom to her two-year-old American Bully, Ace Boston. |
RED NIGHTS
CHAPTER 1
Shit.
I type in that rather well-accepted curse word and immediately send it. I don’t know how Phil would think of it, but before I could even think it through, it’s already too late.
Message sent. My phone hissed before me.
I close my eyes and hit the home button, sighing.
Happy thoughts, Lizzie. I thought to myself. Happy thoughts.
I force a smile, put my phone in my pocket, and shove the books I’ve been reading for the last couple of hours into my bag. They can’t fit. For some reason, I can’t get the last one in when all three of them fit perfectly well earlier. How lovely.
I look around the library to check if someone is seeing how helpless and miserable I am now. The people I was sharing my table with had already left and the old lady who welcomed me in the room was replaced by a younger woman. So much so, the reading room was close to empty.
17:50. The wall clock confirmed my being here longer than I had planned. Great. It means that I’ve been here for almost nine hours, and that I'm already late for tonight’s activity. I’m tired and hungry, and I'm dying on the inside. I might have already been dead.
And there is simply no way of hiding—not with the look I’m sporting.
For starters, my hair is sticking out in all the wrong places. I love my layered hair, but in times like this when I just read Anna Karenina in one sitting, I end up pulling my hair out of frustration more times than I wish I would. As a result, it’s as though I’d just rolled out of bed. I'm also wearing my favorite flip flops, but right now, now that I have to run for dear life, they're no good.
With these thoughts running in my food and sleep-deprived brain, I bolt towards the door and head for Annenberg, which is where I should have been since 5:30. Right now, all I want is to team up with some genius, invent a time machine, and eventually turn back time. You see, I’m carrying books as thick as the Bible, wearing something that I hadn’t planned on wearing for the event I’m about to attend: my worn-out cropped top and similarly worn-out jeans. Had I remembered about tonight’s Red Sox game (which I actually planned to attend but have completely forgotten about), I wouldn’t have spent my day at Lamont in the first place. I would have woken up a little later so that my eye bags wouldn’t even exist – at least just for today. Maybe, I would have jogged along Charles’ or something. I would have checked out my favorite make-up tutorials on Vogue and tried putting on the best make-up I’ve ever applied on myself.
I’m sure that there’ll be a lot of picture-taking involved, and I, like any other human being, want to look best. I would have done all of these cool things that would have resulted to a more decent, more human version of me because up until this point, everything that happened is just the total opposite.
I woke up at seven, thanks to the alarm I forgot to cancel the night before. I picked up my phone, noticed the dark circles under my eyes, told myself to go back to sleep but gloriously fail to. I decided to start the day unusually early despite my staying up ‘til 2 or 3AM; I can't even remember the time exact time I slept.
I stretched a bit, maybe a little too much, because I fell on the floor. SIDENOTE: I don’t understand why the beds are so narrow. As I lay helplessly on the carpeted floor, I contemplated about how I’d spend what I thought was a free day, and eventually deciding to read Anna Karenina for tomorrow’s report. Our professor required us to pick our favorite writer and I picked Tolstoy. I did this to impress her, and now I wish I hadn't.
I love J.K. Rowling, but I decided to look into classics because I’ve never really finished one before. And just like that, I put on the first thing I got a hold of and walked straight to the library. I hadn’t even noticed up until earlier that I was wearing my worn-out flip flops. Right. They are worn out to the core they look like they've been through a tsunami or some sort of environmental crisis.
I read and read to my heart’s content and ended up doing the same thing until two minutes ago. Wrong move. Lo and behold, here I am now, running late for the bus ride leaving for Boston. I feel like crying. My fear surprised me because I’ve never been anxious for being late or for saying “shit”. Looking rather unkempt never scared me either. For some reason, I would always end up arriving on the nick of time and being understood by the people I’m with whenever I look like a mess or whenever I utter “shit”.
Of course, I never said this when my folks were around, but whenever I did say it, I’d find whomever I’m with laughing so hard and eventually telling me that they didn’t expect it from me at all. In other words, we end up having fun. In fact, on the day I met Phil, I was running late. We met while I was freaking out over the orientation venue, which I did not know about. I remember running back and forth along the dorm hallway, desperately looking for someone in-charge. I bumped into a few students who were similarly clueless, and upon finding out that they also had no idea, felt completely helpless.
In my defense, I didn’t receive an e-mail informing me about it, so I think—I know—I had a pretty good reason for running like a madman for what could have been a good ten minutes. Also, I might have been able to keep my cool if it weren’t for my 50-pound luggage that I struggled to tow while I tried to connect my phone to the internet connection just so I could access Google Maps and find out where I was supposed to be. So much so, it was kind of the same nerve-racking situation I’m currently in.
Of course, my navigating efforts failed me. My phone could not connect to the internet, and I wanted to throw it away and just sit right there in the middle of the hallway. But just when I felt my eyes tear up, Phil slowly entered the scene.
With his deep-set brown eyes and charming smile, he made me feel okay. Trust me. He is the epitome of all things attractive. Perfectly tanned and simply good-looking, he looked like High School Musical’s Troy, Cinderella’s Prince Charming, and The Kissing Booth’s Noah Flynn. Heck, even better, if you ask me.
He was, in brief, very enthralling and I was in a daze. My admiration for how he conducted himself, however, had nothing to do with romance; my instincts told me that we were going to be the best of friends. What made him even better was the fact that he seemed rather graceful, kind of feminine (I later found out that he was bisexual, and that made me love him even more). I always got along with that type of guys—you know, the girly, feminine, harmless type of male. He also looked intelligent, so that was another plus.
His British accent and his voice that was the right blend of smart and sexy-sounding were also impressive. Don’t get me wrong, though. I said this before and I'll say this again: I never thought of him as a love interest.
“I’m Philippe,” he said when we first met. “But please, call me Phil.”
I expected him to ask me if I was okay, but I badly wanted to make a friend—I think he felt the same way, too—so I responded with a smile as I held out my right hand for a handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied in the most regal way possible. “I’m Lizzie, but everyone calls me Liz. It’s nice to meet you.” We shook hands, exchanged compliments, and eventually talked about why we decided to spend our summer studying at a place so far away. He was, after all, from the United Kingdom, and I, from the Philippines.
He told me about how hard he worked just to join this summer program, and how his parents didn’t even know much about his plans until he told them that he was leaving for the United States. I’m sure he’s very well-provided, and the fact that he worked hard for his attendance at the program made me look up to him even more than I already did. When it was my turn to tell my story, I decided to take the road I didn’t usually take: I, for once, attempted to make a joke.
“You know why I’m here, Phil?” I looked up when I asked him as we walked towards the program orientation. He’s almost six-feet-tall; I’m five-foot-nothing.
“Hmmmm,” he responded. “You’re here at Harvard because it’s your dream school?”
“Nope,” I replied with a smile.
He looked at me with eyes wide open and gave me a look that said, “Oh really?”
“I’m here to check out the really hot, smart, and maybe even rich guys because my friends have been nagging me about getting into a relationship, and I’ve taken it upon myself to find the most eligible gentleman in the most elitist university there is.” I playfully told him.
He laughed, I laughed, and we pretty much laughed the whole time that day. Since then, Phil has not only been my friend, but has also been pretty much my overprotective mom. He's been checking on me since then. Had I already had breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? Brain break? We could always have our meals at a nearby restaurant, but since he’s probably the most practical person I know, we always had ours at the dining hall. He reminds me about our passport activities, which are a prerequisite for “successfully completing” the two-week program. We signed up for the same activities from the Harvard and MIT Tour to the trip to Newport, Rhode Island.
One time, when I had to attend an event that he didn’t sign up for, he even taught me how to make the “first move” and make friends. This would have been a no brainer had I been back home in Manila, but since I was in a foreign land, I just did not have the guts to come up to anyone and introduce myself.
Phil and I, we're each other closest friend here. We just have this instant connection that I’ve never shared with anybody else other than my mom or my puppy. Every day since that day we met, I thank the gods that we both arrived late at the program. Had I been earlier or had he been earlier, we wouldn’t have met the way we did. He would have found someone else and that person would have been the luckiest.
Now that we were nearing the end of summer school, I just cannot afford to be late. I just can't. I am no longer fine with being late or arriving just on the nick of time. I cannot screw this up. It’s the second to the last day of the program, and I have to nail this last event on my list. I want and I need a positive feedback from my proctors that I could use for my college applications this fall.
I had to make it before the shuttle left for the Red Sox game at Fenway Park, which I almost forgot about until I received a text from Phil.
Liz. THE BUS IS LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES!
WHERE ART THOU?
And just like that, I impulsively texted him back: Shit. Knowing Phil, I just can’t imagine him making dirty jokes or tolerating cussing. This is why I’m anxious about his reaction to my message. Well, shit. I shouldn’t have sent that in the first place.
Even though I should focus on just running, I thought about sending him another message to apologize. Then, I received three more messages from him.
Message 1: LMAO.
Message 2: Shit is putting it mildly.
Message 3: You better bring out the Olympic sprinter in you and get your ass here or you’re basically dead.
It’s the message I was both dreading and hoping for. I’m glad that he isn’t as saintly as I thought he was, but the thought of missing the event and getting called on by the head proctors almost killed me. I run faster.
I check my phone again. 17:58. This time around, I definitely need a miracle because according to Google, I’m still a hundred meters from the bus stop.
This is all it takes for me to sprint. There are more people around because the bus stop is behind Annenberg, and it's already dinnertime. I bump into some people lightly and trip a few times. I probably look like a lunatic, but I don't care. I just have to make it before 6:00 PM, which, according to my watch, is one minute away.
CHAPTER 2
The gods, in their almighty and mercurial ways, saved me. By “saved”, I mean that they spared me from being late, being reprimanded by my proctors, and eventually feeling some mild degree of depression for failing. Thank goodness.
I can now see Annenberg from a distance, so I slow down to a jog. I can also see two buses at the loading zone. There are supposed to be three, so I speed up. The other one might have already left. Slowly, I get a better view of the convoy of buses. Bus A, which is the bus I should be in, is nowhere in sight. After all, it’s already 6:00. I start running again because right now, it looks like Bus B is about to leave as well. I run faster, I can barely breathe. I’m about 25 meters away when Bus B’s driver decides to leave. He must not have noticed me running towards their direction. I now want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I no longer have the energy, thanks to the facts that I neither had a proper sleep nor a proper meal.
Finishing this one last passport activity would be the first good news of my day but the prospects of this happening is close to nothing. Bus C is now my last hope, and I could not miss it. Not now. Not today.
I have to do something that would get the driver or any of the passengers’ attention. I want this “something” to be the right balance of subtle and eye-catching. A cartwheel? I’ve never really done one and I’d probably fail unless the odds grant me beginner’s luck. Shout “wait!” It would definitely take the attention of the bus driver and everyone else. But then again, of them might be my professor or dorm proctor, and I don’t want to risk it. Nope; bad idea.
What else? What else is there? I raise both of my hands and waive them like crazy. It would probably be noticed by the passengers of the bus, especially those who sat on the side adjacent to the path I’m running in. It’s a struggle to keep on holding them up with the heavy shoulder bag, but I do it anyway. I’m pretty sure that I look like a fool, really, but my looking like a fool is necessary, and I just hope that it’s worth it.
I continue doing this—the hand-waiving, that is—for a bit more because no one is noticing me. Desperate, I decide to cut the distance from the bus and the pathway short. I’d be more visible by running through the grass area, which didn’t have any sign about not walking over it. Besides, if it were, I wouldn’t have done it. There is no way that I want to get in trouble.
I leave the pathway and head for it, half sprinting, half skipping. I jump every now and then because the blades are wet. Now that I am closer to the bus, closer to succeeding, one of my flip-flops decide to give up. Its strap loosened and eventually cut off from the flip-flop itself. Thanks to the running I did since five minutes ago, I left my left foot’s support a step back and stepped on something mushy.
“SHIT!” I shout. My scream was brief, but it was ear splitting. Everyone’s eyes are now on me.
I lower my gaze, and literally freeze. I no longer want to move. I’m no longer interested in catching the last bus. I just want to go back to my room, clean myself up, and go to sleep. Standing on the exact spot I was in when I gave out that not-so-little shriek, I take a closer look at my foot and realize that it was just mud. And boy did I want to wipe it off right now, right at this very minute.
While balancing on one foot as I wiped the mud off my left foot, I heard someone approaching me. The footsteps were light and quick, like the person was running. I want to see who it is, but I’m more focused on keeping my balance. After all, my right foot is supporting my whole body right now since I have my left foot raised a few inches off the ground. I’m still holding my bag filled with books, I might add.
“Are you alright?” the person asked.
It was the voice of a boy: deep, full, and somehow, caring. For some reason I cannot quite fathom, it’s as though I’ve heard it before. I want to answer and tell him that I am not okay. I am far from being okay.
I am sleep-deprived, wrongly dressed, and late for an event I almost forgot about. This was what I thought, but I didn’t want to come off pessimistic. Just when I try to look up to tell the guy that I am okay, I lose my balance. I break my tree-pose, and before I know it, I’m falling.
CHAPTER 3
I fall, not on the ground, but in the arms of a man. As I lay there, cocooned in my savior’s embrace, I open my eyes. In front of me, or above me, rather, was a boy my age. On his angelic face was a smile that made my heart skip a beat in an instant. He had deep, hazel brown eyes that told me everything was going to be alright. The look on his face showed that he cared, and I didn’t doubt that—not for one second.
While I normally freak out around strangers invading my personal space, I’m currently at peace. I’m surprisingly calm. I try my best to suppress my smile as I force myself to snap out of this state of mild euphoria. The only idea that pops into my mind is to get up.
As though he’d read my mind, he moves his left arm away, and slowly pulls me up. Despite his sudden shift, I remain completely stable. Electric sparks run across my body as he pulls me up.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“It’s all good,” he answered, as he looked straight into my eyes. “No problem.”
“Look,” I say while pulling the creases out of my crop top, doing my very best to focus and not be distracted by his charm. “I’m not usually this clumsy,” I say.
I stop for a moment because I am awestruck as soon as I get a better look at him. He’s quite tall; I’d say around 5’10’’. He’s also sporting a semi-fit V-neck in crimson, which sported the words RED SOX.
“I was trying to get to that bus over there,” I continue. “And I’m running late, and I stepped on the puddle over there and I tried to wipe the mud off my foot but I lost my balance.”
“I figured,” he replied.
We smile at each other for the longest second, and just when it’s beginning to get awkward, he bends down and picks my things up. My bag, my book and even my dirty flip-flop. I cannot believe how thoughtless I am for just standing here and looking at him gather them up.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. He gets up and gives me another look, sending chills down my spine. “Thank you.”
“Here,” he says while handing me my flip-flop. “No problem.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to. But thank you,” I say while protracting the last word, hoping that he’d give me his name.
“Red.”
“Thank you, Red.” I finish my sentence while holding out my right hand. “I’m Liz.”
“Great to meet you,” he answered, shaking my hands.
A long honk breaks our handshaking moment. I look around and notice that the honk came from Bus C, which I thought had already left. It appears it’s waiting for me. Maybe even for us.
“Before I forget,” he says while grabbing something from his backpack. “Put these on. You’re lucky I forgot to leave them at the dorm.” He hands me a pair of black Ultraboost 19. I was about to bring up how it was too big for me, but then he handed me a pair of black socks.
