I watched as the watery surfaces smoothed out. The calming surface rose up and showed me the present that I could choose for her. It was an idyllic scene that showed her waking up on the dunes of a beach. The waters were the clearest blue there were, but it just felt so contrived and devoid of life. I breathed in and sighed out my disappointment. No, this present will not do. My creation needed something else.

I tapped my hand, once again, into the well, and the water, turning turbulent as it was in dismay at my rejection, bubbled up another image. This time, I saw the eruption of a volcano burst onto the scene with a screeching flame blossoming into her shape. A strange present—an intriguing start to life—but one not befitting for her. Deciding her present was more difficult than I thought. The well released a few bubbles to clear the image and then gurgled in disappointment.

What would a present befitting new life look like? I pondered many hours and yet here I was consulting the ancient well for answers. I thought of the dramatic, of the absurd, of the heartwarming, and the damning, but I could not set my heart on what was meant to be. What were the necessary ingredients for her present? I had summoned a few books of myths as inspiration to seek a beginning, a present, available at the moment of achieving consciousness to gift upon her, but all of them seemed dull and sometimes frightening.

It was critical to life that she obtain her own independence but also that she learned to avoid the same mistakes that my brethren made. She must be destined by fate to go beyond the selfish cruelty that left me as the final specimen of a cosmic experiment gone awry. She had to endure as the progenitor and the first sage of her people. She had to understand that life could not endure if it is fractured by sin. She must value life, despite being immortal. She must understand loss, despite having lost no one. She must understand suffering, despite no history to speak of.

The beginning must hold together the infinity of spirit that carried my people forward. The first breath should draw from the courage to thrive in this dying world but the second should draw from humility knowing that even the immortal and knowledgeable have much to learn.

I sat down on the ancient marble grounds, watching as the infernos of the magma swirl around me. The magical barrier kept the castle safe, but watching the magma swirl around, I felt so small. This place, hidden in the deepest core of the planet, is the final hope for us, but here I am trapped in indecision. The planet has waited long enough for healing after my siblings died fighting over it, scarring it beyond recognition. Could I prevent another catastrophe by removing all the original motivators of our hate?

I reasoned that hate could not come out of someone without need, but could it be that need itself is what lended to both our higher selves and our deepest tragedies? I looked at my creation, perfect in every way, but would a perfect present be, in all my hubris, the very folly that will lead to the void I sought so hard to fight back?

The well released a few more bubbles and fell silent again. The collective consciousness of the water seemed to agree.

At that moment and with no warning, I felt the planet shake and the magma chaotically ripple above me. The barrier began to shatter under the weight of the planet ontop. I felt the drain of the corruption on my mind expand ten fold. There was not much time left. I sighed again, and I carefully lifted myself back up, cursing myself for assuming that I had more time than I thought. I walked towards my creation, and created the runes on the ground. Each one needed precision that became increasingly more difficult as my mind became muddled. The roar of the magma rushing in grew faint each time I drew another rune. I redrew one rune a dozen times over, and another—how many times was it? Time was no longer on my side.

When all was ready, my breathing had become dangerously shallow. I summoned the last might of energy from inside of me and started the incantation. Citing the deepest magic ever known to my people, I created her, but during the incantation, whether due to my dying exhaustion, selfish imperfection, or unconscious will, I wove into her mechanisms a single flaw: she could not bare the pain of suffering. No, she would not suffer, because the magic was enough to protect her, but I knew as my eyes dimmed that her children will. She will eventually build them with her own hands with the knowledge and life I gifted her, but until she and her children succeed in rediscovering the most pure ancient magics, she would create life forms that, like her are immortal, but only if they are able to replenish themselves with source material. As mother, she will know the pain they will feel if they fail to do so.

I worried that this might lead to disaster—a mother so protective that she cannot let her children go, but I also knew her children’s sadness at lost independence would also become real in her mind. I thought about this with panic until I could no longer do so. I could not let my anxieties flood me anymore, as the peaceful draw of death was watching and falling over me. I gave her my blessing and faith. She would overcome even if the lessons would be hard.

Her eyes opened at my final moments, and in my final breath I saw her first breath of life. This was not the present that I wanted for her, and my mistakes would be her burden, but I knew it would be the only way empathy could exist. This would be my lasting memory for her at birth: a present that perhaps can only be found in the beauty of the flaw.

