Sunset Tsunami – Issac Freeman

In Absence

Ethan MacLaren

Sea, Swallow Me.

— Elizabeth Fraser (Cocteau Twins & Harold Budd)

My last memory before dying was escaping the wretched walls of my asylum. My life ended about a week ago– or at least that’s what the sun suggests. Orion, a stranger whom I only discovered a day or so before my demise, led me to my liberation. I first met him waiting at the bus stop. 

********

I rest my head in mourning against the glass pane littered with advertisements for local events and worthless products. I hate the ingenuousness of it all; no one sincerely grins like that while volunteering at a recycling center. The people displayed in these posters only offered the act of a smile, a pose– not a smile from witnessing the birth of your child or the embrace of your lover. Despite this, I promise that my thoughts usually do not bear this weight of insufferable cynicism. The truth is, my emotions have been inflamed since the tragedy last month.

I lost the woman with whom I had searched our souls. Together, we found that no other piece of the Earth held the same vivid depths as our love. In our hearts, we shared a fire, and in her absence, I feel the flames consuming me. Only the aqueous tears that stream down my face and land on my chest keep the inferno at bay. 

My watery eyes remind me of the first time we met by Lake Grandeur. The professor of our shared American Literature course had taken us to view the unending horizon above the water, a lesson on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s transcendentalist philosophy. I liked the idea of finding oneself by embracing nature, and it was by this lake, mulling over Emerson’s texts, that my sublime lover revealed herself to me. With our class scattered around the water’s perimeter to observe it in all its glory, I chose to stand upon a hidden ledge that put me about a foot and a half closer to the lake than the rest of my peers. I stood with my legs stretched into a triangular shape for a stable base, tall and proud of my achievement. I felt that the lake knew my name, as though I alone stood close enough to cross the barrier between mortals and nature, sharing a deadly knowledge only we could bear. But then she came up behind me, wanting a clearer look, and I obstructed her view. Out of courtesy, I stepped aside to make room. As she approached, I had the sudden urge to warn her not to get any closer, for her mind could shatter with the knowledge upon the ledge. In a flash, however, her body moved more swiftly than my mouth, and I blinked in awe as she seemed to know the lake even better than I did. 

Her eyes boasted a shimmering metallic texture, and my instincts told me the lake’s secrets lay within them. 

“I wonder where it ends?” she asked regarding the infinite basin. 

Slightly taken aback by the soothing frigidness of her voice, I responded, “Perhaps it never does.” She glanced at me, smirked, and returned her eyes to the water. 

“I wish we had more nature on campus. For every brick building, we could probably fit about a hundred trees.” She replied.

“Yeah and if only they could fit a whole lake as well.” I noticed she smiled again, though this time maintained her gaze on the water. 

For the next minute, we stood in perfect silence and listened to the speech of the waves. Closer to the lake than the rest of our class, we became the King and Queen of the wind, water, and shore. 

We sat together on the bus back to campus. The students around us had already moved on from the lake, returning to their mortal lives to gossip about their exes and exchange addresses for parties. Even our professor was wholly occupied directing the bus driver who hadn’t the slightest clue of the route back home. Only the girl and I, who had become bonded by Earth’s will, seemed to remember ever having been at the lake. Our vision collectively metamorphosed; nature now always imposed itself to the foreground. As the world raced by through the window, we couldn’t help but capture every tree, cloud, and pebble. During our daily walks across campus together, we heard car’s engines humming like rustling leaves, the voices of students washed over us like waves, and her metallic eyes still shimmered like the sun over the lake’s surface. Years later, nature drew us back to Lake Grandeur, calling for us to host our wedding along its shore. In the same words that we spoke our vows, we worshiped and gave our prayers to the sublime.

Nature’s sublimity has died with her– the sky is no longer an open field, but a cage that constrains me; trees now stand too straight like a child’s Crayon drawing on a disposable menu; the birds sing a song meant to succeed on the radio, not fill the soul. 

While lamenting the loss of my lover and the betrayal of nature, I soon find that I shared the bus bench with another man. I swiftly straighten my body and subtly wipe my tears. Despite attempting to avoid eye contact, I sense the man’s eyes fixed on me. Embarrassed and dreading conversation, I glance back to the advertising posters, locking eyes with a model for some roofing company. However, now, in the model’s phony smile, I perceive an impression of death, as though their eyes glare at me full of emptiness. I have to choose to either look at the model or the man and in my flared emotional state, spiteful of the model’s white teeth and perfectly tiled roofing, I twist my body around to witness the gazing entity. 

The man bears silver hair, much too gray for the age I discern from his face. A thin beard of the same hue lines his jaw, complementing his metallic eyes that possess a haunting likeness to those of my lost lover. Engulfed by this discovery and pleading that I had found some remnant of her, I clutch the man’s eyes with my own, feeling as though Lake Grandeur shimmers once more. Under the false sky and between the artificial trees, my role with the man quickly reverses as I become the bizarre one staring at the other. Finally, he speaks, releasing me from his trance. 

He introduces himself as Orion, and I respond as Julian. 

******** 

I’ve yet to reach any afterlife during death. I suppose my persisting consciousness is an afterlife, but the only thing here is a black abyss. No god, devil, or spirits have presented themselves to me, only an infinite basin of shadows. My life was a short period of my existence, as only the eternal abyss lies ahead of me now. 

Floating through the dark abyss, I have discovered that for a few hours at a time, I can leave and roam the Earth as a wisp of a creature floating through the air and passing through walls; no one sees me and I can not interact with the physical world, like a ghost. However, I have only a limited time on Earth each day. Once my few hours are up, the abyss grabs me by my neck and reels me back in. Every day since dying, the abyss offers fewer hours to spend among the living. Today, I had just under thirty minutes, tomorrow I suspect hardly even ten. I spend every precious second hoping to find her ghost roaming around. I have visited our home, her grave, and even Orion’s bus bench, but since I haven’t reached her yet, I suppose she has used up all her time allowed on Earth. 

******** 

I feel egregiously embarrassed after crying in front of a stranger, but Orion drew no attention to my weeping. Half-joking, he asked,  “How delayed do you think this bus is gonna be, Julian?” 

I check my watch but can hardly calculate its tardiness with my lover’s eyes inserted on his face and muffling my thoughts. He seems like a reflection of my lost lover; I want to take his hand to check if he also shares the softness of her skin, smell his hair to see if he used the same shampoo, but I restrain my urges and simply reply, “No clue, but the damn thing is always running late.” 