“Don’t worry,” he says while zipping up his backpack. “They’re clean; I haven’t used them yet.”
He seems to be in a hurry so I do what he asked of me so I take off my other flip-flop, my book, and my bag, put them beside me, and wear the socks. The socks are probably a size 9 and I’m a 7, so I fold the ends in before putting the shoes on. While I’m putting them on, he bends down, grabs both of my flip-flops and puts them in his backpack. “I’m sure these can no longer fit in your bag,” he says. “So let’s keep it here right now, and I’ll give them back to you later.”
I’m now down to the laces. While doing the one on the right shoe, I decide to ask him another question.
“Are you also joining the ride to Fenway Park?” I ask while tying the laces. “And I suppose, as proven by your shirt, you’re also a big fan of Red Sox?”
“I’m not supposed to attend the game, actually, but yes, I am a fan,” he says as he bends down and ties the laces of the left. He finishes before I do, gets back up, and offers me his hand.
How did he do that?
“Thanks,” I grab his hand.
“Don’t forget Anna and your Longchamp,” he says.
“Oh!” I look around and sure enough, my bag and my book are still beside me on the ground. I grab them with my left hand and finally get up. “Thanks.”
“Shall we?” he asks as he slowly lets go of my hand and gestures towards the bus.
I give a soft chuckle at his little act.
“We shall.” This time, he smiles at my remark.
He turns around and begins a slow jog; I follow his lead and eventually run past him.
“Last one treats the other for dinner at Fenway!” I shout as I look back.
And just like that, we sprint towards the bus while laughing our hearts out.
Shit.
I type in that rather well-accepted curse word and immediately send it. I don’t know how Phil would think of it, but before I could even think it through, it’s already too late.
Message sent. My phone hissed before me.
I close my eyes and hit the home button, sighing.
Happy thoughts, Lizzie. I thought to myself. Happy thoughts.
I force a smile, put my phone in my pocket, and shove the books I’ve been reading for the last couple of hours into my bag. They can’t fit. For some reason, I can’t get the last one in when all three of them fit perfectly well earlier. How lovely.
I look around the library to check if someone is seeing how helpless and miserable I am now. The people I was sharing my table with had already left and the old lady who welcomed me in the room was replaced by a younger woman. So much so, the reading room was close to empty.
17:50. The wall clock confirmed my being here longer than I had planned. Great. It means that I’ve been here for almost nine hours, and that I'm already late for tonight’s activity. I’m tired and hungry, and I'm dying on the inside. I might have already been dead.
And there is simply no way of hiding—not with the look I’m sporting.
For starters, my hair is sticking out in all the wrong places. I love my layered hair, but in times like this when I just read Anna Karenina in one sitting, I end up pulling my hair out of frustration more times than I wish I would. As a result, it’s as though I’d just rolled out of bed. I'm also wearing my favorite flip flops, but right now, now that I have to run for dear life, they're no good.
With these thoughts running in my food and sleep-deprived brain, I bolt towards the door and head for Annenberg, which is where I should have been since 5:30. Right now, all I want is to team up with some genius, invent a time machine, and eventually turn back time. You see, I’m carrying books as thick as the Bible, wearing something that I hadn’t planned on wearing for the event I’m about to attend: my worn-out cropped top and similarly worn-out jeans. Had I remembered about tonight’s Red Sox game (which I actually planned to attend but have completely forgotten about), I wouldn’t have spent my day at Lamont in the first place. I would have woken up a little later so that my eye bags wouldn’t even exist – at least just for today. Maybe, I would have jogged along Charles’ or something. I would have checked out my favorite make-up tutorials on Vogue and tried putting on the best make-up I’ve ever applied on myself.
I’m sure that there’ll be a lot of picture-taking involved, and I, like any other human being, want to look best. I would have done all of these cool things that would have resulted to a more decent, more human version of me because up until this point, everything that happened is just the total opposite.
I woke up at seven, thanks to the alarm I forgot to cancel the night before. I picked up my phone, noticed the dark circles under my eyes, told myself to go back to sleep but gloriously fail to. I decided to start the day unusually early despite my staying up ‘til 2 or 3AM; I can't even remember the time exact time I slept.
I stretched a bit, maybe a little too much, because I fell on the floor. SIDENOTE: I don’t understand why the beds are so narrow. As I lay helplessly on the carpeted floor, I contemplated about how I’d spend what I thought was a free day, and eventually deciding to read Anna Karenina for tomorrow’s report. Our professor required us to pick our favorite writer and I picked Tolstoy. I did this to impress her, and now I wish I hadn't.
I love J.K. Rowling, but I decided to look into classics because I’ve never really finished one before. And just like that, I put on the first thing I got a hold of and walked straight to the library. I hadn’t even noticed up until earlier that I was wearing my worn-out flip flops. Right. They are worn out to the core they look like they've been through a tsunami or some sort of environmental crisis.
I read and read to my heart’s content and ended up doing the same thing until two minutes ago. Wrong move. Lo and behold, here I am now, running late for the bus ride leaving for Boston. I feel like crying. My fear surprised me because I’ve never been anxious for being late or for saying “shit”. Looking rather unkempt never scared me either. For some reason, I would always end up arriving on the nick of time and being understood by the people I’m with whenever I look like a mess or whenever I utter “shit”.
Of course, I never said this when my folks were around, but whenever I did say it, I’d find whomever I’m with laughing so hard and eventually telling me that they didn’t expect it from me at all. In other words, we end up having fun. In fact, on the day I met Phil, I was running late. We met while I was freaking out over the orientation venue, which I did not know about. I remember running back and forth along the dorm hallway, desperately looking for someone in-charge. I bumped into a few students who were similarly clueless, and upon finding out that they also had no idea, felt completely helpless.
In my defense, I didn’t receive an e-mail informing me about it, so I think—I know—I had a pretty good reason for running like a madman for what could have been a good ten minutes. Also, I might have been able to keep my cool if it weren’t for my 50-pound luggage that I struggled to tow while I tried to connect my phone to the internet connection just so I could access Google Maps and find out where I was supposed to be. So much so, it was kind of the same nerve-racking situation I’m currently in.
Of course, my navigating efforts failed me. My phone could not connect to the internet, and I wanted to throw it away and just sit right there in the middle of the hallway. But just when I felt my eyes tear up, Phil slowly entered the scene.
With his deep-set brown eyes and charming smile, he made me feel okay. Trust me. He is the epitome of all things attractive. Perfectly tanned and simply good-looking, he looked like High School Musical’s Troy, Cinderella’s Prince Charming, and The Kissing Booth’s Noah Flynn. Heck, even better, if you ask me.
He was, in brief, very enthralling and I was in a daze. My admiration for how he conducted himself, however, had nothing to do with romance; my instincts told me that we were going to be the best of friends. What made him even better was the fact that he seemed rather graceful, kind of feminine (I later found out that he was bisexual, and that made me love him even more). I always got along with that type of guys—you know, the girly, feminine, harmless type of male. He also looked intelligent, so that was another plus.
His British accent and his voice that was the right blend of smart and sexy-sounding were also impressive. Don’t get me wrong, though. I said this before and I'll say this again: I never thought of him as a love interest.
“I’m Philippe,” he said when we first met. “But please, call me Phil.”
I expected him to ask me if I was okay, but I badly wanted to make a friend—I think he felt the same way, too—so I responded with a smile as I held out my right hand for a handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied in the most regal way possible. “I’m Lizzie, but everyone calls me Liz. It’s nice to meet you.” We shook hands, exchanged compliments, and eventually talked about why we decided to spend our summer studying at a place so far away. He was, after all, from the United Kingdom, and I, from the Philippines.
He told me about how hard he worked just to join this summer program, and how his parents didn’t even know much about his plans until he told them that he was leaving for the United States. I’m sure he’s very well-provided, and the fact that he worked hard for his attendance at the program made me look up to him even more than I already did. When it was my turn to tell my story, I decided to take the road I didn’t usually take: I, for once, attempted to make a joke.
“You know why I’m here, Phil?” I looked up when I asked him as we walked towards the program orientation. He’s almost six-feet-tall; I’m five-foot-nothing.
“Hmmmm,” he responded. “You’re here at Harvard because it’s your dream school?”
“Nope,” I replied with a smile.
He looked at me with eyes wide open and gave me a look that said, “Oh really?”
“I’m here to check out the really hot, smart, and maybe even rich guys because my friends have been nagging me about getting into a relationship, and I’ve taken it upon myself to find the most eligible gentleman in the most elitist university there is.” I playfully told him.
He laughed, I laughed, and we pretty much laughed the whole time that day. Since then, Phil has not only been my friend, but has also been pretty much my overprotective mom. He's been checking on me since then. Had I already had breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? Brain break? We could always have our meals at a nearby restaurant, but since he’s probably the most practical person I know, we always had ours at the dining hall. He reminds me about our passport activities, which are a prerequisite for “successfully completing” the two-week program. We signed up for the same activities from the Harvard and MIT Tour to the trip to Newport, Rhode Island.
One time, when I had to attend an event that he didn’t sign up for, he even taught me how to make the “first move” and make friends. This would have been a no brainer had I been back home in Manila, but since I was in a foreign land, I just did not have the guts to come up to anyone and introduce myself.
Phil and I, we're each other closest friend here. We just have this instant connection that I’ve never shared with anybody else other than my mom or my puppy. Every day since that day we met, I thank the gods that we both arrived late at the program. Had I been earlier or had he been earlier, we wouldn’t have met the way we did. He would have found someone else and that person would have been the luckiest.
Now that we were nearing the end of summer school, I just cannot afford to be late. I just can't. I am no longer fine with being late or arriving just on the nick of time. I cannot screw this up. It’s the second to the last day of the program, and I have to nail this last event on my list. I want and I need a positive feedback from my proctors that I could use for my college applications this fall.
I had to make it before the shuttle left for the Red Sox game at Fenway Park, which I almost forgot about until I received a text from Phil.
Liz. THE BUS IS LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES!
WHERE ART THOU?
And just like that, I impulsively texted him back: Shit. Knowing Phil, I just can’t imagine him making dirty jokes or tolerating cussing. This is why I’m anxious about his reaction to my message. Well, shit. I shouldn’t have sent that in the first place.
Even though I should focus on just running, I thought about sending him another message to apologize. Then, I received three more messages from him.
Message 1: LMAO.
Message 2: Shit is putting it mildly.
Message 3: You better bring out the Olympic sprinter in you and get your ass here or you’re basically dead.
It’s the message I was both dreading and hoping for. I’m glad that he isn’t as saintly as I thought he was, but the thought of missing the event and getting called on by the head proctors almost killed me. I run faster.
I check my phone again. 17:58. This time around, I definitely need a miracle because according to Google, I’m still a hundred meters from the bus stop.
This is all it takes for me to sprint. There are more people around because the bus stop is behind Annenberg, and it's already dinnertime. I bump into some people lightly and trip a few times. I probably look like a lunatic, but I don't care. I just have to make it before 6:00 PM, which, according to my watch, is one minute away.
CHAPTER 2
The gods, in their almighty and mercurial ways, saved me. By “saved”, I mean that they spared me from being late, being reprimanded by my proctors, and eventually feeling some mild degree of depression for failing. Thank goodness.
I can now see Annenberg from a distance, so I slow down to a jog. I can also see two buses at the loading zone. There are supposed to be three, so I speed up. The other one might have already left. Slowly, I get a better view of the convoy of buses. Bus A, which is the bus I should be in, is nowhere in sight. After all, it’s already 6:00. I start running again because right now, it looks like Bus B is about to leave as well. I run faster, I can barely breathe. I’m about 25 meters away when Bus B’s driver decides to leave. He must not have noticed me running towards their direction. I now want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I no longer have the energy, thanks to the facts that I neither had a proper sleep nor a proper meal.
Finishing this one last passport activity would be the first good news of my day but the prospects of this happening is close to nothing. Bus C is now my last hope, and I could not miss it. Not now. Not today.
I have to do something that would get the driver or any of the passengers’ attention. I want this “something” to be the right balance of subtle and eye-catching. A cartwheel? I’ve never really done one and I’d probably fail unless the odds grant me beginner’s luck. Shout “wait!” It would definitely take the attention of the bus driver and everyone else. But then again, of them might be my professor or dorm proctor, and I don’t want to risk it. Nope; bad idea.
What else? What else is there? I raise both of my hands and waive them like crazy. It would probably be noticed by the passengers of the bus, especially those who sat on the side adjacent to the path I’m running in. It’s a struggle to keep on holding them up with the heavy shoulder bag, but I do it anyway. I’m pretty sure that I look like a fool, really, but my looking like a fool is necessary, and I just hope that it’s worth it.
I continue doing this—the hand-waiving, that is—for a bit more because no one is noticing me. Desperate, I decide to cut the distance from the bus and the pathway short. I’d be more visible by running through the grass area, which didn’t have any sign about not walking over it. Besides, if it were, I wouldn’t have done it. There is no way that I want to get in trouble.
I leave the pathway and head for it, half sprinting, half skipping. I jump every now and then because the blades are wet. Now that I am closer to the bus, closer to succeeding, one of my flip-flops decide to give up. Its strap loosened and eventually cut off from the flip-flop itself. Thanks to the running I did since five minutes ago, I left my left foot’s support a step back and stepped on something mushy.
“SHIT!” I shout. My scream was brief, but it was ear splitting. Everyone’s eyes are now on me.
I lower my gaze, and literally freeze. I no longer want to move. I’m no longer interested in catching the last bus. I just want to go back to my room, clean myself up, and go to sleep. Standing on the exact spot I was in when I gave out that not-so-little shriek, I take a closer look at my foot and realize that it was just mud. And boy did I want to wipe it off right now, right at this very minute.
While balancing on one foot as I wiped the mud off my left foot, I heard someone approaching me. The footsteps were light and quick, like the person was running. I want to see who it is, but I’m more focused on keeping my balance. After all, my right foot is supporting my whole body right now since I have my left foot raised a few inches off the ground. I’m still holding my bag filled with books, I might add.
“Are you alright?” the person asked.
It was the voice of a boy: deep, full, and somehow, caring. For some reason I cannot quite fathom, it’s as though I’ve heard it before. I want to answer and tell him that I am not okay. I am far from being okay.
I am sleep-deprived, wrongly dressed, and late for an event I almost forgot about. This was what I thought, but I didn’t want to come off pessimistic. Just when I try to look up to tell the guy that I am okay, I lose my balance. I break my tree-pose, and before I know it, I’m falling.
CHAPTER 3
I fall, not on the ground, but in the arms of a man. As I lay there, cocooned in my savior’s embrace, I open my eyes. In front of me, or above me, rather, was a boy my age. On his angelic face was a smile that made my heart skip a beat in an instant. He had deep, hazel brown eyes that told me everything was going to be alright. The look on his face showed that he cared, and I didn’t doubt that—not for one second.
While I normally freak out around strangers invading my personal space, I’m currently at peace. I’m surprisingly calm. I try my best to suppress my smile as I force myself to snap out of this state of mild euphoria. The only idea that pops into my mind is to get up.
As though he’d read my mind, he moves his left arm away, and slowly pulls me up. Despite his sudden shift, I remain completely stable. Electric sparks run across my body as he pulls me up.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“It’s all good,” he answered, as he looked straight into my eyes. “No problem.”
“Look,” I say while pulling the creases out of my crop top, doing my very best to focus and not be distracted by his charm. “I’m not usually this clumsy,” I say.