As the darkness started to take over, the runes triggered and sent her to the surface just as she was about to speak her first words, a mix of grief and exuberance on her face, with dream-like thoughts appearing in my mind. Before the final light went out, I saw her life: her grief overflowing onto the planet at my demise, her first discovery of building her children and home, her first awareness of emotion within them, and her family walking towards the light, that dimming light, drifting smaller and smaller, away, washed onto a shore I will never know.

Jane

I have long fallen in love with my cozy little cottage, sitting right outside the skirts of a lively, bountiful forest. Softly humming a little tune, I thinly slice the freshly baked loaf of bread sitting on my kitchen counter. The toasty smell wafting in the air summons deep rumbling sounds from my empty stomach. My mouth waters as I spread a generous amount of light, velvety butter on my bread.

Just as I am about to wolf down my buttered bread, I hear panicked shouts right outside my door. Slightly disappointed, I snatch a slice and rush out the door.

A young boy, anxiously crouched over the limp figure of what appears to be a young girl, is desperately crying out for help.

Dear god.

The children are so severely malnourished that I can see their bones protruding from their paper-thin skin. I rush forward and crouch down. I am shocked by the cuts and bruises covering their tiny bodies, but I am forced to collect myself to address the most pressing matter at hand.

I look into the boy’s eyes and give him a comforting nod, “Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Upon hearing the word “help”, the young boy promptly faints with relief written all over his face.

What a strong, caring child.

With as much strength as I can muster, I carry each child into my humble abode. I slowly trickle some water into their mouths until both of them regain consciousness, “Shh, shh. Don’t speak, please try to stay calm and just eat.”

I use two fingers to pull off bite-sized pieces from my fluffy bread and gently stuff each piece into each of their mouths, one at a time.

“There we go, you guys are doing great!”

At last, the color has begun to flow back to their faces.

I lift the children into my bed, and I quietly tuck them in. The muffled cries of my grumbling stomach and the lonely, half-eaten loaf of bread end up forgotten as, overcome with exhaustion, I collapse onto the ground.

Ren

The body sitting and resting on my back feels as light as a corpse. I’m even more worried about the fact that Em hasn’t said a word for the past few hours, behavior that drastically contrasts her usual talkative self. But her silence is understandable, considering the circumstance. Only a few days ago, we had both decided to run away from our orphanage without so much as a morsel of a plan in mind.

We may be starving and looking death in the eye but I don’t regret my decision at all, and I’m certain Em feels the same. The so-called “orphanage” was more like a match factory disguised as a home for orphans; the “caretakers” trained all of us how to handle the matches without regard for our safety at all. Em and I would’ve been able to endure it all if not for the horrendous disease that was rapidly spreading throughout the den. They called it phossy jaw. And little Mary was the very first victim. The sight of her violently shuddering on the floor with a swollen, decomposing jaw before drawing her final breath has been burned into my mind, haunting me to this very day. I refuse to let Em fall victim to the same demon. She was my ray of sunshine, my only source of comfort in that hellhole.

Despite the burning pain flaring up from my bony feet, I trudge forward one step at a time, telling myself one step forward is one step closer to freedom. When I see the distant lump sticking up from the ground gradually enlarge as I step forth, adrenaline rushes into my veins and I muster what little strength I have left to sprint towards it. My heart is thudding fast and loud as a drum, and I haven’t had enough water to sweat but I can feel the heat rising to my head.

As I near the door, I pause mid-step.

Wait a second. I don’t feel her breaths anymore.

Up until now, Em’s soft breathing had tickled my neck like a feather, and my notice of its absence sends my heart six feet under. I slowly set Em down on the ground and I check for heart beats, breathing, anything indicative of life. My heart drops even further.

No, there’s no way. We’ve already come so far. It can’t be…

I cry out in anguish and let out a guttural scream, a desperate plea for help.

As if to answer my cries, an angel descends from the heavens and gifts me the comfort of her aid, ““Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Please. Please save us. Please save Em.

And my world is suddenly sucked into a pitch-black darkness.

Ren

“Please, Miss Jane, let us help out around the house!,” I plead, “You already let us stay here free of charge, and you refuse to accept so much as a few words of gratitude, the least we can do is pull our own weight!”

Em eagerly nods in agreement, eyes full of energy and brimming with joy, “You’ve taken such good care of us for the past few days, and you’ve even offered us a place to stay, we are more than willing to offer our aid!”

Flustered, but evidently pleased to see the improvement in our health, Jane gives us each a light pat on the head, “Well, if you two insist.”

I grin wide enough to make my jaw sore, “You won’t be sorry, miss, I promise we’ll be useful. We’re willing to do anything if it means we can help you!”