I don’t mind the bus’s tardiness this time though. Every second spent inside our house constantly reminds me of her absence. While my soul has torn in two, so has the rest of our home. Since her funeral, my dishes pile up in the sink half as fast, laundry clutters the floor twice as slow, and the water bills have decreased considerably. I had forgotten the ease of living alone, and remembering tortured me like a nightmare. My chores have become less onerous upon my body, but my heart aches tenfold. No other tasks in the world could have satisfied me more than making dinner for the two of us or ironing her work clothes for the next week. 

For her job, she had a home office secluded from the rest of the house. Positioned in the corner, her prized rustic cocobolo desk spread across half that room– while hardly large enough to fit all of her notes and sketches, she wouldn’t have traded that desk for any other in the world. I haven’t worked up the courage to clear it out yet. Keeping her desk cluttered means there’s another task for me to complete, a chore that should have been taken up by her. 

“You going home from work?” Orion inquires. 

I respond yes and ask the same of him.

“No, I haven’t worked in years. I don’t think I would last another second in an office. The whole atmosphere of an office is poisoned, you feel? It’s all filtered through the dusty AC system, and the dead paint on all the walls seeps into the air.” 

“Why not apply for a job outside an office? There’s plenty of opportunities around this town.” I suggest. 

“You see, the thing is that the whole world’s been infected. The poisoned air doesn’t just stay in the buildings, it spills out into the parking lots, goes down the roads, ruins our parks, and even intrudes into our own homes.” Orion’s articulation becomes increasingly enthusiastic the longer he rants. 

At the same time, he speaks to me with the ease of talking to an old friend. I don’t respond with much, but repeatedly nod so he knows he has my attention. Finally, after telling me how humans have turned the planet into a devilish creature, he ends his long tangent. During a slight pause, he studies my face, waiting for a response.

“How long has it been?” Orion starts after I fail to speak. 

“Well I’ve been waiting here for about 15 minutes, and the bus was supposed-”

“Not that, how long since the funeral?” 

Nausea settles into my bones. Orion’s words strike my chest like a lion’s claws digging into a sick antelope. How could he have known about her? Is he a supernatural creature that can read minds? A scam artist trained to exploit the mourning? An obsessed serial stalker who has assumed the characteristics of my lover and now awaits my affection? Or perhaps he is simply God? 

“I don’t mean to frighten you, as your eyes just dilated to the size of the sun, but I’ve been in your position before. There’s a certain viscosity and contour to the tears of a loved one.”

He waits for a response. I remain silent. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude on your personal life, but I know how helpful it can be to talk to someone about it. Especially a stranger you never have to see again.”

I should be furious that this man wants me to tell him about my deceased wife. My self-respect should have me jump out of my seat and release a series of rageful obscenities to scold him for his inappropriate behavior. I even catch the perpetually grinning actors sorting trash and roofing tiles cocking back their arms to reach out their posters and slap him across the face. Despite every force of nature willing me to detest his speech, I regrettably blurt out, “You have her eyes.” 

Before I can feel the full wave of my impending embarrassment, Orion grins and responds without calling attention to the absurdity of my words. 

“You can’t lose your mind over it, Julian. This world doesn’t deserve our emotions. It tears at our hearts when we’re already down, and then walks over us when we need help. Not even the air helps us breathe anymore.” 

Orion’s words struck me like sublimity’s death and nature’s falseness. The sky, now a soft pink with streaks of orange, mocks me in my mourning; though colorful, in her absence, it merely looks like a photographed sunset glued to a canvas above.  

“I get that. The world seems bleaker after it all happened, but I still want to appreciate the air and everything else in nature.” I offer. 

“You’re right, Julian, and I believe nature deserves our appreciation. But we live in an asylum, and true nature exists beyond the walls that confine us.” Just as Orion finishes his sentence, the bus arrives. 

“I want to give you this. I know the feelings haunting you now, and this helped me through my challenges.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. 

“Here’s a group I’ve been going to for a few years. Come around when you’re ready. The air’s clean in this place.”

I take the card and swiftly follow Orion onto the bus. I hardly fit with the passengers shoulder to shoulder, so I squeeze myself between the crowd and suck my stomach in as the door closes. Though Orion stands behind me, the crowd restricts my body from turning to face him. Of the unsynchronized breaths warming up my neck, I try recognizing Orion’s; the slow and heavy breath to my left must come from a much stouter man; the quick wheezing blowing across the top of my head from someone taller; the loud airy gasping from a man who works in an office. I start wondering whether Orion had any breath at all. 

The bus arrives at my stop and I look back into the crowd as I descend, expecting to see Orion behind where I stood, but only witnessing a sea of unknown faces. I can’t imagine where he went considering the dense crowd. Before I have any time to catch a glimpse of the people behind the front row, the bus departs and leaves me alone on the curb. I quickly forget about Orion’s ghost-like disappearance and make my way down to the house. 

********

Only one day remained for me after the initial encounter with Orion. I never completely solved his disappearance on the bus, but I begin to doubt if he ever even stepped on at all. 

********

As I walk back to the house, under the artificial sky, I inspect the card Orion handed me. On the front, bold green text spells out the phrase, “Healing Circle” overlaying a photo of a group gathered around in chairs. On the back, I find their address and phone number. I immediately recognize the street; we used to walk it every other Friday night to go to Cafe Vert and listen to their live music. She reeled me into this routine because she adored their performances and fussed whenever we had to miss them. I teased her for her obsession, but the music spoke to her in a language I never understood. She had a particular fondness for the piano lady, though we only knew her as Li because of her hat with the letters embroidered onto it. 

Before the cafe at the corner of the street, I remember a building established inconspicuously among the retail stores with a green sign hanging over the sidewalk. Though I never paid much attention to it, I realize now that the sign read, “The Healing Circle”. It was a support group for mental health, and not once passing it with my hands intertwined in hers did I ever consider attending it myself. 