I stop for a moment because I am awestruck as soon as I get a better look at him. He’s quite tall; I’d say around 5’10’’. He’s also sporting a semi-fit V-neck in crimson, which sported the words RED SOX.
“I was trying to get to that bus over there,” I continue. “And I’m running late, and I stepped on the puddle over there and I tried to wipe the mud off my foot but I lost my balance.”
“I figured,” he replied.
We smile at each other for the longest second, and just when it’s beginning to get awkward, he bends down and picks my things up. My bag, my book and even my dirty flip-flop. I cannot believe how thoughtless I am for just standing here and looking at him gather them up.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. He gets up and gives me another look, sending chills down my spine. “Thank you.”
“Here,” he says while handing me my flip-flop. “No problem.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to. But thank you,” I say while protracting the last word, hoping that he’d give me his name.
“Red.”
“Thank you, Red.” I finish my sentence while holding out my right hand. “I’m Liz.”
“Great to meet you,” he answered, shaking my hands.
A long honk breaks our handshaking moment. I look around and notice that the honk came from Bus C, which I thought had already left. It appears it’s waiting for me. Maybe even for us.
“Before I forget,” he says while grabbing something from his backpack. “Put these on. You’re lucky I forgot to leave them at the dorm.” He hands me a pair of black Ultraboost 19. I was about to bring up how it was too big for me, but then he handed me a pair of black socks.
“Don’t worry,” he says while zipping up his backpack. “They’re clean; I haven’t used them yet.”
He seems to be in a hurry so I do what he asked of me so I take off my other flip-flop, my book, and my bag, put them beside me, and wear the socks. The socks are probably a size 9 and I’m a 7, so I fold the ends in before putting the shoes on. While I’m putting them on, he bends down, grabs both of my flip-flops and puts them in his backpack. “I’m sure these can no longer fit in your bag,” he says. “So let’s keep it here right now, and I’ll give them back to you later.”
I’m now down to the laces. While doing the one on the right shoe, I decide to ask him another question.
“Are you also joining the ride to Fenway Park?” I ask while tying the laces. “And I suppose, as proven by your shirt, you’re also a big fan of Red Sox?”
“I’m not supposed to attend the game, actually, but yes, I am a fan,” he says as he bends down and ties the laces of the left. He finishes before I do, gets back up, and offers me his hand.
How did he do that?
“Thanks,” I grab his hand.
“Don’t forget Anna and your Longchamp,” he says.
“Oh!” I look around and sure enough, my bag and my book are still beside me on the ground. I grab them with my left hand and finally get up. “Thanks.”
“Shall we?” he asks as he slowly lets go of my hand and gestures towards the bus.
I give a soft chuckle at his little act.
“We shall.” This time, he smiles at my remark.
He turns around and begins a slow jog; I follow his lead and eventually run past him.
“Last one treats the other for dinner at Fenway!” I shout as I look back.
And just like that, we sprint towards the bus while laughing our hearts out.
Emily Chang is currently attending Full Sail University to receive a bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing. She graduated from York Technical College with an Associate in Arts in 2018. Chang is an aspiring writer who loves writing fiction, especially fantasy. She also loves to draw as often as she writes. She is always working to improve her skills in writing and drawing. Chang enjoys watching YouTube videos, reading books and manga, and listening to music for inspiration. Often times, when everyone else is sleeping, Chang lies awake with too many thoughts running in her head.
HUNGER
The pop of fireworks should be ringing in the air instead of the ring of gunshots. Smiling faces and happy laughter, replaced by grim lips and hard eyes. Instead of a belly filled with sweet smoky barbeque and juicy watermelon, hunger rumbles. I peek out the window blinds at the street where another gunshot fires.
“Did you find anything?” Drew, who used to be my next-door neighbor asks.
His once shining dark brown eyes sunken in and his cheek bones sharp as razors.
I step away from the window and reply, “Nothing. It’s been cleaned out.”
“Geez, if this one’s been cleaned out then all the others will be too!” he says, and plops down on a dusty leather couch.
I turn back to the window, scanning the road for movement.
“Today is supposed to be July fourth,” I tell him.
“Don’t say that,” Drew says and clutches his abdomen. “I haven’t eaten a full meal in days.”
The scuffle of footsteps approaches the living room. I look over my shoulder as Kellie stalks in. Her sharp blue eyes narrow at the sight of Drew slouching on the couch.
“What are you two doing? We’re supposed to be looking for food!” she says.
Drew sits up and replies, “There is none.”
“Then search harder,” Kellie says. “We might have missed a spot.”
“I already searched upstairs and in the bathroom there’s nothing to eat and nothing useful,” I tell Kellie.
She frowns and crosses her arms. My stomach rumbles again and my insides clench.
“If we don’t eat soon, we’ll die of starvation,” Kellie states.
Drew stands up, snapping his fingers, “Hey, we haven’t checked the basement! There might be some canned food down there,” he says.
Kellie and I glance at each other. The house had been empty when we got here. No signs of struggle, no signs of death, no signs of the undead. Perhaps the people who lived here had been out when it happened.
“It doesn’t seem safe. Who knows what could be down there,” says Kellie.
“The only thing that could be down there are zombies,” Drew replies. “What else is there to be afraid of? Who’s got time to worry about ghosts?”
Kellie sighs and says, “Okay, you’re right for once. It’s better to face a few zombies and get some food than starve.”
We find the door to the basement beside the pantry. Holding our breaths, Drew grasps the doorknob and slowly pushes it open. Nothing shambles out. Kellie bangs a fry pan against the wall to make sure. Then we listen carefully for any noise. Nothing. Pulling out my flashlight I shine a beam of light down the dark stairs. Gripping an axe in the other hand, I carefully descend first, lightly stepping down on each wooden step, swinging the flashlight around. I don’t see any zombies.
“Look! Cans!” Drew says and points to a shelf with rusty paint cans and a bottle of laundry detergent.
Reaching the last step, we rush over to the shelf where four cans sit on the third to bottom shelf. Drew grabs the largest can and wipes the dust and grim off, with the cuff of his sleeve. His eyes gleam eagerly in the beam of the flashlight.
Licking his dry lips, with a huge smile, he says, “It’s beef stew! Beef stew!”
Kellie examines the other three cans with a frown and states, “And the rest is canned tomatoes.”
My stomach whimpers like a sad dog. The thought of eating meat fills my mouth with saliva. Honestly, I feel lightheaded. Another day and I might collapse. Kellie grabs the cans of tomato and follows Drew, who firmly holds the beef stew to his chest like a mother protecting her child, to the stairs. The thought of eating fills me with joy. I walk up the stairs with a growling stomach.
“Will that can of beef stew be enough for the three of us?” I ask.
“It’s better than nothing,” Kellie replies.
The growling becomes louder. I recognize that sound! I swing my light downwards and gasp in shock. Two milky eyes glare back at me. A pair of rough bruised hands shoot out and grab my ankle, jerking my feet from under me.
“Zombie!” I yell to Drew and Kellie as I fall backwards, hitting my head on the bottom steps.
Kellie drops the cans of tomatoes and runs to help me. I try to hit the zombie with my axe, but with the steps in the way I can’t hit it. I kick at the zombie’s rotting face, but it doesn’t land. I realize that my foot is stuck. Kellie yanks at my arms and tries to pull me out, but it’s no use. If I chop off my leg, the wound will get infected and I’ll die. If I don’t chop it off, the zombie will bite me and I’ll become one.
“Hold on!” Kellie yells, “I’ll take care of it!”
She starts to run down the stair when another zombie shuffles out. Kellie curses under her breath and lifts her bat. Suddenly sharp teeth pierce my ankle and I look back to see blood dripping down my foot. No. No! This can’t be happening!
“Just go!” I shout to Kellie. “I’ve been bit!”
“What!” she replies in shock.
I wave for her to go and she quickly goes back up the stairs as the other zombie heads towards me. From the top of the stairs Drew watches with wide eyes and trembling hands.
“Go!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
Kellie hesitates for a second, then slams the door shut. Only the light from my flashlight penetrates the cold darkness. I glare at the growling zombie that holds me captive.
“Two can play this game,” I say grimly.
I lunge forward and grab its mushy wrist and sink my teeth into rancid flesh.
“I’ve been starving.”
“Did you find anything?” Drew, who used to be my next-door neighbor asks.
His once shining dark brown eyes sunken in and his cheek bones sharp as razors.
I step away from the window and reply, “Nothing. It’s been cleaned out.”
“Geez, if this one’s been cleaned out then all the others will be too!” he says, and plops down on a dusty leather couch.
I turn back to the window, scanning the road for movement.
“Today is supposed to be July fourth,” I tell him.
“Don’t say that,” Drew says and clutches his abdomen. “I haven’t eaten a full meal in days.”
The scuffle of footsteps approaches the living room. I look over my shoulder as Kellie stalks in. Her sharp blue eyes narrow at the sight of Drew slouching on the couch.
“What are you two doing? We’re supposed to be looking for food!” she says.
Drew sits up and replies, “There is none.”
“Then search harder,” Kellie says. “We might have missed a spot.”
“I already searched upstairs and in the bathroom there’s nothing to eat and nothing useful,” I tell Kellie.
She frowns and crosses her arms. My stomach rumbles again and my insides clench.
“If we don’t eat soon, we’ll die of starvation,” Kellie states.
Drew stands up, snapping his fingers, “Hey, we haven’t checked the basement! There might be some canned food down there,” he says.
Kellie and I glance at each other. The house had been empty when we got here. No signs of struggle, no signs of death, no signs of the undead. Perhaps the people who lived here had been out when it happened.
“It doesn’t seem safe. Who knows what could be down there,” says Kellie.
“The only thing that could be down there are zombies,” Drew replies. “What else is there to be afraid of? Who’s got time to worry about ghosts?”
Kellie sighs and says, “Okay, you’re right for once. It’s better to face a few zombies and get some food than starve.”
We find the door to the basement beside the pantry. Holding our breaths, Drew grasps the doorknob and slowly pushes it open. Nothing shambles out. Kellie bangs a fry pan against the wall to make sure. Then we listen carefully for any noise. Nothing. Pulling out my flashlight I shine a beam of light down the dark stairs. Gripping an axe in the other hand, I carefully descend first, lightly stepping down on each wooden step, swinging the flashlight around. I don’t see any zombies.
“Look! Cans!” Drew says and points to a shelf with rusty paint cans and a bottle of laundry detergent.
Reaching the last step, we rush over to the shelf where four cans sit on the third to bottom shelf. Drew grabs the largest can and wipes the dust and grim off, with the cuff of his sleeve. His eyes gleam eagerly in the beam of the flashlight.
Licking his dry lips, with a huge smile, he says, “It’s beef stew! Beef stew!”
Kellie examines the other three cans with a frown and states, “And the rest is canned tomatoes.”
My stomach whimpers like a sad dog. The thought of eating meat fills my mouth with saliva. Honestly, I feel lightheaded. Another day and I might collapse. Kellie grabs the cans of tomato and follows Drew, who firmly holds the beef stew to his chest like a mother protecting her child, to the stairs. The thought of eating fills me with joy. I walk up the stairs with a growling stomach.
“Will that can of beef stew be enough for the three of us?” I ask.
“It’s better than nothing,” Kellie replies.
The growling becomes louder. I recognize that sound! I swing my light downwards and gasp in shock. Two milky eyes glare back at me. A pair of rough bruised hands shoot out and grab my ankle, jerking my feet from under me.
“Zombie!” I yell to Drew and Kellie as I fall backwards, hitting my head on the bottom steps.
Kellie drops the cans of tomatoes and runs to help me. I try to hit the zombie with my axe, but with the steps in the way I can’t hit it. I kick at the zombie’s rotting face, but it doesn’t land. I realize that my foot is stuck. Kellie yanks at my arms and tries to pull me out, but it’s no use. If I chop off my leg, the wound will get infected and I’ll die. If I don’t chop it off, the zombie will bite me and I’ll become one.
“Hold on!” Kellie yells, “I’ll take care of it!”
She starts to run down the stair when another zombie shuffles out. Kellie curses under her breath and lifts her bat. Suddenly sharp teeth pierce my ankle and I look back to see blood dripping down my foot. No. No! This can’t be happening!
“Just go!” I shout to Kellie. “I’ve been bit!”
“What!” she replies in shock.
I wave for her to go and she quickly goes back up the stairs as the other zombie heads towards me. From the top of the stairs Drew watches with wide eyes and trembling hands.
“Go!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
Kellie hesitates for a second, then slams the door shut. Only the light from my flashlight penetrates the cold darkness. I glare at the growling zombie that holds me captive.
“Two can play this game,” I say grimly.
I lunge forward and grab its mushy wrist and sink my teeth into rancid flesh.
“I’ve been starving.”
Amita Basu is a cognitive science PhD candidate. Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Silver Pen Fabula Argentea, Flash Fiction Magazine, Kelp, Gasher, Fearsome Critters, The Bookends Review, Potato Soup Journal, Star 82 Review, Proem, St. Katherine Review, Entropy, Muse India, Dove Tales, Novel Noctule, and The Right-Eyed Deer. Her nonfiction has appeared in The Curious Reader, Deccan Herald, Qrius, Countercurrents, and Parent Edge. She is working on a collection of literary short stories about women’s lives in India today, and a medical/legal mystery novel about art. She lives in Bangalore, India. Her published stories and essays are at amitabasu.com. She runs a weekly blog for early-career artists and scientists at artistsandscientists.wordpress.com |
EXCUSES
“…So we can expect this steady growth to continue into the next quarter.”
The conference-room erupted into applause. Across the room, at the top of the table, the CEO rose, and, ostentatiously applauding, walked down to hold his shoulder and shake his hand. Blushing, nodding, Vijay Gupta accepted Ron Oldman’s praises.
“You’re an asset to Oasis, Vijay. Splendid work… R&D is where the big growth’s been coming from. What did you say? ‘Steady growth?’ Master of under-statement, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Really, I can’t take the credit. The young” –
“Modest as always!” Oldman reproached.
Vijay escaped Oldman’s congratulations, and, safe again in his chair, transitioned inconspicuously from star to spectator. All morning he’d watched interns present the other departments’ quarterly reviews. At Oasis, an unwieldy hybrid of private company and public, it was common, after a bad quarter, for department heads to delegate presentations to interns. Oldman could chastise the interns more thoroughly than he could the department-heads: who had permanent jobs, and who were Oldman’s age. Good training for the interns, too: to learn to answer for their superiors’ errors. Now a plump, pimpled 19-year-old from Sales, tugging at her jacket-hem, trotted to the projector-screen. From up the table, Oldman rolled his eyes at Vijay. Vijay smiled discreetly at Oldman. Then pleasantly at Josh Ginsburg, head of Sales: haggard-eyed, already morose across the table from Vijay. Last year had been bad: Oasis had fired its first ‘permanent’ employees.
No, really, Josh. It wasn’t just me. My team’s the best. Students from basic science. They’re new to industry. They have wild ideas. Awful, many of them. But that’s what I do: weed out the really awful ideas. Really, that’s all I do: sitting on my arse fourteen hours a day. The rest is them. Running around. I’m just lucky. You run an old department, staffed by fogies. You trundle along, doing the same things, the same way. It’s not you. And this good quarter at R&D wasn’t just me.