Jane laughs, but I catch a hint of worry in her eyes, “My dear children, while I appreciate your offer to help, you mustn't make such promises to just anybody.”

“Oh, but Miss Jane, you aren’t just anybody!”

Jane affectionately ruffles my hair with a warm, glowing smile, “That’s nice to hear, dear Ren, thank you for your kind words.”

But it’s true... you saved our lives.

At this moment, I make a solemn vow to protect Jane, no matter the cost.

To protect every hair on her head, from her cozy, fireplace smile to her cheery little hum.

Jane

It’s only been a year and I’m already used to living with my two little helpers, Ren and Em. They fill my little home with so much life and joy that it feels as though they have been here from the very start. I absentmindedly wrap my fingers around the wooden handle of my pitcher to fill some glasses with water, and end up pouring out some air.

I sheepishly turn my head to look around only to discover that both children have witnessed my embarrassing slip of the mind.

I sigh, “Please forget what you just saw.”

Ren and Em, visibly suppressing giggles, vigorously nod several times and burst out the door with half-eaten loaves sticking out of their mouths. I can hear their giggles pass through the door to dance in my ears like a musical tune, and I can’t help but grin.

I slide a rope through the handle of the pitcher and secure the two ends in a tight knot, then slip on the makeshift necklace.

I call out, “Ren! Em! I’m heading into the forest to refill the water, alright?”

Em rushes back in through the door to cling onto me with a hug, “Miss Jane, why don’t you let Ren and I do it? You should stay here to rest!”

I pat her on the head, “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t let you two do all of the work, can I?”

Seeing words of protest begin to form in Ren's mouth, I quickly hush him, “Besides, it’s quite unhealthy to stay inside all the time. I’d like to get some fresh air every once in a while. Don’t worry, my dears, I’ll be back in no time!”

Jane

Humming, I lower the mouth of the pitcher into a gurgling stream and wait for a rush of cool water to flood in.

I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye but I choose not to pay it any heed, dismissing it as a wild creature or gust of wind.

I should gather some berries for jam…

With more water slipping out than rushing into my pitcher, I set it aside and cup my hands to drink straight from the stream.

The sensation of cool, refreshing liquid blessing my dry throat only leaves it begging for more.

“Nnngh!”

A sharp pain abruptly pierces my heart and my body is thrown into the rough bark of a looming tree. A dark cloud of smoke arises from the throbbing point of pain on my chest and my vision blurs. Panic seizes my heart and I tightly clutch my chest hard enough to make my knuckles turn white as a ghost.

No...I have to get home...I mustn't stay out for too long or the children will become anxious...

I shudder as my thoughts are disrupted by a booming voice that consumes my mine and shakes my soul to its very core, commanding me to “SLEEEEEEEEEP.”

Em

The light, tapping footsteps approaching the door spark excitement in my heart, and I dash over to the door to greet Miss Jane.

I creak open the door and run, barefooted, through the dirt until I am close enough to throw my arms around her neck, “Miss Jane, what happened? It’s pitch-black outside and we were worried sick!”

A sickeningly sweet voice trickles out of Miss Jane’s mouth, and a shiver runs down my spine, “My sweet, sweet child, there’s no need to worry about me. I assure you, I am perfectly fine. Look, I have the water right here!”

Miss Jane drunkenly holds up a half-empty pitcher with a jagged crack running down its side.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“M-Miss Jane? Are you sure you are feeling fine?”

Come on, Em, what’s wrong with you? How could you even think of doubting Miss Jane?

I shake my head at myself, but I fail to control my shaking limbs.

Miss Jane smiles and puts her hands on my shoulders, “Of course. My dear Em, why don’t you call me mother? I don’t mean to impose but I truly see you as my very own daughter.”

I freeze in shock, and a warm fuzzy feeling starts to melt away my irrational suspicions, “Miss Jane…”

I hear a soft creak behind me and the smell of Ren’s chicken soup fills the air. Ren must’ve overheard our conversation, because he’s standing in the doorway with his jaw hanging.

*SMACK*

My stinging cheek causes tears to uncontrollably well up in my eyes. The warm, snug feeling that had filled my heart slipped out through the fresh cracks.

I look up in disbelief with a hand on my cheek, “M-Miss Jane?”

Ren put himself between me and Miss Jane, “Miss Jane, please calm down and let us right our wrongs. What have we done to anger you?”

“Please, call me mother,” replies a sugary voice dripping out from a twitching smile.

“M-m-,” Ren starts, but is interrupted by a harsh outcry.