As I reach our house and enter through the side door, I imagine her face lighting up as Li dances her fingers along the piano keys. I switch on the lights, half expecting to see her lying on the couch with eyes full of music, but I come upon the room too clean and quiet. The only mess left in the house presides in the office across her cocobolo desk. She got the desk through a bitter argument with Mr. Goursuch, the owner of our local butcher shop just a few blocks from Cafe Vert. After failing to prepare her prepaid catering order of enough sausages and chicken thighs to feed her entire work building, Mr. Goursuch only offered 30 bucks to our $450 payment. While my lover usually flowed calmly like the runoff of rainfall, at a moment’s notice she could turn her shimmering eyes into bitter ice and orate with a sharp frigidovertone sitting at the tip of her tongue. Against my lover’s verbal assault, Mr. Goursuch initially stood his ground like a stubborn mountain, but she eventually iced him out. She hung his pride in the freezer next to the rest of his livestock and forced him to concede his autonomy. While she ended up delivering a full catering order to her colleagues, she also managed to negotiate taking the desk sitting behind his counter, a wholly unnecessary prize that she kept as a glistening trophy holed up in her office. Partly in awe, partly in fear, I tried my best to remain in her good graces. Luckily, I experienced the warmth of sitting together on the couch far more than her glacial bitterness. 

I lay across our couch and imagine the cushions as her arms and the pillows as her torso. I let out a sigh as I stretch across the furniture and reflect on Orion’s words from the bus bench. I can’t help but suffocate in my own house now, feeling the dust settle at the bottom of my lungs from the AC-filtered oxygen. The only mercy I am offered is when I eat dinner, the same meal I’ve had for a month. Though every bite of my unseasoned chicken and square potatoes tastes the same, the act of chewing and swallowing monetarily spares me from having to breathe the air. Even when I wash my food down with a drink, the water blocks any oxygen from poisoning me. During my shower, I hold my breath and put my face under the running water, but the pattering drops aren’t enough. I prepare a bath and submerge my torso. Under the water, I breathe clearer than ever, and after a couple of minutes, when I come back up, I drown in the air. The merciful water reminds me of Orion. His presence washed over my body like waves creeping up on the beach shore; the waves only meet the shore for a short while, but they cool them from the scorching sun. Yearning for his cool presence once more, I decide to attend the Healing Circle. 

********

I am visiting our home in the short eight minutes the Abyss offers today. The house is neither mine nor my lovers anymore, but I find it occupied by a half dozen police officers investigating my disappearance. They scour every crevice in every room, searching between the couch cushions, the bathtub, and even my microwave. They find no leads to my whereabouts, but just the remnants of two lovers separated by a month. The only evidence of life is my unfinished draft proposal and the mess she left across her grainy cocobolo desk. Sketches of submarine frames lay scattered on top of notes recording pressure calculations and oxygen tanks. She took great care in her voyaging torpedoes of the ocean, measuring every metal plate out to the exact quarter inch and the density of every nut and bolt with perfect precision. In the closet of her office, the police find the empty box of her scuba gear with extra oxygen tanks surrounding it.

My vision is starting to become hazy with black spots obscuring my eyes, a sign that the abyss has its fingers wrapped around my neck to reel me back in. With time fleeting, I scramble to capture the clearest image of our old house in my mind, hoping to remember every corner and divot once I’m completely cut off from the Earth. I don’t know if the abyss will offer more time tomorrow, but in my desperate final moments, I hear the police speaking on the phone– something about my corpse. 

********

I get up slowly this Saturday morning. I left the only work I have today on the kitchen counter: drafting a proposal for the company’s new Outreach Program. Usually, I would have completed it during the week, but my efforts have been lazier ever since she died. I returned to work a day after the funeral, and the bosses noticed my sluggish arrival and unkempt look–I had grown uneven stubble and long hair disheveled. Though sympathetic to my trauma, they needed me at my best during their critical relaunch period. Since I could hardly finish my work, much less with any competency, they threatened to suspend or replace me entirely; grief had no place in their corporation. 

I make a late breakfast, the same as every day before, composed of eggs, sausage, and a cup of fruit. I grudgingly start writing my draft as I wait for my food to cool down. With my pen in hand and the eggshell-colored paper beneath it, I feel transported back into the office. Long fluorescent lights buzz above my head and dusty air spins around the room from the AC’s current. The decorations on my wall seem to disappear and only a dead blank surface remains. I can’t tell whether I’m in an office or a hospital. I become nauseated and drop my pen into my fruit cup. I nearly collapse into my eggs and sausages but catch myself. I can’t bear to look at the draft any longer, so I get up and start a cold bath.

The water soothes me, bringing my mind to a calm land. During my spell of clarity, I decide that I must quit my job before it kills me, so on a new sheet of paper, I write a letter of resignation. I should give it to my bosses on Monday, but I fear my judgment may change if I wait the whole weekend. To ease my nerves, I seal the letter into an envelope and mail it to the office. I feel immoral leaving the company high and dry without notice, but I reason that they already planned on firing me. 

I spend the rest of the daylight thinking about Orion. The Healing Circle has a meeting tonight, and my only motivation for going is to see him again. I am not sure if I wish to see him out of desire or resentment. His eyes match my lovers, and they both can peer into the same parts of my soul, but Orion’s revelation of the air’s impurity has suffocated me all last night. His doctrine has caused a fog to reside in my brain, leaving me unemployed and unable to firmly grip a pen. When I see him at the Healing Circle, I will demand that he relieve me of this spell.  

I never noticed the graffiti over their hanging green sign. A smiley face had been boldly drawn at the bottom of the text, and next to it, a faint frowning face had been rubbed out. I debate going down the street to listen to the Vert Cafe’s weekend jazz show, but through the glass pane of the Healing Circle, I see Orion standing amongst a sea of people. 

As I walk in, I enter a jungle. Artificial grass covers the entire floor and huge photos of woodlands decorate the walls. From the ceiling, vines crawl around and obscure the grey square tiles over the air ducts. Small groups of people stand scattered around the room in front of a circle of chairs. They all seemingly wait for the session to get started. Orion stands alone, by the portion of the wall displaying a picture of a raging river. The photo is intimate, personal to the water as if you can feel its power emanating through the wall. The photographer must have felt its pellets of water-like bullets against his face as he knelt and waited for the waves to crash into the jagged rocks, boasting the perfect photo. Occupied by the river, Orion hasn’t noticed me yet. I start walking over to say hello, but before I reach him, the loud voice of a woman spreads across the room like the potent river. She calls the session to begin and everyone takes their seat around the circle.  