And whatever I’ve done, it’s not been easy. You saw me up there: freshly-laundered, Gucci-scented. But d’you know how many baseball-games I’ve missed? I’m determined Sohan will learn the national sport: but I’ve been here, missing qualifiers. You don’t know how guilty I feel. Pa worked hard to send me abroad. Now I’m working hard to raise competent Americans. And missing it. Sometimes I feel so guilty –
I long to tell you. Now you’re envying me, Josh: but, if I told you, your look of horror would satisfy, perhaps, at last, the guilt slow-roasting my stomach.
Don’t look at me like that! You know your job’s safe. I had the flu, last week, did I tell you? I was here, downing pills. Yeah, it’s been hard for me, too. I’d never take your job, Josh. It wasn’t me! I had to do it!
Well, that’s not true. I’ve never missed baseball-games. But I’ve sat there, thinking of work. Your look of condemnation: that’d be true.
The intern presented the Sales figures. Oldman shredded her presentation. Annoyed that it wasn’t Josh up there; that Josh was avoiding the line-of-fire; that he, Oldman, couldn’t force his department-heads to present their own fiascos – annoyed, Oldman shredded the intern.
Next, the Legal presentation. The Legal head made it herself. Legal never had trouble with presentations. Sheila barraged the conference-room with tables (the rightmost column bolded: highlighting the gain over last quarter) and figures (trendlines shooting skywards, axis labels in font just big enough so that you thought you could squint and read it yourself – just before the graph vanished). Oldman made notes: he’d have to do some studying to work out what exactly Legal had lost or gained Oasis last quarter.
Then: out to lunch. The old custom of department-heads lunching out every day had died with the rise of the 24/7 workday. Still, after quarterly presentations: out to lunch.
“Good work,” Vijay congratulated Sheila.
“You’re not the only department hiring science kids!” laughed Sheila. “We’re recruiting Stats grads. They can make anything look good.”
As they waited to cross the street, Vijay, glancing back, saw the old man crouching.
Outside the closed shop-door. Level with the street. The old man sat, butt balanced on narrow threshold, legs drawn up tight. Long silver hair and beard flowed under shabby gray hat and over shabby gray overcoat. Every morning, as Vijay walked from the metro-station to work, he saw the old man. Standing, stretching his legs before the street got crowded: his hat reserving his seat. Combing, with a fine-toothed ivory comb, the handle broken and fixed, his long silver hair and beard. His shabby gray hat and coat he never dusted. Watching him settle on his threshold, rehatted, Vijay had surmised that the contrast between well-kempt hair and ill-kempt clothing – the contrast that drew, involuntarily, the eyes of every passerby skilled in notseeing other homeless persons – was what the old man was aiming for. Never turning on passersby his clear gray eyes, never holding out his hat – he got more change in a day than many beggars did in a week. Vijay knew.
Vijay had stopped, one morning, to speak to him. German accent. Refined British vocabulary. Ernst Schwimmer. Schwimmer thought before he spoke, and didn’t steer the conversation to money. He’d been a professor. His wife had divorced him. Taking his house, half his money, and all his will. Schwimmer’s friends had told him: Time heals all wounds. So he’d stuck it out. Five years, while the divorce dragged on. Then he’d packed a rucksack and left. Hitchhiked around the world. When his money ran out, he’d settled outside this closed-up shop.
Every morning, Vijay stopped to chat with Schwimmer. And give him $50. Then fled, before Schwimmer could say Thanks or anyone could see. Now, as Vijay waited with his colleagues to cross the road, Schwimmer nodded at Vijay. Smiled dignified gratitude.
Don’t thank me! It’s not just me. It’s what everyone in my position should be doing. If they could only see. We look at hobos and we never think it could be us. That saves us the pain. Of seeing a fellow-creature. I was almost where you were. I see you.
It could’ve been me. When Juhi found out, she was going to divorce me. All those years, I didn’t tell Juhi. Why should I? It hadn’t been about her: but she’d never understand. But what if someone else told her? So, finally, I told her. And she wanted to go, and take everything. I begged her to stay. She relented. We’ve moved on. We’re fine, now.
But it could’ve been me. Here I am, strolling to lunch: but you don’t see how hard I’ve worked to keep it all together.
India swarms with beggars, the displaced, lepers, slum-dwellers. My parents grew up poor. At our dinner-parties, I joke about it: but I’ve never dared tell anyone how poor. They wouldn’t believe me. Six children to a room! One omelette between six!
I long to tell someone. Oldman? Josh? Sheila? I fantasise their look of horror. I escaped. The fate that was mine, too – I escaped. Now, perhaps, a single look of horror would give me the punishment I crave.
It’s not true. My parents didn’t grow up that poor. But people do. India swarms with beggars like you. I could’ve been one of them. Worse.
It could’ve been me.
Yes: Vijay still took the metro. He didn’t want to forget. He could never afford to let down his guard. Sheila’s voice startled him. It was like hers.
“Sorry!” laughed Sheila, as they crossed the road together. “Were you meditating? You know, I’ve been thinking of telling you… I owe you. D’you remember, in April, when you chaperoned the school-trip to Vermont? Tim was there. You all went on a walk, after the farm-tour… Tim picked up a leaf, and was tearing it into strips, along the veins – I’m guessing that’s how he did it, I’ve often watched him do it… You fell behind the rest, and talked to him, and showed him the parts of a leaf. He says he was embarrassed, because you’d seen him shredding leaves. And he’s always admired you, because of George… But then you kept picking up leaves, stopping at trees, showing Tim their parts and arrangements, the colours of leaves at various stages… Remember?”
“Yeah, the Vermont trip… Yeah, I can never pass up the chance at a Botany lesson.”
“You’re too modest! I know you knew Tim had been struggling, since his father died… Tim never forgave me for divorcing George, but I guess he thought he’d have the chance to catch up with, afterwards… I really was afraid for Tim. He’d stopped talking to me, just thrown his grades away. I was afraid to ask him where he went after school. He’d lost his motivation, like he was determined never to care about anything again. Well, I don’t know if it was you, or the botany, or what, but – Tim’s back.” Sheila’s eyes shone moist. “He began collecting leaves, drying them and labelling them, borrowing books… Now he’s discovered some fossil branch of botany. Like palaeontology, I guess…”
“Palynology?”
“Yes! Something like that! Anyway, he’s going to take the A.P. Biology class next year. His grades are looking up, too. He’s had hobbies before this, but never the same for eight months, and none since George died… So I want to thank you, finally, for that weekend.”
“Oh, no! Please! It was my pleasure!”
“You Indians are so modest,” said Sheila, as they entered the restaurant. “You don’t understand. I guess you never have trouble with your kids? They just do what you tell them? And you guys avoid divorce, at all costs, right? Well, like it or not, you saved Tim, and I’m in your debt.” Sheila squeezed Vijay’s hand, then hurried him on to join their colleagues.
I do understand. This bittersweet love for your children. When I get home, I take a peek at dinner – mine’s waiting under the cloche on the kitchen-table – and sneak into their rooms. Just my head. Just to hear them breathe. Afraid to open the door wider, lest the hall-lights awaken them. Always afraid. I wait, till I can imagine what dinner was like today. Rita hates fish, but Juhi makes the kids eat it. With what words did Juhi persuade Rita to swallow tonight’s tuna? Is Sohan still setting aside his cauliflower, to sweep it into the rubbish-bin? Softly I close the door. Downstairs, I check the rubbish for tuna and cauliflower. Forensic investigations of all the dinners I’ve missed. A solitary investigation, while Juhi sleeps upstairs. Did you know Juhi almost took the kids away, when I told her? But she stayed. And nobody knows.
Sheila: I went to Vermont for myself. I was feeling more panicked than usual. That was just after the crash. CEOs dragged out into the street, their financials splashed across the headlines… I went to distract myself. Please don’t thank me! I’ve always given back. Please, before you thank me – investigate me. I don’t dare feel safe.
She wanted me to stay and look after her child. My child, she claimed. How could I? I’d just got my Visa. She wanted to come along. How could I have brought her here, as a dependant, on a graduate student’s budget?
Sheila: I understand. But I had to help Tim. I have to help everyone. Every lost child. Every motherless infant. If you could see the guilt gripping, in a vise that Juhi’s psychiatrist calls panic-attacks, bruising purple-fingered my trachaea –
My guilt is true. My children sweep food into rubbish-bins. Back home, how many people would throw away their half-dead infants for a scavenge in a rubbish-bin?
Carefully, at lunch, Vijay avoided Sheila’s eyes. Sheila – happy again now that her son had rediscovered life – kept inviting Vijay into the conversation.
Back at work that afternoon, Maria handed in her resignation. “I’ve got into Johns Hopkins,” she announced, muting her joy.
“Maria! That’s wonderful! Finally you can run away back to academia, as you’ve always wanted!”
“No, no! I’ve learned so much here…” She hesitated, and Vijay foresaw a last-day confession. When someone knows they won’t see you again, the impulse to be honest beats, without warning, the urge to seem sophisticated. “I was in love with this boy, back in school. He was going straight on to grad school: that was the only reason I was in a rush. I mean, the main reason; I did always plan to do grad-school. We’d been together all of undergrad, but he was an addiction, you know?” A couple of interns passed Vijay’s office. Maria dropped her voice. “He just took, and took. And I kept giving. I kept thinking that someday he’d start to give me something back. It was like a slot-machine. Like, you keep playing, not because you like it, but because you just have to see. When does it start paying off? Like there’s this immense curiosity, and you keep getting angrier. But you stay, because you’re determined to see that day…” She paused, and sighed. Sighed herself out of her old rage at her old folly. Then pursed her lips into a grownup smile. “Anyway… looking back, I’m really glad I didn’t make the selection that year. He’s gone, now. He’s dropped out and joined some punk-rock band. I never saw how pathetic he was, then.”
“We were glad to have you!” said Vijay brightly.
“Yeah, and I didn’t realise that I needed this. I was way too ambitious, in my undergrad dissertation, and that ended up going nowhere… Here, you know working on these projects, in different teams, and knowing you’ve got to deliver a solution by this deadline, you get your head out of your own arse. I mean, without deadlines, or if it’s just some abstruse theoretical point you’re researching, then you can lose yourself in some tiny problem forever. Trying to get something perfect, some tiny thing that doesn’t even matter… I know I’ve learned skills here, that I absolutely had to have, to succeed in academia, but didn’t learn there…”
“You’ve grown enormously these three years, Maria. I only regret you didn’t ask me for a letter of recommendation.”
“Oh, they wanted recs from my professors…” Maria blushed, and hesitated, and Vijay foresaw Confession part#2. “Mr. Gupta, you’ve got to know how much we all admire you. The way you manage the team, and encourage us and just nudge us in the right direction, especially when we swap notes with the other departments’ interns, after work… I mean they’re all bitching about their bosses, and sometimes we join in just so they won’t feel bad… And my friends from school, who’ve gone into research, they all bitch too, and I just listen, and I keep thinking how lucky we are” –
“Academia’s famous for bad bosses,” Vijay laughed.
“But not just there, right? Anyway, I just wanted to say… Everyone says you’re modest.”
I’m not, really! I kept waiting for her to tell me how wonderful I was. Well: she let me do things for her, and buy her things, and tell her how wonderful she was. I tried to feel that was enough. But I kept waiting for her to give something back.
Yes, Maria: I know your rage. What if I told you that, when Sohan gets sent to detention, when Rita calls home at 11:30pm to tell me she’s spending the night with a friend – what if I told you I long to knock their heads together? You’d be horrified: it’s forbidden, here, to beat your children. The admiration would flee your face: you’d look at me with the horror that I long for.
It’s not true. Sohan and Rita are model children. But it could be true. Your look of condemnation: that’d be true. They have thoughts of testing my love, and I have thoughts of terrible vengeance. That is true.
Back home – early, that night – Vijay sat at the dinner-table. Taking in, with slow relish, the unfamiliar prospect of the dinner-table on a weekday, set for all four.
“How was your presentation, Dad?” said Rita.
“It went well, thanks,” said Vijay, startled that she remembered. Grateful that she remembered, he was on the verge of a profuse apology. Forgive me, daughter: I’d never really hurt you. Over the roast venison he caught Juhi’s eye. He smiled. Yes: the children are eating venison, now. They had their vegan phase: but, like good immigrant children, they’ve kept their priorities straight. Help yourself first, then the world.
“Dad,” began Sohan, looking down at his plate, “I kind of bumped the Mercedes. I was trying to reverse-park, I mean I really am getting better at that, and you keep saying I can do it.” Sohan met Vijay’s eyes, then: and Vijay’s heart soared with pride. My clever son: the picture of innocence. “Anyway, there was a rubbish-bin, and behind that a light-post, and just then some dude comes ripping around the corner, and I guess I backed up too fast. So the fender’s dented. Just, like you can only see it if you really look… I thought I should tell you.”
You mean your mother told me to tell you. To confess. Confess, before they find out: and you’ll be let off easy.
“Okay, son. Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it. Be more careful next time. Were you wearing your seat-belt?”
“Yeah, dad. Always.” And before Vijay knew what was happening Sohan had got up, pulled Vijay in an awkward hug against his chair-back, and dashed back to his seat. “Thanks, dad. You’re the best.”
Vijay knew, then, that he wouldn’t have to look for the dent to see it.
No: I’m not the best. I miss your baseball-games. I miss your sister’s basketball-game. I’m there, but not really. I keep promising your mother that, at the next house-party, I’ll help her cook. I do the cleaning afterwards: but that doesn’t make up for it. Juhi always says it’s okay. Juhi rushes to forgive me. As if I could hurt her. At work, the young people do all the work, and I get the credit. I asked Maria to make today’s presentation. She said, ‘It should be you.’ I tried to tell Sheila that my taking an interest in Tim had nothing to do with Tim. Sheila didn’t understand.
Don’t idolise me, son! I know what happens to idolised fathers. One day their past comes out. Then their sons cut them from their lives. If Sheila had told Tim what George did – but Juhi would never tell you, son. For Juhi knows: she’d be complicit.
I loved her. For years she took and she took. Testing my love. My father had raised himself in the world. What he had, he gave me. What I had, I gave her. I knew I was never the only one: but when she heard I was coming abroad, and she had her baby – she said it was mine, and she wanted to come with me here. To spoil this life, too. Already, in fantasy, night after night, my terrible vengeance had settled the details.
Fortunately, the infant died. She kept begging. That’s when I made up my mind.
But about her nobody knew. Her he had buried well. The week after he’d got his Visa. The week before he’d caught his flight from Mumbai to Newark. Her death he never felt compelled to confess. Not since he’d told Juhi.
Juhi had agreed. Some confessions nobody should hear.
END
“…So we can expect this steady growth to continue into the next quarter.”
The conference-room erupted into applause. Across the room, at the top of the table, the CEO rose, and, ostentatiously applauding, walked down to hold his shoulder and shake his hand. Blushing, nodding, Vijay Gupta accepted Ron Oldman’s praises.
“You’re an asset to Oasis, Vijay. Splendid work… R&D is where the big growth’s been coming from. What did you say? ‘Steady growth?’ Master of under-statement, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Really, I can’t take the credit. The young” –
“Modest as always!” Oldman reproached.