Miss Jane, doubling over as though she were punched in the guts, let out a soft groan, “GO AWAY! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

Jane

I-I can’t control my body. It feels as though I’m a stranger in my own body… and my presence is being forced aside by another.

This other… “being”... seems to have access to the entirety of my past memories…

The demon in me drags my feet forth while lugging along the increasingly light pitcher of water, leaving a wet trail behind.

Though I remain a spectator of my physical form, I can tell that the perpetrator is becoming increasingly comfortable in my body, a disturbing thought that further alienates me from my own flesh. I can sense the demon’s intense craving for life essence as the energy is gradually sucked out of my soul.

And then it hits me. Oh god. The children. I have to protect the children. I have to fight for control.

I struggle and try to wrestle down the conflicting presence in my mind, and I must’ve taken it by surprise because, to my elation, I am able to take back control. My excitement and relief is unfortunately interrupted by the excruciatingly painful sensation spreading throughout my body at an alarming rate. My momentary display of weakness gave the devil a chance to snatch back control, and so I am once again a mere witness of my corpse.

I fight with all my might but can only gather enough strength to regain control for mere seconds at a time.

As my home comes into view, I am forced to make a decision.

If I use my short moments of control to explain my situation or tell the children to run away, they will only insist on staying to help me out. I refuse to put them in such a dangerous situation. I must scare them off so they will run away of their own accord.

Ren

Em, with her sweet but wary smile, cautiously approaches Jane with a steaming hot cup of honey lemon tea. The sweet and citrusy fragrant is soothing but also acidic, like the calm before a storm.

“M-mother, Ren and I made this tea just for you!,” Em accidentally trips over a crack in the floor, causing some of the hot liquid to spill over the edge of the delicate cup, into her quivering hands.

“EM! Are you alright!?,” I dash to her side and cradle her hand in mine, “Let’s run it through the cold stream.”

Jane’s head whips towards our direction, “YOU CLUMSY, FILTHY BRAT! You better stay here to clean up the mess!”

Em, slightly trembling, wobbles into my arms and starts to sob, “R-Ren… what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, Em, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I tightly wrap my arms around her and lightly stroke her hair to calm her down.

What went wrong? We’ve already gotten this far away from the match factory. So why? Why haven’t we been freed? What more must we do to secure our freedom? Our safety?

I should’ve known it was all just a facade. The whole situation was simply too good to be true. I was a fool to think that Miss Jane would be any different from the other adults. She only wants us here to work for her.

Jane

It pains me to look at the devastation and betrayal swimming in Ren and Em’s eyes, but I must harden my heart if I am to save their lives.

I am using every single drop of strength I have to keep the devil in check, but I can feel its growing thirst for the young lives that are constantly within arm's reach. So far, the devil has resorted to countering my efforts by using honeyed words to convince the children to stay. But such trickery can only go so far. Love and trust must be earned, and once they are lost, they are not easily regained.

The thought relieves me, but it saddens me all the same. It seems I still have a long way to go before I become selfless enough to completely close off my heart. Despite knowing that everything I am doing is for the sake of the children, the selfish side of me just wants to spend what little time I have left in control of myself with them as their mother.

Though, ironically, the idea was devised by the devil to fool the children into staying, I have come to find the idea rather endearing after giving it some thought. Truly, Ren and Em are like my very own children, and I love them with all my heart.

Oh, what I would give just to hear them call me “mother” one time. Just once, for real, and to me.

Sigh…I’m getting weaker by the day. My body is increasingly slipping out of my control… I have to think of a solution before I am forced to give in to the devil…

A little voice that I have long pushed to the back of my mind called out, “Oh but there is a way to protect the children.”

I know… I know what I must do, but I can’t bring myself to do it…not yet… not while there’s still hope.

Em

Snuggly huddled in bed with Ren, I turn to face him, “Ren, I’m scared.”

“Me too, Em, me too…,” Ren sighs, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice, though it’s too dark for me to see his expression.

“Did something happen to Mi—I mean mother?,” I ask in a shaky voice, “She was so kind and sweet before…”

“No, Em. She was never kind or sweet. It was all an act.”

I try to hold back my tears, but I can’t hide the tremble in my voice, “D-do you really believe that?”

I hear the regret in Ren’s voice, “Oh Em, please don’t cry, everything is going to be alright, I promise.”

His words of comfort only serve to break my fragile dam, and the salty Niagara Falls come pouring down from my eyes.