I try sitting next to Orion, but the chairs fill up too quickly. I end up across from him and next to strangers. Though I should consider Orion a stranger as well, I feel like I’ve known him for much longer. The session starts but the lead woman forgoes any introductions, I suppose most of these people come here regularly as they all seem to have a small group to talk among. Throughout the session, I quickly pick up on the tragedies that bring everyone in. A few seats to my left, a young man in his early 20s spoke of a fatal car crash with his parents, killing both of them instantly. Now, he grapples with the guilt of receiving what they left to him in their will. A woman in a turquoise jacket across from me told the group of her cancer diagnosis– though her jacket masked the drained color from her face. Sitting among this group, I feel like a criminal. I have no intention of gaining any support during my time here, I merely want to see Orion who doesn’t speak a single word the entire time. It occurs to me that I have no clue what tragedy haunts his past, only that he had the supernatural ability to understand my own trauma. 

Once the session ends, I rush over to finally greet him. In the supportive atmosphere of the room, I forget my resentment against him. He smiles and exclaims in delight that I made it. 

“You were right about the air in here, Orion. It feels much cleaner.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah, but I’m just curious as to why?” 

Orion chuckles before responding. “I don’t know Julian, can you tell me what you think?” 

Though slightly annoyed at his leading question, I gather my thoughts and give it my best shot. 

“I was thinking maybe the green around the room offers a strong enough illusion of nature. It could also be tears dripping from everyone’s eyes that filter the dusty air.”

“Tears, you think? How do you figure that?” 

“Well I’m not entirely sure, it’s more of a gut feeling.” 

He stares at me, unsatisfied with my answer, so I continue, “After I thought a lot about what you said to me yesterday on the bus bench, about the air being poisoned and all, I couldn’t even appreciate the sky or trees the same way while walking home. But then, when I took a bath last night, after plunging my head into the water, I felt free from the world. It’s the most calm I’ve felt since she died.” 

Orion, intrigued, asked “And you think the tears are similar to your bath?” 

“It could be,” I reply.

“Well, to be honest with you, Julian, I only said that to get you to come here.” 

“What? About the poisonous air?” I fear I’ve quit my job over nothing. 

“No, that part remains true, Julian. I meant telling you that the air in here is any better than outside.”

My fear shifts from my unemployment to Orion’s motives, “So why do you want me here at all?” 

“Few people ever learn the truth about our world, much less the path to escaping it. The fact you’ve discovered the true nature of water in a single night tells me everything I need to know about you, Julian.”

“What are you talking about? We met yesterday, you don’t know me, and I don’t know any truth about the world or any escape from it.” My fear presents as anger. The room starts eyeing us, so Orion deescalates my nerves.

“Look, I don’t mean to upset you. I can tell you more, but not here. We have to go somewhere else for that.” 

I scoff and stagger backward. A magnetic force pulls my body towards the exit, a sign that I should leave the Healing Circle and never return. 

“I’ve only known you for a day and I have no reason to follow you anywhere. It’s not like I just came here for you” I lie.

“Of course not Julian. You’re here because of her.”

“Don’t speak of her and my loss like you know me. You don’t even know her name.”

“And do you?” Orion’s challenge causes my head to spin. 

I stare into his eyes to view Lake Grandeur shimmering, hoping to find her name within them, but it is lost to me. My heart falters and the artificial grass under my feet begins dragging me down. 

Orion catches me when I fall and he insists, “Julian, if you follow me to escape this false world, we will find her name together” 

In my desperate deliberation, while looking up at his metallic eyes, I notice a miniscule imperfection under his thin beard: a brown birthmark on the edge of his chin, the same as my lover. At this moment, I denounce nature and pledge my allegiance to him. I know the only way to find her name again is to follow him to the ends of the Earth. 

He smiles and gestures to the river on the wall. 

“We will escape there and find her name as well.”

I climb into his passenger seat to drive with him. I’ve lost autonomy over my body, and the car carries me like a hospital bed. The night sky looms over us, but now I can see the true asylum ceiling hanging behind the stars. Orion runs off the main road and drives along a dirt path through the woods. The trees no longer fool me, for I notice the glue that sticks them to the walls. We finally reach our destination: a lake much smaller than Grandeur but large enough to lose a pair of goggles in. The car’s fluorescent headlights, pointing into the river and reflecting off the misty air, provide the only light. We exit the vehicle and sit among the rocks on the shore. 

“Her name lies here, under the surface, in the infinite basin.” Orion’s voice matches the chill of the night.

“I have to get out of the asylum, Orion. It’s taken my lover’s name from me.” My lips remain stagnant, but Orion hears every word. 

“Follow me, for she awaits you in the depths.” Orion stands up, inches towards the shore’s edge, and descends into the lake. 

I follow suit. With every step into the frigid water, my body slowly fades away, and soon, only my head remains dry. As my eyes peak above the surface, I take a large breath and catch a last glimpse of the Earth; beneath, the boundless abyss swallows me. Finally, my body vanishes from the Earth, and I have escaped the poisoned world. 

I feel the ground under my feet fall away, and the liquid surges through my veins up to my brain. I release my final breath of air from my lungs and breathe in peace under the water. I hear my lover’s voice call my name, but I wish she would yell out her own. I try remembering it, but her name floats through the infinite basin. I float as well, and I soon enter the abyss. 

********

I have no time left on Earth. The abyss offered my last three minutes today, and I’ve already used them all up. During my last minutes today, I visited my body in the morgue located in the basement of the hospital’s psychiatric wing. They had shaved my stubble and trimmed my hair to make me look more presentable, as requested by my family. The police had reported my disappearance to my parents and notified them immediately after finding my corpse in the lake during a long and thorough search, the only body they ever found. 

If I am to glimpse the Earth again, I must find my lover, for the only remnant of the planet lies within her metallic eyes that boast the shimmering Lake Grandeur. I have an eternity ahead of me, and an eternity I shall spend searching for her so I can relearn her name and tend to the fire in our hearts. I will swim to every corner of infinity until I find the submarines she sketched across her desk; once I knock on its glass window, she will open the hatch and embrace each other’s grace. Finally, during our remaining eternity together, we shall explore every depth of the sea.

^{Neon – Samantha Brock}

What We Leave Unsaid

Benya Wilfret

Claire hated being noticed. It unraveled her, like a stray thread tugged free from a carefully stitched seam. But the man watching her wasn’t just anyone. His gaze pinned her to the polished barstool, steady and dark, as though he’d already decided who she was.