Vijay escaped Oldman’s congratulations, and, safe again in his chair, transitioned inconspicuously from star to spectator. All morning he’d watched interns present the other departments’ quarterly reviews. At Oasis, an unwieldy hybrid of private company and public, it was common, after a bad quarter, for department heads to delegate presentations to interns. Oldman could chastise the interns more thoroughly than he could the department-heads: who had permanent jobs, and who were Oldman’s age. Good training for the interns, too: to learn to answer for their superiors’ errors. Now a plump, pimpled 19-year-old from Sales, tugging at her jacket-hem, trotted to the projector-screen. From up the table, Oldman rolled his eyes at Vijay. Vijay smiled discreetly at Oldman. Then pleasantly at Josh Ginsburg, head of Sales: haggard-eyed, already morose across the table from Vijay. Last year had been bad: Oasis had fired its first ‘permanent’ employees.
No, really, Josh. It wasn’t just me. My team’s the best. Students from basic science. They’re new to industry. They have wild ideas. Awful, many of them. But that’s what I do: weed out the really awful ideas. Really, that’s all I do: sitting on my arse fourteen hours a day. The rest is them. Running around. I’m just lucky. You run an old department, staffed by fogies. You trundle along, doing the same things, the same way. It’s not you. And this good quarter at R&D wasn’t just me.
And whatever I’ve done, it’s not been easy. You saw me up there: freshly-laundered, Gucci-scented. But d’you know how many baseball-games I’ve missed? I’m determined Sohan will learn the national sport: but I’ve been here, missing qualifiers. You don’t know how guilty I feel. Pa worked hard to send me abroad. Now I’m working hard to raise competent Americans. And missing it. Sometimes I feel so guilty –
I long to tell you. Now you’re envying me, Josh: but, if I told you, your look of horror would satisfy, perhaps, at last, the guilt slow-roasting my stomach.
Don’t look at me like that! You know your job’s safe. I had the flu, last week, did I tell you? I was here, downing pills. Yeah, it’s been hard for me, too. I’d never take your job, Josh. It wasn’t me! I had to do it!
Well, that’s not true. I’ve never missed baseball-games. But I’ve sat there, thinking of work. Your look of condemnation: that’d be true.
The intern presented the Sales figures. Oldman shredded her presentation. Annoyed that it wasn’t Josh up there; that Josh was avoiding the line-of-fire; that he, Oldman, couldn’t force his department-heads to present their own fiascos – annoyed, Oldman shredded the intern.
Next, the Legal presentation. The Legal head made it herself. Legal never had trouble with presentations. Sheila barraged the conference-room with tables (the rightmost column bolded: highlighting the gain over last quarter) and figures (trendlines shooting skywards, axis labels in font just big enough so that you thought you could squint and read it yourself – just before the graph vanished). Oldman made notes: he’d have to do some studying to work out what exactly Legal had lost or gained Oasis last quarter.
Then: out to lunch. The old custom of department-heads lunching out every day had died with the rise of the 24/7 workday. Still, after quarterly presentations: out to lunch.
“Good work,” Vijay congratulated Sheila.
“You’re not the only department hiring science kids!” laughed Sheila. “We’re recruiting Stats grads. They can make anything look good.”
As they waited to cross the street, Vijay, glancing back, saw the old man crouching.
Outside the closed shop-door. Level with the street. The old man sat, butt balanced on narrow threshold, legs drawn up tight. Long silver hair and beard flowed under shabby gray hat and over shabby gray overcoat. Every morning, as Vijay walked from the metro-station to work, he saw the old man. Standing, stretching his legs before the street got crowded: his hat reserving his seat. Combing, with a fine-toothed ivory comb, the handle broken and fixed, his long silver hair and beard. His shabby gray hat and coat he never dusted. Watching him settle on his threshold, rehatted, Vijay had surmised that the contrast between well-kempt hair and ill-kempt clothing – the contrast that drew, involuntarily, the eyes of every passerby skilled in notseeing other homeless persons – was what the old man was aiming for. Never turning on passersby his clear gray eyes, never holding out his hat – he got more change in a day than many beggars did in a week. Vijay knew.
Vijay had stopped, one morning, to speak to him. German accent. Refined British vocabulary. Ernst Schwimmer. Schwimmer thought before he spoke, and didn’t steer the conversation to money. He’d been a professor. His wife had divorced him. Taking his house, half his money, and all his will. Schwimmer’s friends had told him: Time heals all wounds. So he’d stuck it out. Five years, while the divorce dragged on. Then he’d packed a rucksack and left. Hitchhiked around the world. When his money ran out, he’d settled outside this closed-up shop.
Every morning, Vijay stopped to chat with Schwimmer. And give him $50. Then fled, before Schwimmer could say Thanks or anyone could see. Now, as Vijay waited with his colleagues to cross the road, Schwimmer nodded at Vijay. Smiled dignified gratitude.
Don’t thank me! It’s not just me. It’s what everyone in my position should be doing. If they could only see. We look at hobos and we never think it could be us. That saves us the pain. Of seeing a fellow-creature. I was almost where you were. I see you.
It could’ve been me. When Juhi found out, she was going to divorce me. All those years, I didn’t tell Juhi. Why should I? It hadn’t been about her: but she’d never understand. But what if someone else told her? So, finally, I told her. And she wanted to go, and take everything. I begged her to stay. She relented. We’ve moved on. We’re fine, now.
But it could’ve been me. Here I am, strolling to lunch: but you don’t see how hard I’ve worked to keep it all together.
India swarms with beggars, the displaced, lepers, slum-dwellers. My parents grew up poor. At our dinner-parties, I joke about it: but I’ve never dared tell anyone how poor. They wouldn’t believe me. Six children to a room! One omelette between six!
I long to tell someone. Oldman? Josh? Sheila? I fantasise their look of horror. I escaped. The fate that was mine, too – I escaped. Now, perhaps, a single look of horror would give me the punishment I crave.
It’s not true. My parents didn’t grow up that poor. But people do. India swarms with beggars like you. I could’ve been one of them. Worse.
It could’ve been me.
Yes: Vijay still took the metro. He didn’t want to forget. He could never afford to let down his guard. Sheila’s voice startled him. It was like hers.
“Sorry!” laughed Sheila, as they crossed the road together. “Were you meditating? You know, I’ve been thinking of telling you… I owe you. D’you remember, in April, when you chaperoned the school-trip to Vermont? Tim was there. You all went on a walk, after the farm-tour… Tim picked up a leaf, and was tearing it into strips, along the veins – I’m guessing that’s how he did it, I’ve often watched him do it… You fell behind the rest, and talked to him, and showed him the parts of a leaf. He says he was embarrassed, because you’d seen him shredding leaves. And he’s always admired you, because of George… But then you kept picking up leaves, stopping at trees, showing Tim their parts and arrangements, the colours of leaves at various stages… Remember?”
“Yeah, the Vermont trip… Yeah, I can never pass up the chance at a Botany lesson.”
“You’re too modest! I know you knew Tim had been struggling, since his father died… Tim never forgave me for divorcing George, but I guess he thought he’d have the chance to catch up with, afterwards… I really was afraid for Tim. He’d stopped talking to me, just thrown his grades away. I was afraid to ask him where he went after school. He’d lost his motivation, like he was determined never to care about anything again. Well, I don’t know if it was you, or the botany, or what, but – Tim’s back.” Sheila’s eyes shone moist. “He began collecting leaves, drying them and labelling them, borrowing books… Now he’s discovered some fossil branch of botany. Like palaeontology, I guess…”
“Palynology?”
“Yes! Something like that! Anyway, he’s going to take the A.P. Biology class next year. His grades are looking up, too. He’s had hobbies before this, but never the same for eight months, and none since George died… So I want to thank you, finally, for that weekend.”
“Oh, no! Please! It was my pleasure!”
“You Indians are so modest,” said Sheila, as they entered the restaurant. “You don’t understand. I guess you never have trouble with your kids? They just do what you tell them? And you guys avoid divorce, at all costs, right? Well, like it or not, you saved Tim, and I’m in your debt.” Sheila squeezed Vijay’s hand, then hurried him on to join their colleagues.
I do understand. This bittersweet love for your children. When I get home, I take a peek at dinner – mine’s waiting under the cloche on the kitchen-table – and sneak into their rooms. Just my head. Just to hear them breathe. Afraid to open the door wider, lest the hall-lights awaken them. Always afraid. I wait, till I can imagine what dinner was like today. Rita hates fish, but Juhi makes the kids eat it. With what words did Juhi persuade Rita to swallow tonight’s tuna? Is Sohan still setting aside his cauliflower, to sweep it into the rubbish-bin? Softly I close the door. Downstairs, I check the rubbish for tuna and cauliflower. Forensic investigations of all the dinners I’ve missed. A solitary investigation, while Juhi sleeps upstairs. Did you know Juhi almost took the kids away, when I told her? But she stayed. And nobody knows.
Sheila: I went to Vermont for myself. I was feeling more panicked than usual. That was just after the crash. CEOs dragged out into the street, their financials splashed across the headlines… I went to distract myself. Please don’t thank me! I’ve always given back. Please, before you thank me – investigate me. I don’t dare feel safe.
She wanted me to stay and look after her child. My child, she claimed. How could I? I’d just got my Visa. She wanted to come along. How could I have brought her here, as a dependant, on a graduate student’s budget?
Sheila: I understand. But I had to help Tim. I have to help everyone. Every lost child. Every motherless infant. If you could see the guilt gripping, in a vise that Juhi’s psychiatrist calls panic-attacks, bruising purple-fingered my trachaea –
My guilt is true. My children sweep food into rubbish-bins. Back home, how many people would throw away their half-dead infants for a scavenge in a rubbish-bin?
Carefully, at lunch, Vijay avoided Sheila’s eyes. Sheila – happy again now that her son had rediscovered life – kept inviting Vijay into the conversation.
Back at work that afternoon, Maria handed in her resignation. “I’ve got into Johns Hopkins,” she announced, muting her joy.
“Maria! That’s wonderful! Finally you can run away back to academia, as you’ve always wanted!”
“No, no! I’ve learned so much here…” She hesitated, and Vijay foresaw a last-day confession. When someone knows they won’t see you again, the impulse to be honest beats, without warning, the urge to seem sophisticated. “I was in love with this boy, back in school. He was going straight on to grad school: that was the only reason I was in a rush. I mean, the main reason; I did always plan to do grad-school. We’d been together all of undergrad, but he was an addiction, you know?” A couple of interns passed Vijay’s office. Maria dropped her voice. “He just took, and took. And I kept giving. I kept thinking that someday he’d start to give me something back. It was like a slot-machine. Like, you keep playing, not because you like it, but because you just have to see. When does it start paying off? Like there’s this immense curiosity, and you keep getting angrier. But you stay, because you’re determined to see that day…” She paused, and sighed. Sighed herself out of her old rage at her old folly. Then pursed her lips into a grownup smile. “Anyway… looking back, I’m really glad I didn’t make the selection that year. He’s gone, now. He’s dropped out and joined some punk-rock band. I never saw how pathetic he was, then.”
“We were glad to have you!” said Vijay brightly.
“Yeah, and I didn’t realise that I needed this. I was way too ambitious, in my undergrad dissertation, and that ended up going nowhere… Here, you know working on these projects, in different teams, and knowing you’ve got to deliver a solution by this deadline, you get your head out of your own arse. I mean, without deadlines, or if it’s just some abstruse theoretical point you’re researching, then you can lose yourself in some tiny problem forever. Trying to get something perfect, some tiny thing that doesn’t even matter… I know I’ve learned skills here, that I absolutely had to have, to succeed in academia, but didn’t learn there…”
“You’ve grown enormously these three years, Maria. I only regret you didn’t ask me for a letter of recommendation.”
“Oh, they wanted recs from my professors…” Maria blushed, and hesitated, and Vijay foresaw Confession part#2. “Mr. Gupta, you’ve got to know how much we all admire you. The way you manage the team, and encourage us and just nudge us in the right direction, especially when we swap notes with the other departments’ interns, after work… I mean they’re all bitching about their bosses, and sometimes we join in just so they won’t feel bad… And my friends from school, who’ve gone into research, they all bitch too, and I just listen, and I keep thinking how lucky we are” –
“Academia’s famous for bad bosses,” Vijay laughed.
“But not just there, right? Anyway, I just wanted to say… Everyone says you’re modest.”
I’m not, really! I kept waiting for her to tell me how wonderful I was. Well: she let me do things for her, and buy her things, and tell her how wonderful she was. I tried to feel that was enough. But I kept waiting for her to give something back.
Yes, Maria: I know your rage. What if I told you that, when Sohan gets sent to detention, when Rita calls home at 11:30pm to tell me she’s spending the night with a friend – what if I told you I long to knock their heads together? You’d be horrified: it’s forbidden, here, to beat your children. The admiration would flee your face: you’d look at me with the horror that I long for.
It’s not true. Sohan and Rita are model children. But it could be true. Your look of condemnation: that’d be true. They have thoughts of testing my love, and I have thoughts of terrible vengeance. That is true.
Back home – early, that night – Vijay sat at the dinner-table. Taking in, with slow relish, the unfamiliar prospect of the dinner-table on a weekday, set for all four.
“How was your presentation, Dad?” said Rita.
“It went well, thanks,” said Vijay, startled that she remembered. Grateful that she remembered, he was on the verge of a profuse apology. Forgive me, daughter: I’d never really hurt you. Over the roast venison he caught Juhi’s eye. He smiled. Yes: the children are eating venison, now. They had their vegan phase: but, like good immigrant children, they’ve kept their priorities straight. Help yourself first, then the world.
“Dad,” began Sohan, looking down at his plate, “I kind of bumped the Mercedes. I was trying to reverse-park, I mean I really am getting better at that, and you keep saying I can do it.” Sohan met Vijay’s eyes, then: and Vijay’s heart soared with pride. My clever son: the picture of innocence. “Anyway, there was a rubbish-bin, and behind that a light-post, and just then some dude comes ripping around the corner, and I guess I backed up too fast. So the fender’s dented. Just, like you can only see it if you really look… I thought I should tell you.”
You mean your mother told me to tell you. To confess. Confess, before they find out: and you’ll be let off easy.
“Okay, son. Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it. Be more careful next time. Were you wearing your seat-belt?”
“Yeah, dad. Always.” And before Vijay knew what was happening Sohan had got up, pulled Vijay in an awkward hug against his chair-back, and dashed back to his seat. “Thanks, dad. You’re the best.”
Vijay knew, then, that he wouldn’t have to look for the dent to see it.
No: I’m not the best. I miss your baseball-games. I miss your sister’s basketball-game. I’m there, but not really. I keep promising your mother that, at the next house-party, I’ll help her cook. I do the cleaning afterwards: but that doesn’t make up for it. Juhi always says it’s okay. Juhi rushes to forgive me. As if I could hurt her. At work, the young people do all the work, and I get the credit. I asked Maria to make today’s presentation. She said, ‘It should be you.’ I tried to tell Sheila that my taking an interest in Tim had nothing to do with Tim. Sheila didn’t understand.
Don’t idolise me, son! I know what happens to idolised fathers. One day their past comes out. Then their sons cut them from their lives. If Sheila had told Tim what George did – but Juhi would never tell you, son. For Juhi knows: she’d be complicit.
I loved her. For years she took and she took. Testing my love. My father had raised himself in the world. What he had, he gave me. What I had, I gave her. I knew I was never the only one: but when she heard I was coming abroad, and she had her baby – she said it was mine, and she wanted to come with me here. To spoil this life, too. Already, in fantasy, night after night, my terrible vengeance had settled the details.
Fortunately, the infant died. She kept begging. That’s when I made up my mind.