To my astonishment, rather than embrace me in an attempt to calm me down, Ren joins me, and we mourn together.

Ren

All of this started the night Jane came back from the forest with the pitcher of water…I wonder what possessed her to show her true colors. Perhaps she felt that after gaining our trust, we wouldn’t dare to leave her side no matter how poorly she treats us. Every once in a while, she speaks sweet nothings to us—hands them out like candy—but I refuse to be fooled.

I get lost in my thoughts while drowning in silent tears until I finally drift off to sleep.

Jane

I’m running out of time. I’ve stalled for long enough.

The shimmering, teardrop stars spread across the dark veil over the once sunny skies call me forth, into the abyss.

It’s time…

I wrap my feeble life force around my soul to bind it to my body once more. The demonic flames that scorch my soul are nothing compared to the feeling of having my heart shattered into innumerable pieces.

I crack the door open as quietly as possible, but pause a half-step out the door. In spite of better judgment, I slip back into the house and step across the floor on my toes to peek into Ren and Em’s room.

I smile melancholically as I watch the bodies slowly rise and fall with each deep breath. And then I notice their tear-stained eyes and soaking wet pillows.

It's as though they know what will happen...

The sight of their sorrow tears apart my heart but also steels my resolve.

Without further hesitation, I step out the door and fall under the cosmic embrace of the glittering night sky. In a trance, I return to the home of the devil, heading deeper and deeper into the looming trees. My bone-deep pain only continues to grow as I near the stream where I was cursed.

I step into the burning cold of the running water and I follow the direction of flow. It feels as though I am walking on a trail of sharp shards of ice, but each step lifts a ton off my shoulders and lightens the load on my shredded heart.

The devil fiercely claws at me from the inside, but I have never felt so at ease. I sing softly with the whooshing water and harmonious chirps that pinch the biting cold of the air and cut through the otherwise dead silence of the night.

I can tell that I’m nearing the end when I start to hear rushing water crash into the rocky earth far down below. The rumbling drums tell me the falls are waiting for my arrival, and I quicken my pace to reach them.

I sprint with the current as I am drawn in by the chasm that beckons me forth. When my feet finally reach the edge, I curl my toes and...

I jump.

Jane (Angel)

It has been years since my leap of faith, and my fallen spirit has at last been gifted wings to soar once more.

I may have freed my soul, yet my heart cannot help but still ache.

My trembling hand can do no more than longingly reach out every second of every day as I watch my beloved children from above.

My precious Ren and Em, oh how I wish I could speak to you.

I am tremendously grateful for being able to watch them grow up in my former home, though from afar.

Are those tears I see?

I try to lunge forward but am stopped by a divine force that holds me back like a ball and chain. Defeated, I frantically brush aside the fluffy clouds to get a better view and firmly press my hands against the barrier that traps me in the sky.

Oh, they're smiling.

Em's face is glowing brighter than the sun, and Ren's lips are tightly pressed into her stomach.

My (spiritual) heartbeat gradually settles down...and then it rises astronomically high before crashing down like a wave as I fit together the puzzle pieces.

Tears of happiness and yearning overflow my eyes and fall through the clouds. I slump forward and helplessly bang at the invisible wall that separates us.

Riiiiip.

To my astonishment, my fists fall through and I find myself tumbling out of the sky in a blinding flash.

Jane (Reincarnation)

I am floating in a dark void, curled up and alone. But unafraid.

Where am I?

A deep voice that I immediately recognize to be Ren's echoes in the air, "I think she deserves our forgiveness. She may have lost herself in the end but she did, after all, save our lives."

Em's voice vibrates my entire body, "I agree."

I feel a hand lightly push me back, "You hear that, my dear child? Your name is going to be 'Jane'."

When Sorrow comes to visit, he doesn’t take off his shoes. Dragging and tracking mud from outside to every room in the house. He doesn't even pretend to wipe his feet at the welcome mat before entering. With each visit, his clothes become shabbier and his hands filthier. He always announces and apologizes that he can’t stay for long, he has others to visit. I always suggest water, but he prefers tea. Taking longer to prepare and prolonging his stay. We always listen to Etta while the tea is being made. I’m not ever sure when he’ll leave, some visits are more extended than others. No matter how long the stay, you can always tell he was here. The longer he stays, the more dirt and mud build up on the floor. The more smudges and streaks upon the wall. Even long after he’s gone and I’ve polished the floorboards and purified the walls, there’s still stains that he left behind. Forget-me-nots proving he was once here. Before he goes, he'll turn to me and say I should be grateful I’ve only got to scrub mud from the floors and trail a rag against the walls. If he were to take off his shoes, it would be far more mess to clean.