He stood at the far end of the bar, a whiskey glass in hand, his posture deliberate yet unassuming. For a moment too long, their eyes met. Her chest tightened, her pulse quickened, and she turned back to her gin and tonic. He couldn’t know her—just another guest surveying the room. And yet, when she glanced back, he was walking toward her.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice low but sharp.

The practiced smile came easily. “I don’t think so.”

His silence stretched just long enough to unsettle her, his gaze unflinching. “Not yet, then.”

The venue was too perfect, its edges smoothed to an unnatural shine. Polished hardwood floors, muted greens, fairy lights strung with a precision that begged to look effortless. It wasn’t just expensive—it was curated, a museum of happiness. Claire swirled her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. The decorations reminded her of lies people told themselves, dressed up to look softer than they were.

Ethan—he introduced himself eventually—didn’t belong in the tableau. He stood too still, watching the crowd like a man counting cracks in the facade. His observations came unbidden, each one cutting through the room’s carefully staged joy.

“That guy,” he said, nodding toward the best man fumbling with his tie, “is in love with her.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know that.”

“Watch him. The stammering when he gives a toast, the way he avoids looking at her too long. He wants to say something, but he won’t.”

“It’s a little cliché,” she replied, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Clichés exist because they’re true,” Ethan said. “And weddings are full of them.”

Claire hated how right he seemed. The best man’s nervous glances, the trembling in his hands—they all hinted at something unresolved. She looked away, the weight of Ethan’s words settling over her. Weddings weren’t about vows or speeches, were they? They were about silences—the things people didn’t say.

The courtyard was colder than Claire expected. The fountain gurgled softly, its rhythm uneven, like the sound of rain against glass. She perched on the fountain’s edge, heels dangling from her fingers, her gin and tonic forgotten beside her. Ethan stood a few steps away, his whiskey untouched, his posture suddenly rigid.

“Do you ever think about how much had to happen to get you here?” he asked.

Claire tilted her head. “Here at this wedding? Or here in general?”

“Both,” he said. “Every decision, every chance, every tiny thing. It all adds up to this. Us, here, tonight. Feels fragile, doesn’t it?”

The words made her shift uncomfortably. The sound of the fountain grew louder in her ears, blending with memories she had worked hard to suppress. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Ethan set his whiskey on the fountain’s edge, his fingers lingering on the glass. “Sometimes it’s not about things you don’t say,” he said softly. “It’s about the things you’ll never say.”

Claire’s breath caught, her grip tightening on the cold stone beneath her. “I don’t understand.”

“No,” he said, his jaw clenching as his gaze fixed on the dark horizon. “You do.”

Her pulse quickened, the sound of the fountain warping into the screech of tires, the twist of metal, the rain on the windshield. She forced herself to steady her voice. “Why are you here?”

Ethan’s eyes met hers, darker now, sharper. “To see what kind of life someone builds after they tear one apart.”

Her stomach twisted, the ground beneath her seeming to shift. “I don’t know what you think—”

“You do,” he interrupted, his voice unwavering. “You just wish you didn’t.”

The memory came in fragments. Rain streaking the windshield, the road slick and endless. The screech of tires. Twisting metal. Silence. A courtroom. Carefully rehearsed apologies. A name she had refused to learn.

She sat in her car, the wedding a blur behind her. Her hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling as the weight of an unnamed dread pressed down on her chest. When the search results appeared, her breath hitched.

The name burned on the screen, stark and undeniable: Ethan. The rain, the screech, the silence crashed back into her mind like a storm she had spent years outrunning. Ethan. He wasn’t just a guest. He was the teenager’s brother. From the moment he’d walked up to her, he had known exactly who she was. Their meeting wasn’t chance. It was deliberate.

But why?

Had he wanted an apology? An explanation? Or something simpler: to see the life she had kept living while his brother’s had ended? He had taken nothing from her—not anger, not forgiveness. Only a quiet reminder of what she couldn’t undo.

It wasn’t his absence that haunted her. It was the truth he’d left behind—and the growing sense that running wasn’t enough anymore.

The road stretched empty ahead, winding into the night. For years, she had told herself it was behind her, that she had left it far enough away to fade. But now, she saw it clearly: the road hadn’t taken her anywhere. It had only circled back, waiting patiently for her return.

In Orbit – Tanner Bradford

Widespread Wisdom for Witches and Wizards

Rachel Mencer

In a town not very far from Cincinnati, Ohio, there was a school that was magically hidden from everyone, but for a very few people, the people who went there. This school was called Widespread Wisdom for Witches and Wizards. This is where myself and my best friend Cleo live. I have been here for as long as I can remember learning magic. 

If you are picturing Hogwarts or the Salvatore Boarding School, you are picturing how it looks on the inside of our school. Here at Widespread Wisdom, it is just like any normal school you would see on the outside, but on the inside, it is clearly a very magical place. The grounds aren’t super fancy or mysterious. Everything here is very normal to the outside world, except for the fact that this is a boarding school full of witches and wizards learning magic. Our headmistress says that we participate just enough so that the townspeople and other schools don’t get suspicious of us. She likes to tell me, “Daphne, we have to have some participation with the other schools in the town, otherwise they will start to dig into why we don’t. And if they end up digging, then that means that the safety and secrets of the students in this school will be compromised.” 

Now let’s jump right into the real reason that you are here. It was around lunchtime last Thursday, and people were going crazy, and that’s when I heard a voice that was very familiar to me. 

“Daphne! Hey, what are your plans this weekend? If you aren’t doing anything, I would love to hang out.”

This bubbly voice that chirped from behind me belongs to my best friend, Cleo. Cleo has always been a super gentle and happy person, which is very infectious to everyone around her. We began our lovely conversation about weekend plans when suddenly there was a loud bang coming from the other side of the cafeteria. Of course, the boys were up to something because, as we have always been told, “make sure to keep out of trouble,” which normally means stay away from the wizards. 

I was so caught up in the conversation with Cleo that I didn’t even realize that there was a magic spell hurtling towards me. The spell has a violet glow to it and shone very brightly. The shine from the spell lit up the cafeteria and I saw textures in the stone walls that I have never seen before. There are cracks all over them, and you can tell that each one has a very interesting story behind it. One minute I was admiring the newfound characteristics of the cafeteria that I have sat in every day since I was seven, and the next everything went black and all that I could here was my brother shouting at another wizard. 

George has always been a protective big brother and doesn’t like when people mess with me. George is screaming at this poor wizard that I have never met before. 