But about her nobody knew. Her he had buried well. The week after he’d got his Visa. The week before he’d caught his flight from Mumbai to Newark. Her death he never felt compelled to confess. Not since he’d told Juhi.
Juhi had agreed. Some confessions nobody should hear.
END
William Henson has always enjoyed writing. In High School he started working on a novel and continues to work on it to this day. After High School he joined the Marines and served overseas, he received awards for his service but home always called him back. He joined the Teamsters Union to work in the film industry as a transportation driver. After seeing how a movie is created, he decided to pursue a career in writing and is currently attending Full Sail University. William is working on a Bachelor of Science in Creative Writing and plans to use it to return to the film industry and publish his novel. He lives in Georgia with his wife and two children. |
Extended Stay
Lisa sat on the patio of the hotel watching a bird flit from tree to tree. She had been given a complimentary stay at this motel after her apartment had flooded a week before. Her renter’s insurance took care of most of the logistics and cost. Oddly enough she had not encountered any of her neighbors who had also suffered serious water damage. Opting not to ask too many questions. She had seen little of the staff; the front desk attendant had said little but had welcomed her all the same. Housekeeping came by when she was out for a stroll in the courtyard and the complimentary breakfast was delightful. She was not permitted in the hallway due to renovations, so all her meals had been brought to her.
Someone knocked at the door and she opened it expecting it to be the desk attendant letting her know that the apartment was now safe to move back into. She moved her hand to her pocket making sure a small vial was still there and opened the door. It was a well-dressed stranger.
“Good morning Ms. Mabrey. My name is Quill and I represent Heritage Suites. I’m checking on select guests to conduct a small survey,” he said holding up a clipboard.
“Come in Mr. Quill,” she replied walking back out to the patio. “I just made tea would you care for a cup?”
“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.”
“Thank you, sir, for allowing me to stay at this fine motel. It has been a pleasure,” she said handing him a steaming cup.
They sat apart and each sipped on their cups. He peered at her then put on a pair a reading glasses to read his clipboard.
“During your stay here, have there been any unusual noises worth mentioning?” Quill asked sipping his tea.
“Why no sir, it has been awfully quiet.”
“How has your sleep been? Have you been sleeping through the night?” he continued.
“Sound as a baby,” she responded smiling as she sipped her tea.
He chuckled at the ironic statement and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead before continuing.
“How about the food? Has our chef earned his pay this week?” he asked setting the clipboard down.
“Why yes the food has been simply divine,” she answered setting her cup down on the table.
He squirmed in his chair, fanning himself with the clipboard.
“Bit hot today isn’t it?” he asked rising from his chair. He retreated inside to the cool air and fell to the floor.
Lisa followed him bringing her teapot inside and setting it on the table. She sat on the foot of the bed watching him squirm on the floor.
“Don’t worry Mr. Quill it’s not going to kill you,” she said. “You see I have heard things in the night. I have heard carts being pushed outside. I’ve heard my door open and medical equipment beeping during the night. I have had dreams of wishes that never came true. I have seen my mother and father alive and well.”
Quill grabbed at her ankles but tumbled back to the floor.
“Compliments of your chef,” she explained. “Hemlock can be great for causing paralysis if delivered quickly to the bloodstream. While I didn’t have time to cook you a full meal, I did have time to line your cup with enough to keep you down for a few hours. Your Chef would do well to wear clothing with smaller pockets.”
Quill vomited and convulsed and thrashed on the floor. “Oh, dear me I must have used a tad too much,” she said, picking up the phone and dialing a number.
“Yes, could you send some officers to Heritage Suites. There seems to be some illegal experiments taking place,” she said and slammed the receiver down.
She walked toward the door and held up a card key so that he could see. “Swiped this too when you weren’t looking,” she explained walking out the door.
End
Someone knocked at the door and she opened it expecting it to be the desk attendant letting her know that the apartment was now safe to move back into. She moved her hand to her pocket making sure a small vial was still there and opened the door. It was a well-dressed stranger.
“Good morning Ms. Mabrey. My name is Quill and I represent Heritage Suites. I’m checking on select guests to conduct a small survey,” he said holding up a clipboard.
“Come in Mr. Quill,” she replied walking back out to the patio. “I just made tea would you care for a cup?”
“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.”
“Thank you, sir, for allowing me to stay at this fine motel. It has been a pleasure,” she said handing him a steaming cup.
They sat apart and each sipped on their cups. He peered at her then put on a pair a reading glasses to read his clipboard.
“During your stay here, have there been any unusual noises worth mentioning?” Quill asked sipping his tea.
“Why no sir, it has been awfully quiet.”
“How has your sleep been? Have you been sleeping through the night?” he continued.
“Sound as a baby,” she responded smiling as she sipped her tea.
He chuckled at the ironic statement and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead before continuing.
“How about the food? Has our chef earned his pay this week?” he asked setting the clipboard down.
“Why yes the food has been simply divine,” she answered setting her cup down on the table.
He squirmed in his chair, fanning himself with the clipboard.
“Bit hot today isn’t it?” he asked rising from his chair. He retreated inside to the cool air and fell to the floor.
Lisa followed him bringing her teapot inside and setting it on the table. She sat on the foot of the bed watching him squirm on the floor.
“Don’t worry Mr. Quill it’s not going to kill you,” she said. “You see I have heard things in the night. I have heard carts being pushed outside. I’ve heard my door open and medical equipment beeping during the night. I have had dreams of wishes that never came true. I have seen my mother and father alive and well.”
Quill grabbed at her ankles but tumbled back to the floor.
“Compliments of your chef,” she explained. “Hemlock can be great for causing paralysis if delivered quickly to the bloodstream. While I didn’t have time to cook you a full meal, I did have time to line your cup with enough to keep you down for a few hours. Your Chef would do well to wear clothing with smaller pockets.”
Quill vomited and convulsed and thrashed on the floor. “Oh, dear me I must have used a tad too much,” she said, picking up the phone and dialing a number.
“Yes, could you send some officers to Heritage Suites. There seems to be some illegal experiments taking place,” she said and slammed the receiver down.
She walked toward the door and held up a card key so that he could see. “Swiped this too when you weren’t looking,” she explained walking out the door.
End
Joseph Sharp is a novelist and writer who mainly writes science fiction, suspense, and thriller stories. He is currently studying to obtain his Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from Full Sail University. Joseph published his first book in 2016 titled The Syndicate: Phantom’s Revenge through Dorrance Publishing (www.dorrancepublishing.com). Joseph decided to write stories because he was tired of the entertainment industry rebooting and rehashing everything that’s been done before. He can be reached at JoeSharp1231@gmail.com. https://www.facebook.com/joseph.sharp.583 |
Paranoia
JP was always a strange individual. He never excelled socially, and by the
time he reached middle school, his parents thought homeschooling would be better. It only caused the social issues within JP to worsen, and more
problems developed. By age 15, he never left the house and had no
social skills whatsoever. He spent most of his time acting out, being aggressive
toward his parents, and anyone else who came around. The only peace found was
staring out the windows at the neighbors and listening to music. Rock music was
his favorite. The dark images, themes, and lyrics all spoke to him in a way nothing
else could. Before long, this fascination with dark themes changed JP.
Not long after this change occurred, JP was staring out the window at a
world he was slowly beginning to hate. Like most days, he found some beauty
in what he gazed upon. The birds in the trees, flying from branch to branch.
Squirrels scurrying about without a care in the world. These were the things that
brought him joy. But without warning, his eyes fell upon a neighbor who was
leaving for work. Suddenly afraid, JP began an internal discussion with himself, as
he scrambled for a place to hide.
"Did he see me?" JP asked himself.
"Impossible. He wasn't even looking in your direction, "a voice responded.
This scared JP as he continued to scramble about.
"Who said that?!" JP exclaimed, terror seeping through every word he spoke.
"Just go back to the window!" The voice responded harshly. Without
hesitating, JP went
back to the window and saw the neighbor wave, getting into his car to leave.
"HE SAW ME!" JP screamed as he backed away from the window and
started pacing.
"You know what this means; you have to take him out."
JP stopped suddenly; his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost.
"What are you talking about?" JP asked worriedly.
"Go over there and take care of things. Do whatever you have to do!" The
voice snarled.
JP paused, then without thinking, stormed out of his house for the first time
in over six years.
***
As JP closed the door and walked down the driveway, he began to feel
something strange. Feeling queasy, he clutched his stomach, hurried across the
street, and crashed through his door into his house. After a few moments and deep
breaths, JP began to wonder what happened. His mind felt fuzzy, and he couldn't
remember leaving his house. He would never leave. He hated the outside world.
"Oh, come on. Don't you remember the wave?" A voice said in between
hysterical laughter.
JP grabbed his head intensely. It felt like a jackhammer was pounding in his skull.
"Don't remember?
Let me refresh your memory kid" the voice said in a joyful tone. "You saw
your neighbor creeping on you, so you decided to go after him. After breaking into
his house, you snatched up his wife and daughter, hogtied them in the basement,
and wrapped their mouths with duct tape. Then, you did something which, I thought was hilarious."
The voice cackled in the background as JP struggled to his knees, his hands
pressed to his temples, trying desperately to recall what happened.
"No…" JP muttered softly. "This isn't true…" He trailed off as he continued
to rub his head, sobbing softly into his hands.
"Oh, it's true, and it gets better" the voice growls. "The best part is you
searching the house for proof of them watching you but finding nothing! It was
truly comical. But you felt bad and decided you'd gone too far. You turned on the
gas from the stove and tried to light a fire. You never saw it coming."
"Saw what coming?" JP asked curiously, now convinced he'd done
something he was going to regret.
"The wife you didn't secure fully." The voice responded. "She attacked you,
and you bludgeoned her."
"No…" JP said softly as he shook his head in denial.'
"Yes." The voice replied. "And you’re about to find out the best part…" The
voice said as it slowly faded out like a broken cassette tape.
"WHAT?!" JP screamed, as he rose to his feet and began circling his living
room. As his screams died down, he heard the faint sounds of sirens in the
distance, which shook him to his very core. He immediately raced to the window,
and opened the curtain to see his neighbor’s car outside, a bloody trail leading from
his neighbor’s house to his, and his neighbor rushing his front door. As JP ducked
to the floor, crawling away from the door, he heard the sound of the sirens
intensify. By the time he'd reached the back door, he saw his neighbor rapidly
approaching.
"The best part is…" the voice returned, louder than ever. "You can't escape this."
JP jumped to his feet and began screaming at the top of his lungs.
"I WILL ESCAPE! I WILL BE FREE!"
The police arrived, broke in the back door, and tackled JP
to the ground, as he continued to scream and wail. After restraining him, the police
spoke to the neighbor, who had no recollection of any ill will or wrongdoings that
might have led to this kind out outburst. The medics tended to the wife, who
suffered mild injuries and wouldn't require any hospital time. The neighbor
wouldn't pursue charges against JP. All he wanted was for this "poor kid" to get
help. JP would go to a recovery center for troubled youths. This was going to
be the new normal. This was going to be home.
JP walked into the facility for the first time, not having had a problem since
"the incident." He took a deep breath, and looked around at his new surroundings.
Exhaling, he suddenly shivered as he heard a voice from his past that was all too
familiar.
"Yeah, that will do. Let's see what damage we can do here."
time he reached middle school, his parents thought homeschooling would be better. It only caused the social issues within JP to worsen, and more
problems developed. By age 15, he never left the house and had no
social skills whatsoever. He spent most of his time acting out, being aggressive
toward his parents, and anyone else who came around. The only peace found was
staring out the windows at the neighbors and listening to music. Rock music was
his favorite. The dark images, themes, and lyrics all spoke to him in a way nothing
else could. Before long, this fascination with dark themes changed JP.
Not long after this change occurred, JP was staring out the window at a
world he was slowly beginning to hate. Like most days, he found some beauty
in what he gazed upon. The birds in the trees, flying from branch to branch.
Squirrels scurrying about without a care in the world. These were the things that
brought him joy. But without warning, his eyes fell upon a neighbor who was
leaving for work. Suddenly afraid, JP began an internal discussion with himself, as
he scrambled for a place to hide.
"Did he see me?" JP asked himself.
"Impossible. He wasn't even looking in your direction, "a voice responded.
This scared JP as he continued to scramble about.
"Who said that?!" JP exclaimed, terror seeping through every word he spoke.
"Just go back to the window!" The voice responded harshly. Without
hesitating, JP went
back to the window and saw the neighbor wave, getting into his car to leave.
"HE SAW ME!" JP screamed as he backed away from the window and
started pacing.
"You know what this means; you have to take him out."
JP stopped suddenly; his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost.
"What are you talking about?" JP asked worriedly.
"Go over there and take care of things. Do whatever you have to do!" The
voice snarled.
JP paused, then without thinking, stormed out of his house for the first time
in over six years.
***
As JP closed the door and walked down the driveway, he began to feel
something strange. Feeling queasy, he clutched his stomach, hurried across the
street, and crashed through his door into his house. After a few moments and deep
breaths, JP began to wonder what happened. His mind felt fuzzy, and he couldn't
remember leaving his house. He would never leave. He hated the outside world.
"Oh, come on. Don't you remember the wave?" A voice said in between
hysterical laughter.
JP grabbed his head intensely. It felt like a jackhammer was pounding in his skull.
"Don't remember?
Let me refresh your memory kid" the voice said in a joyful tone. "You saw
your neighbor creeping on you, so you decided to go after him. After breaking into
his house, you snatched up his wife and daughter, hogtied them in the basement,
and wrapped their mouths with duct tape. Then, you did something which, I thought was hilarious."
The voice cackled in the background as JP struggled to his knees, his hands
pressed to his temples, trying desperately to recall what happened.
"No…" JP muttered softly. "This isn't true…" He trailed off as he continued
to rub his head, sobbing softly into his hands.
"Oh, it's true, and it gets better" the voice growls. "The best part is you
searching the house for proof of them watching you but finding nothing! It was
truly comical. But you felt bad and decided you'd gone too far. You turned on the
gas from the stove and tried to light a fire. You never saw it coming."
"Saw what coming?" JP asked curiously, now convinced he'd done
something he was going to regret.
"The wife you didn't secure fully." The voice responded. "She attacked you,
and you bludgeoned her."
"No…" JP said softly as he shook his head in denial.'
"Yes." The voice replied. "And you’re about to find out the best part…" The
voice said as it slowly faded out like a broken cassette tape.
"WHAT?!" JP screamed, as he rose to his feet and began circling his living
room. As his screams died down, he heard the faint sounds of sirens in the
distance, which shook him to his very core. He immediately raced to the window,
and opened the curtain to see his neighbor’s car outside, a bloody trail leading from
his neighbor’s house to his, and his neighbor rushing his front door. As JP ducked
to the floor, crawling away from the door, he heard the sound of the sirens
intensify. By the time he'd reached the back door, he saw his neighbor rapidly
approaching.
"The best part is…" the voice returned, louder than ever. "You can't escape this."
JP jumped to his feet and began screaming at the top of his lungs.
"I WILL ESCAPE! I WILL BE FREE!"
The police arrived, broke in the back door, and tackled JP
to the ground, as he continued to scream and wail. After restraining him, the police
spoke to the neighbor, who had no recollection of any ill will or wrongdoings that
might have led to this kind out outburst. The medics tended to the wife, who
suffered mild injuries and wouldn't require any hospital time. The neighbor
wouldn't pursue charges against JP. All he wanted was for this "poor kid" to get
help. JP would go to a recovery center for troubled youths. This was going to
be the new normal. This was going to be home.