"Somma!", I heard my name for the second time in a row. "Nothing will make me answer this woman today", I told myself as I continued walking on the narrow path leading to Kaima's house for a late afternoon gossip before I returned in the evening to cook dinner for my parents.

"Somma! My dear please come", I heard her say again. The 'my dear' she said is melting my heart a little bit but I can't seem to forget what had happened a few days ago.

I had just come back from school, ate my lunch and decided to go help my mom out at her kiosk for a while. I was on my way when I met Mama Ifeanyi coming back from the farm with a basin of cocoyam on her head.

"Good afternoon ma", I had greeted her as I passed her that fateful day. I could have minded my business if I knew what was going to happen but no! I decided to show how good I was and how my parents had raised a homely girl.

Seeing that she is a middle-aged woman, I offered to help her carry the cocoyam home even though she did not need any help but I had thought how my parents would be proud of me after they heard what I did. Besides, her home is only a few walks away.

"Let me help you ma", I said in my innocent-sounding fifteen-year-old voice.

"Don't worry my dear, I am almost home", she said. This could have been my cue to continue my journey but I was determined to impress passersby who probably don't care.

"Let me help you ma", I insisted and after moments of going back and forth with her, she finally agreed.

She had helped me lift the basin to my head and I had walked with my head high, my chest out and my pride over my head towards her house. I couldn't wait to be seen. I couldn't wait for her to tell her friends who would tell their friends how well-mannered I am. I couldn't wait for the little gossip to reach my mother.

A few moments later, we reached her home where I dropped the cocoyam.

I was about to leave when she told me to wait. I had thought she wanted to give me a token of appreciation which I would have rejected to make me look more mannered.

I was wrong! "Come inside", she said. "Ok ma", I had replied with all enthusiasm.

"Please help me bring the gallon of water from the back of the house", she said. I made nothing of it. It's a usual thing to help with this kind of little thing when you are in another villager's house.

After I brought the gallon of water, she told me to empty it and help her fetch another one from a neighbour who had a borehole. I didn't like it but I didn't show it because I must make sure I show my good manners, not bad ones.

Well, that was the beginning of my downward slope towards a miserable day. Before I realized myself, I had fetched four gallons of water, washed the plates, gathered firewood and was about to set the fire to cook dinner when I got fed up with my good manners. I had sneaked out of the house when she wasn't looking.

Now she is calling me to make sure she ruined the good manners I had left. I gave up my reputation and pride to sneak out of the house. Surprisingly, I didn't hear any of my 'bad manners' from anyone including my parents.

"Somma! I know you can hear me, come I have an important message for your mother", she said. I stopped. "This woman is trying to make me feel bad", I thought to myself.

I started walking towards her.

"Good afternoon ma", I said as I stopped in front of her.

"Good afternoon my dear, how are you?" She inquired.

" I am fine, ma. You said you have a message for my mother".

"Yes dear", she said. "Tell your mother that she should remember to keep the chaff of corn I told her about for me."

"Ok ma", I said as I turned to leave.

"Wait", she said, "Please help me carry this bag to the front of my house".

I turned, looked at her, looked at the huge bag she rested on her left leg and I ran. I agree, I am not well-mannered.

We of the Faerie Council of the Eighth Continent (if you don’t know which of the eleven continents of Earth is yours, that is YOUR problem, mortal) – would like to register a formal complaint against the slanderous allegation that we steal humans.

Several complaints, really.

To get the most distasteful out of the way: no, we do not steal human children. Our few joys in dealing with the loud, discourteous, foolish, short-lived, short-thinking idiots who have taken over most of a world which once was ours—they involve tricking you because you’re idiots who think you’re smart. (Or, very, very rarely, after what is, by short-lived standards, extremely long acquaintance, deciding that one of you is our friend and letting you live among us. This take, on average, some fifty years, and, as a hint, in the past two centuries, the only one who made the cut was that Tolkien fellow.)

Back to the idiot part—and with humans, it always comes back to the idiot part—yes, sometimes, we take utterly malicious revenge on humans by picking off your fools. This is not, in the strictest sense, completely vengeful; some of us feel that if we get enough of your nitwits out of the way, your average intellect might go up. (The rest of us are perfectly aware that we’d have to steal 75% of you for this to happen, and even if we had that kind of time to devote, all it would mean is that you’d overrun Faerieland as well as Earth, and that would be intolerable.)