“How dare you hurt my little sister, Oscar! You need to be more careful where you aim your spells! If Daphne is injured in any way, you will have a lot of trouble coming your way!” George screams as he berates this poor guy. The next thing I remember hearing is George telling the nurse to take very good care of me and to call him when I wake up. 

I slowly start to open my eyes and see the black circles slowly start to disappear from my vision. As I look to my left, I can see a tall wizard looking at me with very concerned brown eyes.  

“Are you okay? I am so sorry, I can’t even begin to apologize. George is going to kill me. I hope you are okay, Daphne! I have been waiting here for hours. It just felt wrong to leave you alone after all this is my fault.” The boy rambles on. 

I sit up and look at him, confused and grumply, and say, “Well, you really need to watch where you aim your spells because someone could really get hurt!” 

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were way too harsh. Not that long ago, I played around with spells and ended up breaking mom’s favorite vase, and she gave me a very similar lecture to what I just gave this quiet and very apologetic brunette. 

“I know, but the boys were giving me a really hard time because I was struggling to get to grips with the new Paddle Club team, and I lost my temper. I ́m so sorry I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Oscar, I moved here from a similar school in Australia.” As soon as those words left his mouth, I realized that he did have a very interesting accent. Paddle Club is a team game that requires the players to be on a horse while playing a game called paddle and they can use magic to help them and make obstacles for the other team. 

A loud crash from the door opening brought me back to reality. George comes storming in and gives the biggest bear hug ever. After he finally lets me go he looks me over from head to toe to make sure that nothing had happened and to make sure that there wasn’t a single scratch on me. When he got to my bandaged elbow he looked me in the eyes, and I could see visible concern on his face. When George started to turn around to look at Oscar, you could see the concern turn to rage. Oscar looks at the ground in a lost puppy-dog kind of way. 

George said, “You are lucky my sister is in the room because if she wasn’t, who knows what I’d do. Come on Daphne, lets go!” 

George grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the nurse’s office. When I was in front of him George turned around to Oscar and quietly said, “Oh, and Oscar, stay away from my sister because if you hurt her again I will do things to you that you couldn’t imagine.” 

George thinks he is being very discreet, but in fact, I heard every word. I’m not too sure if I 100% agree with him on this one. Am I mad at Oscar about what happened? Of course, I am but that doesn’t mean my brother needs to be the overprotective guard dog. Every time I think about my older brother, my protector, and how irritating it is. He is like a pit bull or a terrier, but I have to remember why he is the way he is.

George has always been protective of me. Our parents charged him with taking care of me at school. Last year, he was goofing off with one of his friends, and then the school was under attack. In the attack, he couldn’t find me and I was very badly injured. George blames himself for my getting hurt that day. I never blamed him, but no matter how many times I tell him that it wasn’t his fault, he never believes me. George used to be so much more relaxed and not as much of a helicopter brother like he is now. I never really knew why George was so hard on himself for the day of the attack. If anything, it was my fault that I got hurt as badly as I did that day.

The day of the attack is a story to get into another time. 

After George had safely returned me to my room, Cleo ran up to me and squeezed me as hard as she could and did the exact same inspection that George had done moments before. 

“Cleo, she is fine but please try and keep her safe in her bed or at least the room for the rest of the day just to make sure.” George ordered in his very deep and stern tone. Even though he seemed like he had everything together if you look long enough into his eyes you could see that even though he was serious there were flashes of concern in his eyes. 

“George she will be fine I promise. I know you are her older brother, but you really need to take a chill pill. I mean we are at a school for witches and wizards. What did you expect for no one to ever get hit with a spell or get a little bit hurt?” Cleo said as she stared at him down. 

George didn’t answer her question. All he did was give me a stern look and then a big hug and a kiss on my forehead. 

“Daphne, is it me or has your brother gotten even more overbearing and overprotective this year?” Cleo asked with a little bit of confusion laced into her voice. 

“It’s definitely not just you! Ever since the attack last year it has been George the smotherer everytime something as little as a paper cut happens to me. Cleo you should have seen the way he tore into poor Oscar! I mean it was an accident that everyone in this entire school has done at least once, even him!” The longer I rant the louder my voice got. 

 ̈Daphne, you need to take a deep breath. You are starting to get frustrated and that’s not important right now. How about you tell me more about Oscar in an inside voice without exploding anything with your magic,” Cleo whispered in a calm, even tone so that we both could relax and bring the tension down. 

That whole evening we talked about everything and nothing at the same time. We both ended up falling asleep within an hour of when the conversation started.

The next day we had class about advanced position making. Since this was an advanced class I was with George and the other juniors. I was the only sophomore in the class, or so I thought. I was staring at the door when I saw him walk in. 

“Daphne are you okay? Stop staring and start focusing on class!” George said through a laugh as he walked past me to his seat. As soon as I heard George ́s voice I snapped out of it. I stuck my tongue out at him as he walked past me. George gave me the exact same look but with a little more enthusiasm. 

I heard a small, very quiet  “Hey.” Oscar had magically appeared in the seat next to me. 

“Hey Oscar,” I smile. “Very bold of you to take your chances with the wrath of my brother sitting next to me.” 

“Well Daphne don’t flatter yourself too much. I ́m sitting here because I was told to by the teacher since I ́m new and you are the only other sophomore in the class.” As Oscar says that with the attitude of a race car driver who thinks he’s better than everyone else, my cheeks go bright red. 

 “I was. I mean I didn’t. That’s not how I meant it at all–” I babbled on.  

“Relax. I was only kidding. I didn’t mean to get you all flustered. And to answer the questioning look in our eyes, no I’m not scared that your brother is going to. I mean is he scary? Yes. Is he going to scare me off from doing my best in school and maybe making friends with his sister? Absolutely not,” Oscar laughed. 

The way he carries himself and acting brave and tough I can tell that he means at least half of what he said. 

*****

Lunch time again, but this time to my surprise I ́m looking for a place to sit with Oscar of all people. If you told me that this guy was super funny and fun to hang out with this time yesterday I would have laughed in your face. I’m glad that he’s a new friend and that we are getting along better than before. Even though George is not too happy about it.

During lunch,George came and sat between Oscar and I. 

“What is your…” Before I could even finish the sentence that was about to come out of my mouth the cafeteria wall broke down and a dragon came smashing into the school. 

Everyone hopped up and got ready to fight this deranged beast. Impulsively, I jumped up and started walking towards the dragon.