JP walked into the facility for the first time, not having had a problem since
"the incident." He took a deep breath, and looked around at his new surroundings.
Exhaling, he suddenly shivered as he heard a voice from his past that was all too
familiar.
"Yeah, that will do. Let's see what damage we can do here."
Rena is a Narrative Consultant who helps support indie game designers to frame their narrative smoothly with their gameplay mechanics and spot continuity issues within their story or lore. Before starting a consulting service, Rena took time from work to raise her family, and became a caretaker to her autistic son, enriching her multitasking and management skills. Rena now trains herself in game engines to learn how to make her own games, and plans on her own studio someday. Rena enjoys studying life, video games, and philanthropy. |
Shine Bright, My Star
“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m afraid that your son doesn’t have much time left,” the doctor says as he puts his hands on the woman’s shoulder in comfort. The woman shrinks away from his touch, clutching her chest as the tears streamed down her face.
“No. I mean, thank you. It’s—I’m sorry, but can I just have a moment?”The doctor nods his head then turns toward the door. He hesitates in the doorframe, hands resting on each side. He turns his head and opens his mouth to say something else but walks out the door.
The mother sits down next to the frail boy in the bed, resting her hands on his arm. Her son, Julian, breathes shallow breaths and fights to keep his eyes open. Soon, he will become tired from the effort and fall back asleep for a few hours. This is her hope each time he closes his eyes.
“Please,” she says, “allow him to open his eyes again today.”Logically, she knows deep down that his time is coming with each passing day. She wants him to keep fighting and keep taking the medication, but one day Julian said he didn’t want to anymore. He was tired of fighting, and every part of him ached. The disease was too aggressive. They’ve tried both traditional chemotherapy and radiation, and they tried clinical trials and natural therapies. Nothing stopped it from growing. Nothing can rescue him.
“It was only a matter of time,” she says to herself.It was three AM when the mother wakes up. She looks around and sees a man sitting in the room's corner. He is dressed in an all-black, perfectly tailored suit, including the gloves that were covering his long fingers. His face is slate and unremarkable, almost as if it were made purposely forgettable. He rests his hands on his lap, patient and serene.
The mother can’t move. Her eyes are locked on to his as her body locks into a defensive position. The man in the chair uncrosses his legs and sits up with a massive elegance.
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” the man says. “I am only here to take the boy home.”Instinctively, the mother places her hand on her son, shooting both hands out as she tries to protect him the best she can. Her hands are shaking, and the tears from earlier have begun once again.
“Who are you? I’m calling security!”
“You can, but they won’t see me. I just want to talk for a moment,” The Man says.
She sits up and slowly places her hands on the chair as if she had braced herself for impact. Silent and still, she waits for the man in the corner to speak. He leans in and places his hands on his face. His eyes search her up and down as she shifts in her seat.
“What is it about humans that makes you cling to life so much? Death is the natural order of all things that have life within them.”
“So, you think it strange I don’t want my son to die? He has barely thrived, and I couldn’t protect him from this. I protected him from everything I could, but not this,” the mother says to him.
“I don’t think it strange. I find it fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” She says, placing her hand on her chest. Her eyebrows furrow.
“I do,” the man in the corner says, “you humans go on living your lives knowing that, despite all the things you will achieve, it doesn’t matter. Other animals don’t display the same reverence for life that humans do.”
“But why children? Why take ones who have experienced little of anything? Why my son?Why?” The mother says into her hands.
“It isn’t my choice. I must do the job I was given,” he says to the mother, rising from his seat. He carefully starts making his way toward her with his hand outstretched. She recoils from his advance, trying to keep a distance from his hand.
The man stops. He looks over to Julian lying on the hospital bed, laboring to breathe. He reaches out to Julian, but stops short, his hand hovering. He places his hand down and looks back at the woman.
"I envy humans. They can experience life in all its beauty and tragedy. They get shaped and molded by life, while I cannot. I am stagnant. The only thing I can do is my duty, to take that very life I envy away from everything they love. There's no substance to what I do."
“Are you saying you aren’t the Angel of Death? You came to take my boy to heaven, right?That’s the only place he could go. You don’t have to take him now, right? Please, let him stay with me instead. Help him.”
The man watches the mother dab her eyes, then blow her nose. He crouches down in front of her and wipes her tears. The man watches the streak of liquid travel down his finger.
“I wish I could feel this,” he says.
The Lady stares at him while he muses over the tear. She motions for the man to move out of her way, then stands.
“Can you take me in his place? Please tell me I can take his place!”The man places his hands on her shoulders and brings her into an icy embrace. He strokes her hair, intertwining small strands between his fingers. He breathes her in slowly, trying to savor these new features to memory.
“I’m sorry. This does not work that way. If I were to take you in his place, his body would still be suffering. Eventually, the outcome would still be the same. I do not have the power to give life back to a person, only to take life away.”
The mother sobs into his chest with everything she had, using death as a buffer for her screams of anguish. The man stands still with his arms around him. He let her continue until she was empty.
She steps back, wiping her eyes. The mother looked down at her son, and asked, “will he be okay in Heaven?”
“There is no Heaven. He will go back to the universe, and that energy will give life anew.There will be peace in rebirth for Julian.”
The mother stands over to her son and hugs him as tightly as she can. She kisses him on his forehead and caresses his face.
“I love you, Julian. You are my star, and you will always burn brightly in my heart,” she said into his ear. A final kiss, then she nodded to the man.
The man raised his hand and places it on Julian’s. For a moment, nothing happened. Shortly after the life support alert beeps, the doctors arrive at his room in less than a minute. He looked Julian over, checking his vitals. The doctor shakes his head.
“Call it,” he says.“Time of death: 3:33 am. Cause of death, natural causes via cancer.”
The mother sits still in her chair, looking forward. She sees the man kneeling in front of a small pillar of light. She smiles as tears run down her face.
“Goodbye Julian, my bright star. Shine bright.”The man looks at her one more time before guiding the light out of the room.
“Don’t worry, Julian,” he says as he places the light within his chest, “you will shine bright.”
“No. I mean, thank you. It’s—I’m sorry, but can I just have a moment?”The doctor nods his head then turns toward the door. He hesitates in the doorframe, hands resting on each side. He turns his head and opens his mouth to say something else but walks out the door.
The mother sits down next to the frail boy in the bed, resting her hands on his arm. Her son, Julian, breathes shallow breaths and fights to keep his eyes open. Soon, he will become tired from the effort and fall back asleep for a few hours. This is her hope each time he closes his eyes.
“Please,” she says, “allow him to open his eyes again today.”Logically, she knows deep down that his time is coming with each passing day. She wants him to keep fighting and keep taking the medication, but one day Julian said he didn’t want to anymore. He was tired of fighting, and every part of him ached. The disease was too aggressive. They’ve tried both traditional chemotherapy and radiation, and they tried clinical trials and natural therapies. Nothing stopped it from growing. Nothing can rescue him.
“It was only a matter of time,” she says to herself.It was three AM when the mother wakes up. She looks around and sees a man sitting in the room's corner. He is dressed in an all-black, perfectly tailored suit, including the gloves that were covering his long fingers. His face is slate and unremarkable, almost as if it were made purposely forgettable. He rests his hands on his lap, patient and serene.
The mother can’t move. Her eyes are locked on to his as her body locks into a defensive position. The man in the chair uncrosses his legs and sits up with a massive elegance.
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” the man says. “I am only here to take the boy home.”Instinctively, the mother places her hand on her son, shooting both hands out as she tries to protect him the best she can. Her hands are shaking, and the tears from earlier have begun once again.
“Who are you? I’m calling security!”
“You can, but they won’t see me. I just want to talk for a moment,” The Man says.
She sits up and slowly places her hands on the chair as if she had braced herself for impact. Silent and still, she waits for the man in the corner to speak. He leans in and places his hands on his face. His eyes search her up and down as she shifts in her seat.
“What is it about humans that makes you cling to life so much? Death is the natural order of all things that have life within them.”
“So, you think it strange I don’t want my son to die? He has barely thrived, and I couldn’t protect him from this. I protected him from everything I could, but not this,” the mother says to him.
“I don’t think it strange. I find it fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” She says, placing her hand on her chest. Her eyebrows furrow.
“I do,” the man in the corner says, “you humans go on living your lives knowing that, despite all the things you will achieve, it doesn’t matter. Other animals don’t display the same reverence for life that humans do.”
“But why children? Why take ones who have experienced little of anything? Why my son?Why?” The mother says into her hands.
“It isn’t my choice. I must do the job I was given,” he says to the mother, rising from his seat. He carefully starts making his way toward her with his hand outstretched. She recoils from his advance, trying to keep a distance from his hand.
The man stops. He looks over to Julian lying on the hospital bed, laboring to breathe. He reaches out to Julian, but stops short, his hand hovering. He places his hand down and looks back at the woman.
"I envy humans. They can experience life in all its beauty and tragedy. They get shaped and molded by life, while I cannot. I am stagnant. The only thing I can do is my duty, to take that very life I envy away from everything they love. There's no substance to what I do."
“Are you saying you aren’t the Angel of Death? You came to take my boy to heaven, right?That’s the only place he could go. You don’t have to take him now, right? Please, let him stay with me instead. Help him.”
The man watches the mother dab her eyes, then blow her nose. He crouches down in front of her and wipes her tears. The man watches the streak of liquid travel down his finger.
“I wish I could feel this,” he says.
The Lady stares at him while he muses over the tear. She motions for the man to move out of her way, then stands.
“Can you take me in his place? Please tell me I can take his place!”The man places his hands on her shoulders and brings her into an icy embrace. He strokes her hair, intertwining small strands between his fingers. He breathes her in slowly, trying to savor these new features to memory.
“I’m sorry. This does not work that way. If I were to take you in his place, his body would still be suffering. Eventually, the outcome would still be the same. I do not have the power to give life back to a person, only to take life away.”
The mother sobs into his chest with everything she had, using death as a buffer for her screams of anguish. The man stands still with his arms around him. He let her continue until she was empty.
She steps back, wiping her eyes. The mother looked down at her son, and asked, “will he be okay in Heaven?”
“There is no Heaven. He will go back to the universe, and that energy will give life anew.There will be peace in rebirth for Julian.”
The mother stands over to her son and hugs him as tightly as she can. She kisses him on his forehead and caresses his face.
“I love you, Julian. You are my star, and you will always burn brightly in my heart,” she said into his ear. A final kiss, then she nodded to the man.
The man raised his hand and places it on Julian’s. For a moment, nothing happened. Shortly after the life support alert beeps, the doctors arrive at his room in less than a minute. He looked Julian over, checking his vitals. The doctor shakes his head.
“Call it,” he says.“Time of death: 3:33 am. Cause of death, natural causes via cancer.”
The mother sits still in her chair, looking forward. She sees the man kneeling in front of a small pillar of light. She smiles as tears run down her face.
“Goodbye Julian, my bright star. Shine bright.”The man looks at her one more time before guiding the light out of the room.
“Don’t worry, Julian,” he says as he places the light within his chest, “you will shine bright.”
Diego A. Peña is a Script Consultant, Content Editor, Developmental Editor and comics writer from Venezuela. He moved to the USA at the age 17, with very little knowledge of the language. Now he holds a certificate in Academic English, and a BFA degree in Creative Writing. He has a passion for fun and entertaining dialogue, psychological stories, character interactions and romanticized structured descriptions in both English and Spanish. He writes across multiple genres, but mainly on dramas and science fiction.
Unspeakable
Back in 1995, there was a forgotten town down the south of England. Old and quiet, the town consisted only of a few families, one hospital center and a University with a vast collection of books. Within the solitary library, there was someone that seek to much knowledge.
###
Lightning bolts illuminated the room of the old library. Deep inside, a man looked at his reflection on the window as he talked.
“I’m Professor Richard Grant recording note 447. Last summer to the north of England, a group of people dove into a lake in the search of a treasure. They found an old chest that contains a very peculiar book. The book is now in my possession, and if it is what I think it is. It means my research will be over,” he stopped the recording, sat down and said, “And I will be at peace.”
Richard opened the book with an immense excitement that immediately after turned into disappointment. The black and golden book was full of black mixed white pages. He looked in every corner for something, a name, a mark or anything that could give meaning to the years of research wasted. Engendered with rage, Richard ripped the pages out of the book, dropping tears of fury with each page. As he kneeled down on the ground, the thunderstorm got louder and louder.
At the top of his lungs, Richard shouted, “Why won’t you let me do this God?”
Silence and darkness covered the library when the lighting stroke.
“Is anybody there?” Richard tried to look for a lantern, but behind him a sort of light glowed. “Oh, thank you for the li—” Richard turned around to see that nobody was there. The light was coming from the white pages and the black pages expanded covering the windows.
The pages on the floor lit up, bright as bonfire generating a huge shadow behind him. Out of the shadow came a voice with distortion in a very high pitch. “Richard—” the shadow said, but Richard froze at the shadow’s voice, it vibrated through his body.
The shadow to expanded wide behind Richard. On his back, Richard felt the crawl of a thousand spiders on his back kept his position while the shadow continued to call upon his name with more consistency. “Richard—” the name slowly became crystal clear and so his heartbeat increased.
Richard put all his strength trying to turn his back and see what was behind him. What he could see was the shadow expending, covering the light of the endless and empty place he is in.
“W-What are you?”
The shadow, now a full tangible creature came close to Richard. He laid his slimy skin and some fur on Richard’s shoulder. The creature struggled to speak, breathing and breathing harder next to Richard’s ear. The shadow covered all the light, and one by one let out dots of light that flashed with an extraordinary energy. It formed a mouth, soon to bite Richard.
###
It was once said that ignorance was a disease among men. That it was an island in the midst of a vast ocean. The ocean, full of knowledge, seemingly infinite and mysterious. Only the weak perish below the deep ocean in their journey for insight.
###
Richard slightly opened his eyes and at the sight of the ceiling lights and some shadow, he screamed, immediately he felt the cold sweat traveling across his back. Richard as he hyperventilated, he realized the familiar room he was in and the woman in the corner terrified by him. He was in the hospital room, one that Richard knew better than he could wish to know.
“Richard, are you good?” the Doctor asked as he approached Richard.
“I don’t know, Howard. Do I look good to you?” he asked in return as he lays down and points his whole body.
“It’s nice seeing you again. Although, not on these circumstances.”
“Yeah, I never guessed that I’ll be back at this hospital, especially like this,” Richard said almost mumbling and pointing on how weak he looks.
Howard read the papers he had in hand and asked, “Richard, do you remember what happened two days ago?”
“Wait, what?” he said with confusion. It took him a while to process what Howard said. “Wait, are you saying that I’ve been here for two days?”
“Two whole days,” he took a pause, “You know, I was very worried. When you got here, nobody knew what happened to you.” Howard grabbed Richard’s test results and read it, “No alcohol, no drugs, no cerebral damage. You were perfectly fine, healthy as a 50-year-old man can be. Then for some reason, you passed out for 2 days. Do you recall anything from that night?”
The question pierced Richard’s mind, within seconds flashbacks of that night came back to him. The voice, the touch and the light, in the moment those memories passed by, the heart monitor spiked. “I-I don’t know, the last thing I remember was working on usual. I know I saw something, maybe it was too much stress.”
Howard check the monitor, “Stress? Richard, there is something going on with you. Everything is perfectly fine in the exams, but you don’t look good,” Howard said as he showed the test result to Richard.