A true fool must be given time and opportunity to develop, among other things, the possibility of becoming something else. By Faerie standards, foolishness comes, not from a lack of intellect, but from having an intellect which is unused or used poorly; it is for this reason that we are famed for the use of cleverness in our daily lives. When we act foolish, we do it for fun, or humor, or because we’ve made an actual mistake; and Faeries who are frequently foolish are not held in high esteem.) We therefore do not wish to trick anyone who is not of full-size.

(As for the idea that we do that ‘changeling’ thing and substitute one of our babies for your own—are you mad? There’s nothing one of our babies could do which would merit being condemned to live life with you people.)

But let’s get to the core of the problem.

Do you know who steals humans?

You do.

We live thousands of years. For you, you might have read about making someone an “unperson” in your fiction, and been surprised—or, more likely, being human, horrifyingly overjoyed—and thought it was simply a horror tactic, a warning, or an exaggeration of human social life.

Not at all.

“Unpersonning” has been happening throughout your history. Sometimes you called your outcasts “witches”, and as we find the entire subject fairly unspeakable, we won’t go into what you did. Sometimes you gave them the gentler labels of “nerds” and ignored them (why do you think we made Mr. Tolkien an Elf-Friend?)—until they happened to gain enough power that you began to give them respect.

We have enough power to make all of you disappear into the mists at the edges of Faerieland, and we’d really enjoy that. But we won’t.

We have 10,000 years of watching what that kind of thinking does to you. You don’t remember the Fall of Atlantis; consider yourselves lucky.

Much of your fiction, since the invention of nuclear weapons, consists of the contempt other sentients would have for a species willing to wipe itself out so easily. We won’t belabor the point; to be honest, when we get together and drink and talk about our encounters with you, your ability to destroy everyone and everything, which is fairly new, really pales in comparison with the fact that you keep wanting to do it, which has been pretty consistent for you for, basically, always.

We’d just like to point out: we are of the Seelie court. We have adversaries, whose motivations are so direct that they call themselves “the Unseelie”.

We’ve been arguing with them for 50,000 years.

We still think they’re sentient beings with whom we need to have logical discussions. And honestly, our discussions have changed a lot. We move slowly; in 10,000 years, we might finish finding common ground, and be at peace.

By that time, in our estimation, you will have been wiped out for over 9,000 years.

We really like some of you. But to be honest, we won’t miss you.

It would have been an understatement to say that Imogene Simpson was an excitable lady. Excitable in an almost comical sort of way. She could take the most mundane topic and make it seem wonderful. Her facial expressions and hand movements helped to carry the lilt in her voice as the sugary-sweet Southern syllables tumbled from her lipstick-covered mouth. She was the perfect person for the Chamber of Commerce office in the small town of Claxton.

Thomas had gone by the Chamber office to see if a paper, folding map still existed for Claxton. He had walked with Imogene to the storage closet and Thomas discovered that the Chamber office had hundreds of them in a large cardboard box. In the age of GPS, Thomas wondered how many years it would take to get rid of the maps. He wasn't even sure if the new generation knew how to read a paper map.

He thanked Imogene and as he was about to leave, she said,

“Have you heard the news? I’ve promised’em that my lips are sealed but I’ve gotta tell somebody. Can you keep a secret?”

“I reckon so.”

“We’re getting an Arby’s. Up on Highway 8, where the old Bumper’s was”, said Imogene, as her eyebrows danced. “Don’t tell anybody. I just had to let somebody know. I know you won’t say anything.”

“Sure”, said Thomas, “I can keep my mouth shut.”

Thomas would be the first of many that Imogene would confide in that day.

He left the building with little excitement about the new Arby’s. He had lived in Claxton long enough to know not to be excited. Over the almost four decades, of his time in Claxton, he’d heard speculation of other projects and businesses that were coming to town.  Most didn’t.  For a seasoned Claxtonian, the general rule was, “When they cut the trees”, or “When they start pouring concrete”, then and only then, did you start having some belief that the project might actually happen.

Thomas crossed the road to his truck. The interior of his truck had heated up in the short time that he had been in the Chamber building. It had been a hot summer. He cranked the truck and brought the air conditioner to life. He sat for a moment, soaking in the cool air and then he drove away.

He had moved to Claxton back in the 1980s. Back then, Highway 8 had been largely undeveloped. He remembered an Exxon on the corner, about a quarter mile from the interstate exit. Just up the road was an old cinderblock, non-chain-owned convenience store that sold soft drinks and candy bars and chips and bait. Just beyond, sat a Dairy Queen where everyone went to celebrate after a ballgame or straight A’s on a report card. The Bumper’s Drive-In sat alone on the south side of the road, across the highway, and just before the Dairy Queen. Other than that, it had been all trees.