“Daphne, what the hell are you doing!” George screamed at me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind him. I don’t know why but I felt like I knew this scary beast in some kind of way. Even though it may seem very strange, those eyes looked so familiar to me. They looked like George’s and my eyes? I mean we don’t have any other siblings. It’s just George and I, so there is no reasonable explanation to why I felt so drawn to this dragon.

Every witch and wizard in the school rallied together to fight the dragon, but the dragon

didn’t seem to care. It moved closer and closer to us and breathed out a crimson-colored smoke. My vision went patchy and then–blackness.

When I awoke, my vision was blurry, but I didn’t recognize my surroundings. The walls around me looked as if they had been scorched multiple times. The ground beneath me felt ashy and cold. A breeze came through and made me shiver. I curled up and try to sleep and pretend that I ́m anywhere else but here.

At the Cafeteria

The fog cleared, and the students looked around.  

“Guys, where’s Daphne? She was here one minute and gone the next.” George said in a panicked tone. His eyes scanned the room like a dog looking for its favorite toy after its owner had pretended to throw it. 

“George, relax, we will figure something out I promise we will find her,” Oscar comforted. 

George looked Oscar in the eyes and can tell that he meant it. “Thanks, Oscar, that means a lot, but where do we start? The last thing I remember is seeing a dragon and smoke,” George stated with a defeated tone. 

Cleo cleared her throat, “Well, if you boys would actually pay attention to what is going on here, then you would know that we are working on a locator spell to be able to find Daphne. George, we will need something that belongs to her so that we can do the spell.” 

George stared into space for a little while, pondering what he might have of Daphne’s. Then it hit him and he looked in his backpack to find it.  

“George, what are you looking for? Would it be easier if we go to our room and grab something?” Cleo asked. 

“No, I almost have it! There it is!” He exclaimed as he pulled a locket out of a small zipper pocket of his bag. George ́s eyes watered looking at the locket; his grip tightened around it, not wanting to let it go. 

“George, what’s wrong? We need that to be able to find Daphne.” Oscar spoke with a concerned look on his face. 

“It’s just. I don’t . . .  I don’t want anything bad to happen to my sister. I would not be able to live with myself if she gets hurt again and I wasn’t there again! Daphne doesn’t know that I have this locket. I remember grabbing it after last year’s incident and decided to keep it with me as a reminder of how important she is to me and that I need to be there to protect her.” George wept. 

The realization hit both Cleo and Oscar that George was more sensitive than everyone knew and

that the reason he acted all gruff and tough was because he didn’t want anything to happen to Daphne.

Wide-eyed Cleo extended her hand and said, ̈Please give me the locket George. I promise that I will give it back as soon as we finish the locator spell. The faster we get this locator spell done the faster we will find Daphne.”

George looked on the inside of the locket one more time where the picture of him and his sister was displayed. He turned the picture over and revealed a photo of Daphne and another boy the same age as her. George quickly flipped the photo back over and closed the locket. He nodded his head and passed the locket to Cleo. 

After the locator spell was cast Cleo handed George the locket. Oscar, Cleo, and George quickly started to follow the giant purple arrow in the sky to be able to find Daphne. All three of them called Daphne’s name and prepared to fight the dragon who took her. Oscar could tell that George was starting to panic because it had been three hours since they had last seen Daphne. 

Oscar was a little bit panicked as well; he didn’t want one of his new friends to be in danger any longer. The big question that everyone asked themselves was why out of everyone did the dragon only take Daphne? Why not anyone else? What could the dragon want?

Daphne

I woke from my nap to see that my clothes were all torn and burnt. I was very surprised that I didn’t wake up from all of this happening, but then I realized that I wasn’t asleep. The dragon must have done something to make me forget what had happened to me. 

I looked down at my legs and saw that they were severely burnt; when I tried to move to touch them to see if this was really happening, pain shot up through my entire body. It felt like my insides were on fire with every small movement I made. All I could do was just stay where I was and pray for this all to be over. 

My eyes started to get heavier and heavier with every passing minute. Then suddenly I heard a deep and menacing voice come from the deepest shadows of the underground tunnel. 

“Daphne, you are finally here and I can tell you the truth that those liars you call family and friends have been keeping from you. You are just too kind to everyone, sis, and that is why I need you to be with me so that I can open your eyes to the real world and what is the truth and protect you from liars. Mom and Dad have kept us apart for way too long and that’s why you don’t even know who I am. Let me introduce myself, I am your twin brother. Dustin.” 

As Dustin lurked out of the darkness I could see this big scary dragon turn into a slim young man with beady eyes. I tried to back away but the pain was unbearable and that’s when I noticed that I was chained to the floor with shackles. 

“Oh Daphne you know that you are going to be here for a very long time right?” Dustin laughed. “I mean you are going to be here until you learn the truth and the entire truth about our family.” 

As I was about to close my eyes and give up, I heard a door open and three very familiar voices talking to each other and I thought maybe to me as well, but I could barely understand the words. 

“Daph, Daph can you hear me are you okay?!” One said in a squeaky panicked voice. I tried to call out but I couldn’t. Those voices sounded familiar, and I just wanted to be able to call or reach out, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t.

*****

George was panicking because the locator spell led them into the hidden tunnel underneath the school. As they looked around all they could see was darkness, and they could feel the chill in the air. Once they got into the lit-up area of the tunnel, George, Oscar, and Cleo were amazed to have found only Daphne and not the dragon that took her.  

“George! Over here!” Oscar yelled from the other end of the tunnel. That is where Daphne was, but it seemed like she couldn’t see or hear them. It looked like she was almost asleep. “Daphne! Daphne, are you okay? Answer me!” 

“George, you need to take a deep breath and help me undo these shackles,” Oscar spoke in a very even and calm tone, even though on the inside he feels very concerned. 

“Oscar’s right,” Cleo said. “We need to get Daphne to the nurse so she can start being taken care of. And I think after we do that, you should call your parents to make sure they know what’s going on.”

The questions that were still on everyone’s minds were what happened that night in the tunnels and what happened to the dragon? What happened to Daphne, and why wasn’t she waking up? No one knew the answers, but they could all tell that darkness was still around the corner.