“Could you just do a quick test again and let me go? You know I hate hospital for more than one reason,” as they talked, Richard tried to get up.
“Let me check your eyesight first,” Howard pulled out a small flashlight and said, “Tell if you see the light.”
“What?”
Like static, the room was changing. The lights were flickering, and a distorted version of Howard’s voice resonated in Richard’s mind as if he as far, far away. The room went dark, all the light was consumed, the people were gone, and roots claimed the concrete building. The atmosphere got even heavier from before and the same distorted voice was calling for him. Richard from his bed looked the opened a dark door. The voice grew stronger, it approached the door, the light became brighter. And it said--
“Richard.”
“Huh? What happened Howard?”
“What happened? You space out for 2 bloody minutes, while I was checking your pupils you lost all vital functions,” he showed the small lantern and put it away. “You scared me.”
“2 minutes, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad,” Howard with worry looked at the pale Richard. “Oh, come on, Howard. I’ll be fine, just let me go before you know who, comes.”
“Fine, one more night, you’re staying here. I need to run some more exams on you. Oh, and you have visits, they’re waiting for you since earlier this morning.” He pointed at the door.
“Great,” he said with disgust.
The door opened and two little kids ran directly at Richard.
“Uncle Richie!” both kids shouted.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Howard said as he left the door.
“Off, you gremlins, I told you not to call me by that name. You learned that from Arthur?”
“Sorry, Brother. It’s just that I can’t stop calling you by that name. It fits you so well,” said a tall and well-dressed man.
“Tobias, what did I tell you to teach your kids inadequate language?”
“Inadequate language? That’s so cruel from your part Richie, that’s the nickname I gave you when we were young. I wish you could give me a nickname too.”
“That’s not going to happen, dear brother.”
“Carmilla, Julius could you please go and play outside the room?” The kids nodded. They ran outside, laughing, and Tobias closed the door.
Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Richard stop him, “Arthur, please don’t say it. I won’t agree, I said no before, and I’ll say it again.”
“Why not? Richie, it’s obvious that you’re having problems on your own. Look at you, you look terrible. Everything since what happened to Maria you—”
“Don’t you dare say that name,” Richard took a pause. “You’re not allowed to say that name.”
“I’m so sorry, Richie. But, you need to stop living in the past. That’s why you ended up like this. You haven’t shaved properly; you barely talk to me, and now you’re in a hospital for unknown reasons. For God’s sake, you even live in a library. That’s not healthy.”
“I don’t care about health; I won’t accept the help of your dirty hands nor a job at this pre-cemetery. This place is cursed for me.”
“Richie…”
“Stop with the name Arthur, I always hated that name.”
“Fine then, I’ll come to see tomorrow morning. Carmilla and Julius wanted to see that they have an uncle.”
“I’ll take them to the library; I won’t allow you to keep them near this horrible place.”
“That’s enough for me. Please reconsider my offer, I'll bid you farewell brother.
###
I was told that the seek for knowledge was only for the brave, just like the men brave enough to sail into the unknown sea. I was told that curiosity got the best of many men. That anybody, who dared seeking something beyond his understanding could change humanity. And so, it happened.
###
Sun went down, the silence plagued the hospital and the moon illuminated the room. Richard filled with fear, his body refused to go to sleep. Until he couldn’t resist anymore, collapsing into a deep sleep. Within this dream, Richard hope for peace, he wish for everything to end in tranquility. However, he found himself yet again with the same creature behind him breathing and whispering nothing more than his name.
“T-Tell me, what do you want?”
“R-Richard…”
The creature grabbed Richard as he moved around him, pulling him towards the center of his stomach.
“S-Stopped!”
He couldn’t move a single muscle, the tension in his body wouldn’t let him. Even though he used all his strength to get out. He screamed, to the point of damaging his lungs while the lights daze him.
###
Richard yowled while his body contorted. The bed soaking with sweat, and his breath out of control. He woke up in the hospital he encountered before. Darkness consumed the room, and the lights completely dead. The dirty floated in the air, every electronic equipment seemed rotten and the whole room covered in roots. From the door came a bright reflection, and some footsteps from the hallway. Each bigger than the other, Richard went out to investigate, ask for help. Each footstep became closer and closer, a weird sound echoed the hallway. Richard approached the door with caution, the firm footsteps he heard before became a mix between firm and something sticky very viscous.
He opened the door and went outside, and he encountered something beyond anything he could ever imagined, something horrifying and mentally scarring. The lights came from the insides of those creatures. Finally, something triggered inside Richard. He couldn’t scream anymore, he couldn’t cry, but he could move at last. He broke out of his panic attack running as much as possible.
Richard became pure adrenaline; he couldn’t think properly. So, as he saw himself being ambush by the creatures, out of the heat of the moment, Richard launched himself against them. Kill them with his own fist. He fought until he noticed how the more creature kept coming back. A man’s mental state broke tonight by the terror he witnessed for hours, the dark blood all over him and the unspeakable knowledge he acquired. So, with the only pinch of reason left in his mind, he ran.
He ran across the dark and rotten hospital to find an exit. However, behind the door three more creatures were waiting for him. One of them, very tall and the other two smaller, but Richard didn’t question anything. He just went on the tall creature.
As Richard punched the creature to death, and something like the sun, has risen. The dark sun then became a normal sun gave light to this dark world. Slowly, the sunlight revealed the horrific truth of the world. He punched to death his younger brother in front of his kids. He became one of them, a horrendous creature, full of eyes and hair. Unable to scream, he agonized tarrying apart his clothes and skin. He cried his heart out.
###
Back in 1995, in a forgotten town down the south of England. Old and cursed, the town plagued with several houses with monsters, an empty University with a vast collection of books and a hospital full of sorrow. They say the creatures took the appearance of men, that they are now everywhere. Whatever they say, the truth remains, I lost my father to a man obsessed with the knowledge of God. And you could be the next.
###
Lightning bolts illuminated the room of the old library. Deep inside, a man looked at his reflection on the window as he talked.
“I’m Professor Richard Grant recording note 447. Last summer to the north of England, a group of people dove into a lake in the search of a treasure. They found an old chest that contains a very peculiar book. The book is now in my possession, and if it is what I think it is. It means my research will be over,” he stopped the recording, sat down and said, “And I will be at peace.”
Richard opened the book with an immense excitement that immediately after turned into disappointment. The black and golden book was full of black mixed white pages. He looked in every corner for something, a name, a mark or anything that could give meaning to the years of research wasted. Engendered with rage, Richard ripped the pages out of the book, dropping tears of fury with each page. As he kneeled down on the ground, the thunderstorm got louder and louder.
At the top of his lungs, Richard shouted, “Why won’t you let me do this God?”
Silence and darkness covered the library when the lighting stroke.
“Is anybody there?” Richard tried to look for a lantern, but behind him a sort of light glowed. “Oh, thank you for the li—” Richard turned around to see that nobody was there. The light was coming from the white pages and the black pages expanded covering the windows.
The pages on the floor lit up, bright as bonfire generating a huge shadow behind him. Out of the shadow came a voice with distortion in a very high pitch. “Richard—” the shadow said, but Richard froze at the shadow’s voice, it vibrated through his body.
The shadow to expanded wide behind Richard. On his back, Richard felt the crawl of a thousand spiders on his back kept his position while the shadow continued to call upon his name with more consistency. “Richard—” the name slowly became crystal clear and so his heartbeat increased.
Richard put all his strength trying to turn his back and see what was behind him. What he could see was the shadow expending, covering the light of the endless and empty place he is in.
“W-What are you?”
The shadow, now a full tangible creature came close to Richard. He laid his slimy skin and some fur on Richard’s shoulder. The creature struggled to speak, breathing and breathing harder next to Richard’s ear. The shadow covered all the light, and one by one let out dots of light that flashed with an extraordinary energy. It formed a mouth, soon to bite Richard.
###
It was once said that ignorance was a disease among men. That it was an island in the midst of a vast ocean. The ocean, full of knowledge, seemingly infinite and mysterious. Only the weak perish below the deep ocean in their journey for insight.
###
Richard slightly opened his eyes and at the sight of the ceiling lights and some shadow, he screamed, immediately he felt the cold sweat traveling across his back. Richard as he hyperventilated, he realized the familiar room he was in and the woman in the corner terrified by him. He was in the hospital room, one that Richard knew better than he could wish to know.
“Richard, are you good?” the Doctor asked as he approached Richard.
“I don’t know, Howard. Do I look good to you?” he asked in return as he lays down and points his whole body.
“It’s nice seeing you again. Although, not on these circumstances.”
“Yeah, I never guessed that I’ll be back at this hospital, especially like this,” Richard said almost mumbling and pointing on how weak he looks.
Howard read the papers he had in hand and asked, “Richard, do you remember what happened two days ago?”
“Wait, what?” he said with confusion. It took him a while to process what Howard said. “Wait, are you saying that I’ve been here for two days?”
“Two whole days,” he took a pause, “You know, I was very worried. When you got here, nobody knew what happened to you.” Howard grabbed Richard’s test results and read it, “No alcohol, no drugs, no cerebral damage. You were perfectly fine, healthy as a 50-year-old man can be. Then for some reason, you passed out for 2 days. Do you recall anything from that night?”
The question pierced Richard’s mind, within seconds flashbacks of that night came back to him. The voice, the touch and the light, in the moment those memories passed by, the heart monitor spiked. “I-I don’t know, the last thing I remember was working on usual. I know I saw something, maybe it was too much stress.”
Howard check the monitor, “Stress? Richard, there is something going on with you. Everything is perfectly fine in the exams, but you don’t look good,” Howard said as he showed the test result to Richard.
“Could you just do a quick test again and let me go? You know I hate hospital for more than one reason,” as they talked, Richard tried to get up.
“Let me check your eyesight first,” Howard pulled out a small flashlight and said, “Tell if you see the light.”
“What?”
Like static, the room was changing. The lights were flickering, and a distorted version of Howard’s voice resonated in Richard’s mind as if he as far, far away. The room went dark, all the light was consumed, the people were gone, and roots claimed the concrete building. The atmosphere got even heavier from before and the same distorted voice was calling for him. Richard from his bed looked the opened a dark door. The voice grew stronger, it approached the door, the light became brighter. And it said--
“Richard.”
“Huh? What happened Howard?”
“What happened? You space out for 2 bloody minutes, while I was checking your pupils you lost all vital functions,” he showed the small lantern and put it away. “You scared me.”
“2 minutes, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad,” Howard with worry looked at the pale Richard. “Oh, come on, Howard. I’ll be fine, just let me go before you know who, comes.”
“Fine, one more night, you’re staying here. I need to run some more exams on you. Oh, and you have visits, they’re waiting for you since earlier this morning.” He pointed at the door.
“Great,” he said with disgust.
The door opened and two little kids ran directly at Richard.
“Uncle Richie!” both kids shouted.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Howard said as he left the door.
“Off, you gremlins, I told you not to call me by that name. You learned that from Arthur?”
“Sorry, Brother. It’s just that I can’t stop calling you by that name. It fits you so well,” said a tall and well-dressed man.
“Tobias, what did I tell you to teach your kids inadequate language?”
“Inadequate language? That’s so cruel from your part Richie, that’s the nickname I gave you when we were young. I wish you could give me a nickname too.”
“That’s not going to happen, dear brother.”
“Carmilla, Julius could you please go and play outside the room?” The kids nodded. They ran outside, laughing, and Tobias closed the door.
Arthur opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Richard stop him, “Arthur, please don’t say it. I won’t agree, I said no before, and I’ll say it again.”
“Why not? Richie, it’s obvious that you’re having problems on your own. Look at you, you look terrible. Everything since what happened to Maria you—”
“Don’t you dare say that name,” Richard took a pause. “You’re not allowed to say that name.”
“I’m so sorry, Richie. But, you need to stop living in the past. That’s why you ended up like this. You haven’t shaved properly; you barely talk to me, and now you’re in a hospital for unknown reasons. For God’s sake, you even live in a library. That’s not healthy.”
“I don’t care about health; I won’t accept the help of your dirty hands nor a job at this pre-cemetery. This place is cursed for me.”
“Richie…”
“Stop with the name Arthur, I always hated that name.”
“Fine then, I’ll come to see tomorrow morning. Carmilla and Julius wanted to see that they have an uncle.”
“I’ll take them to the library; I won’t allow you to keep them near this horrible place.”
“That’s enough for me. Please reconsider my offer, I'll bid you farewell brother.
###
I was told that the seek for knowledge was only for the brave, just like the men brave enough to sail into the unknown sea. I was told that curiosity got the best of many men. That anybody, who dared seeking something beyond his understanding could change humanity. And so, it happened.
###
Sun went down, the silence plagued the hospital and the moon illuminated the room. Richard filled with fear, his body refused to go to sleep. Until he couldn’t resist anymore, collapsing into a deep sleep. Within this dream, Richard hope for peace, he wish for everything to end in tranquility. However, he found himself yet again with the same creature behind him breathing and whispering nothing more than his name.
“T-Tell me, what do you want?”
“R-Richard…”
The creature grabbed Richard as he moved around him, pulling him towards the center of his stomach.
“S-Stopped!”
He couldn’t move a single muscle, the tension in his body wouldn’t let him. Even though he used all his strength to get out. He screamed, to the point of damaging his lungs while the lights daze him.
###
Richard yowled while his body contorted. The bed soaking with sweat, and his breath out of control. He woke up in the hospital he encountered before. Darkness consumed the room, and the lights completely dead. The dirty floated in the air, every electronic equipment seemed rotten and the whole room covered in roots. From the door came a bright reflection, and some footsteps from the hallway. Each bigger than the other, Richard went out to investigate, ask for help. Each footstep became closer and closer, a weird sound echoed the hallway. Richard approached the door with caution, the firm footsteps he heard before became a mix between firm and something sticky very viscous.
He opened the door and went outside, and he encountered something beyond anything he could ever imagined, something horrifying and mentally scarring. The lights came from the insides of those creatures. Finally, something triggered inside Richard. He couldn’t scream anymore, he couldn’t cry, but he could move at last. He broke out of his panic attack running as much as possible.
Richard became pure adrenaline; he couldn’t think properly. So, as he saw himself being ambush by the creatures, out of the heat of the moment, Richard launched himself against them. Kill them with his own fist. He fought until he noticed how the more creature kept coming back. A man’s mental state broke tonight by the terror he witnessed for hours, the dark blood all over him and the unspeakable knowledge he acquired. So, with the only pinch of reason left in his mind, he ran.
He ran across the dark and rotten hospital to find an exit. However, behind the door three more creatures were waiting for him. One of them, very tall and the other two smaller, but Richard didn’t question anything. He just went on the tall creature.
As Richard punched the creature to death, and something like the sun, has risen. The dark sun then became a normal sun gave light to this dark world. Slowly, the sunlight revealed the horrific truth of the world. He punched to death his younger brother in front of his kids. He became one of them, a horrendous creature, full of eyes and hair. Unable to scream, he agonized tarrying apart his clothes and skin. He cried his heart out.
###
Back in 1995, in a forgotten town down the south of England. Old and cursed, the town plagued with several houses with monsters, an empty University with a vast collection of books and a hospital full of sorrow. They say the creatures took the appearance of men, that they are now everywhere. Whatever they say, the truth remains, I lost my father to a man obsessed with the knowledge of God. And you could be the next.
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