As the trees were cut and development slowly filled in on Highway 8, Thomas remembered the decline of the Bumper’s. It's menu had remained the same, the basic drive-in fare from the 50's and 60's.  No cheese stuffed jalapenos or other gimmic type items.  It had not kept up with the times and the red, white, and blue painted stripes that ran down the side of the building had faded. Meanwhile, Sonic advertised daily and Bumper’s hung onto the prayer that hopefully you would come back. It was not a stellar business model and as fewer and fewer frequented the restaurant, it had languished away. A victim of changing times.

The closed drive-in sat vacant and ugly for several years. A scar on the landscape until the City Board had requested that it be torn down. And then for several more years, a grown-up, vacant lot had graced Highway 8. Thomas had wondered who would ever build there and then Imogene had told him about the Arby’s.  “We’ll see”, thought Thomas. “We’ll see.”

The next day, Thomas was finishing his breakfast at the Claxton Café when Eric Larson approached. In many locations, the construction of an Arby’s would not cause excitement but in Claxton, it raised the pulse of more than a few folks.

“Hey Thomas, mind if I sit down?”

Thomas lowered his newspaper. “Naw, have a seat.”

“They’re building an Arby’s up on Highway 8.”

“Yep.”, said Thomas. “Heard about it.”

While he had doubted the actual construction, he didn’t want it to seem that he was out of the know.

“I thought it was a secret,” said Eric.

“Who told you?”

“Imogene.”

Thomas smiled, “Yeah, not a secret.”

Thomas looked at Eric’s clean-shaved face, He was in his mid-50s but could have passed for someone ten years younger.

“I’ve always liked Arby’s. America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir”, said Thomas.

“What?”

“I heard that’s how Arby’s got its name. First letter of America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir”.

“That’s stupid. Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I reckon it’s not any more stupid than gettin’ all excited about a fast-food place that’ll probably never get built.”

And so, it had gone. During football season, bulldozers showed up on Highway 8.  They smoothed out the already flat lot, evening out the dirt. A week later, a concrete truck was on the lot and poured concrete for the parking lot and slab. The concrete was smoothed evenly into the wooden forms that had been laid out in rectangular shapes.  White PVC plumbing pipes stuck from the slab. Thomas kept an eye on things on Highway 8 as he drove by several times a week.  The location was right there in the middle of town and with each pass, he had been able to assess the progress or lack of it. As the winter rains came, progress stopped, but Thomas continued his vigil on the old Bumper’s lot.

As the holidays rolled around, his family had come home for Christmas. His daughter had asked, “What are they building up on 8?”

“Supposed to be an Arby’s”, Thomas had replied.

“Oh, that’ll be good”, his daughter said.

“We’ll see”, said Thomas.

A couple of months later in February, construction began, and Thomas finally convinced himself that an Arby’s was really going to be built. It was almost as if he were disappointed in being wrong. Disappointed that a new business was coming to town.

Thomas kept a critical eye on things as he drove up and down Hwy 8. As construction began to take shape, for the first time, he looked at the parking lot in relation to the framed up building and thought to himself, “That’s gonna be mighty small. Don’t see how cars are gonna park and get in and out of there.”

Within a few months, the red and white building was completed. The Arby’s sign centered out front. Red and white streamers ran from the edge of the building to the light poles, giving it a festive appearance. A large red and white striped balloon floated atop the building and a vinyl sign was stuck into the newly placed sod with the words, “Grand Opening”.

Thomas witnessed it all from the cab of his pickup as he cruised by on Highway 8. He saw the cars wrapped around the building waiting on a drive-thru order and he thought once again, “The parking lots too small,” as he looked on in contempt, trying to find a flaw of any sort in the business that in Thomas' mind was never supposed to happen.

One evening, a couple of weeks later, he and his wife sat at home, mostly silent with an occasional blurb of conversation.

“Thomas, have you been to the new Arby’s?”

“Nope. Hadn’t felt like Arby’s. Haven’t been there.”

“Me neither”, she said.

They sat in silence for a long moment before she spoke, “I wonder why we don’t get more nice things in Claxton?”

Thomas shrugged and shook his head.  “Beats me," he said.  "Seems like they’d build more stuff out this way.”

"Yeah," said his wife.  "I just don't know."