Montanta’s Heartbeat – Luke Jones

Twice Does the Winter Strike

John Richter

Twice does the winter strike upon the autumn; once when the leaves crinkle, sour up and rot as fruit a grocer has long known is impure, second when the trees and sun all ache of cold, sodden tides wipe away the blaze that is the Fall. Trees set alight by time, peripherals crowded by a forest on fire; the ash, the white clouds above. The smells do not come across the same on such a day, the streets and alleyways are cloaked in hickory, walnut, caramel. The mood is pleasant on these days; reminiscent of the good times we never knew we had, the days where all was at peace, the largest predicaments became objects of fantasy and fail. Finally, in the late November and early December months, the wind turns old and angry, pushing and grasping on the Sun; usurping the tranquil air away from its rest. The streets become dark, the candles in the shops and trolleys late at night are the stars, and the snowfall is the autumn leaves reincarnate, covering the horses and hats and houses and homesteads until they all turn the shade of effortless white. The hair of the populace turns shocked and blank from the snow, turning the men and women in the streets into ghosts.

A carpenter, a banker, a beggar all walk the streets with the same dignity and happiness that Christmas is near. The carpenter will give his young wife a beautiful ornate cabinet; the banker will gift his mother a new cottage, and the beggar will present to the rats in the street a great feast, and they will be grateful and enjoy it and all will be well.

That is what I like most about the winter, the cold and aging does not deafen the beat of hearts, muffle the laughter of a baby; trotting of horses no longer becomes a nuisance of the ear but a pleasant satisfaction each time the snow crunches. I watch and smile as my thoughts all go over myself, and jump from man to man on the crowded sidewalk.

Continuing pace, I walk and watch as I go. A mother takes her son in her arms; two men both holding newspapers, speaking with each other happily and systematically. My black hair and scarf both sweep away the snow from my eyelashes at once, the unkempt patches bounce back and forth, leaving a large crevice in the patch of snow that stuck to my brow, creating a large valley between my right and left
eyebrows. I appreciate how evil and sadness seem to be hidden by the snowy storm; the wicked find shelter and seek bodily warmth, while the soul drifts unsatisfied by the burning logs. The homeless and the beggars all run from the cold streets; somewhat shamefully I admit I pity them, but never have the courage to help, so the yearly retreat is a cruel relief to my head.

My walk turns to an aimless trot now; past the stores and markets, finally arriving at the docks, under the
cool eye of a translucent singed winter moon. The water leaps upon the mossy cobblestone retainer; the only barrier between two vividly distant worlds, the moonlight reflecting off the waves and onto the stained rope and plank constructions of a nearby fishing yacht. Faith drifts atop the waves, distraction always tempts me when I am at the edge of dry land. Throw myself in, I am urged to do; I must see where the waves and shapes drag me, rocky shores teem with mystery.

Terror leaps up with these thoughts, loyalty fades and I am forced back to the church at city square night after night. The old chaplain is lonely, and I am alone; more so in the winter than the summer seasons, for then the squirrels are there to knock branches onto me, the birds to fill the stagnant air with their songs of adventure and warm spirit, and the snakes and crawlers to keep me on my toes. Fog and winter smog descend upon the city; my restless eyes burned by the emulsions which now float about, hiding and smearing across the brick canvas my past, present and future ambitions. Cobblestone streets devolve during these times, the grocers and wholesalers are abandoned; perhaps because no one is waking to buy groceries at hours past midnight, but I blame ghosts, the ghosts of those men who have not resisted the pull of the sea, a great tyrant straining the sanity of the human mind. Splish-splash, wish-wash, it goes; the sound grows fainter as I walk further into the distance.

Finally, the tall awnings and mossed brick towers of the steeple come into view. It has made a fool of me to resort to this every time I feel despicable; the old chaplain understands that I am a man of morals, not morale. I pray for the bells to consume me as I enter the graveyard that surrounds the chapel. An eerie vineyard, it looks upon first arrival, the garden has been thrown around the courtyard and dragged across the church; all the plants look destroyed and dead, dirt stains many of the walls. Protruding from the ground are the rows of gravestones, stained by the winter snow; each one with its own morbid distinctness, seeming to fit the noble who was buried there. The glass here used to be stained, but to pay the costs of maintaining such a lonely muck of a place they were scrapped and melted down to make bottles for the brewer next door. Temptation and piety have always sat arm in arm; I have never drank frequently because I find that the drunkenness does not help my headache, after all. There is a depressing feeling to the church, it is the only truly dark spot that year-round stains the city.

Doors clang open, and I enter. I mutter and go on about myself to the flickering shadows, the screaming faces that bounce around the walls. I laugh at my own stupid ramblings, madness consumes me for a brief second; the laughter is thrown around the pews and windows, occupying a large swath of the room, I finally am not alone. Yell for the chaplain, I do, no small crippled footsteps resound from the darkness of the back rooms.

What? He has to be here, I have never heard of a chaplain not taking his own duty to heart! It is, once again, my brief madness that overtakes me; the winter always turns me this way, perhaps it is because the only thing I have to tend for is the fire in my apartment down by the bridge that connects the wealthy and the poor, I, of course, am on the poorer side of the moat. A shrug fills my lungs and explodes out into the empty void that is the surrounding walls. I wander, I waltz through the aisle, arriving by the cross and by the lectern; it is not much to pay one’s respects if he is not near his God. The snow which once collared my eyes is now gone, I have almost appeared to have aged 45 years for the past three hours, the strike of the clock finally ending my ordeal as an old man and taking me back to my former body. Water drips from my eyes, not salty but fresh, the tears are only meant for the ocean waters; the only place where my sorrow feels small and the tears that I cry will never amount to the constant jarring of the waves. I stay an eternity, a period of time forever boundless yet bound by a clock’s outer limits; it is pleasurable to see the pain go by quickly.

After minutes, I leave the sanctuary disappointed and crestfallen. It was not my intent for the night to go this way; I wanted to leave my heart inside the chapel, so somebody else may come and whisk it away, and with it my burdens relieved. I crack the doors open once again, the cold air once again pinches and twists my nose and lungs; no wince comes from the discomfort this time. Trotting back down upon the street, it is the gloom of the environment that I finally notice. The joy of the air has evaporated, the crunch of the snow no longer satisfies me; the smells of hickory and maple do not linger any longer. I have begun to realize why the wicked run from the winter, why I am so forsaken to be cast away all my life. As I summarize my life into words, the beast of snow that now devours the city streets absorbs my thoughts and I. The dawn and blank white of the snow conjoin; I am lost in the storm, I have become one with the snow.