My time has come

I hear the call

Of Death’s whisper

In the busy mall

My two bags of clothes

Hit the floor

As I shuffle through them

To choose my burial decor

Tick tock tick tock

My watch goes on

Smirking as I realise

“Just an hour before I’m gone!”

Should I call my boyfriend?

Maybe rush home?

But then I smell chocolate

And my thoughts become foam

So I help myself

To some of Belgium’s finest

And make my way over

To the grocer’s nest

I might be gone soon

But my guy needs to live on

Must take care of him

This, my heart is set upon

So I spend the time left

Buying items of daily care

Food, shirts, soaps and pens

Leaving nothing to spare

Just as I finish

I hear the fall

Of Death’s feathery footsteps

In the busy mall

to exist

is never promised

to last,

and to live

is all

a privilege,

but to breathe —

just for once

ever so peacefully,

is a gift

I won't trade

for eternity.

—A.J. Generillo

one hour is not enough

this life is not enough

I need more time

to LIVE

I never want to stop living

so much to experience

so many places to go

so many feelings to feel.

(one hour is not enough)

I want more time

not because I wasted my life

no

because I haven't wasted my life

so I know

just how beautiful life is.

(one hour is not enough)

There is so much to live for...

and yet I have to die

even though I see nothing good

to come from it.

but maybe that's the point.

maybe this blindness

can allow for more

bliss.

maybe we are like a butterfly

born as a caripillar

to die and be reborn as something beautiful.

or like a flower

basking in the sunshine of life

and dying with the waking of winter.

but as the petals sink into the earth

new life sprouts from fresh soil.

so now

im not shaking

im dancing

hopeful

that

maybe

this life

this awe-filled life

is just

the beginning.

(one hour is all i need)

Before I die, I always dreamt of skydiving. Yet, minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to years—I still never get around pursuing that one desire I thought could complete me as a whole. Now, I’m a balding middle-aged man with grey hair and wrinkled face, who has spent his entire life shying away from everything, buried in the pitiful piles of life’s rubbish dramas, suddenly I wake up to find out my last breath won’t last more than an hour; if I had committed a fraction of a second and tried it, at least that adventure could spice the quiet story of my life, a small legacy worth mentioning in my eulogy, something I could leave behind to be remembered by. Sadly, the dark day we all fear is here now, leering into my weary eyes on the eleventh hour, the final flight for departure. Before I give in to the inevitable nightfall, today, on this eleventh hour, I’m going to live freely, free-falling from the sky.

The end is quickly closing on me, and that is quite unfortunate. I feel like I am dancing between a shark’s jaws. I am not scared of death, only dying without any purpose; that my friend is such a miserable and terrible feeling any person should ever feel on their last day on earth. When I die, I want to smile not cry; I already cried the day I came to this world. The tears I shed then should bathe all the fears that lie beyond.

Now, I am going to pack the one gear at my disposal, my courage. I am going to touch the shooting stars and glistening moon, and then jump off from the vast open sky. By the time I hit the ground, I won’t feel any pain, but I can at least say that I fulfilled my dream. When the sinister knight comes riding a horse, dressed in a white wardrobe, holding a razor-sharp sword, I will meet it clinging to my happy sword tightly, smiling fearlessly before I lay down my head on the dirty.

For realizing my fantasy, I can let my heart pulsate. Finally, I will take a deep breath and let go of everything, inhaling the breezy Autumn air, as I close my eyes before the darkness turns off the lights forever, whispering “Goodnight, and sleep tight,” into my deaf ears.

In my lifetime I have seen people come and go

and I want to embrace them all

in Times New Roman font, a nod

to my education, a final farewell in my last hour

while going back to relive just one moment, when

my creative writing professor

told us that to pass her class we needed

to read a single poem out loud,

at a public speaking event in which

I was at that bar downtown and

my lips shook reading my last few lines

at the open mic, screaming internally

without making a single dent

in the oncoming silence

a testament to my spiraling inner monologue

in my last hour, between a dusk and dawn

not willing to leave the earth

without a nod from the audience

I get up, grab a microphone one last time

and speak my truth, though my voice

shakes, eager to get the A

okay

one hour

sixty minutes

that’s not a lot

not enough time to

rewatch my favorite movie

relisten to my favorite album

not enough time to

fly to baltimore

i guess i should call her huh

spend my last hour with someone

i actually love

but my mom wouldn’t like that

something about

“family comes first” i guess

i’m just bummed that it’s only an hour

a day, sure

i can cope with that

i would be able to fly to baltimore

and hug her one last time

and kiss her for the first time

i’d be able to listen to hawaii: part ii

and watch the princess bride

and ride a motorcycle

and get a tattoo

i’d bleach my hair

and dye it rainbow

and shave my head

just cause it’s my last day

and i’m getting cremated so whatever

oh, i’d make plans for my funeral,

making sure it’d be as dramatic

and non-boring

and athiest as possible

i’d visit my best friend’s cats one last time

and stroke their fur

and pull her into a hug

but for one hour?

sixty minutes?

i’ll just

call my girlfriend

eat some ramen

say goodbye

and i love you

If love was the ocean,

I'd be drowning right now.

But instead,

I'm falling...

Plummetting

towards the ground

that never comes.

Falling faster,

and faster.

Falling even more,

In love,

With You.

And I can

Only hope

That you will

Catch me,

Before I hit

The ground

and die.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Aster sits by a gap in the boards covering the window, watching the still street outside, silent save for the occasional sounds of the Enforcer’s bikes in the distance. Aster supposes it’s well after noon by the sun pounding down upon the asphalt, though she has just woken up.

Her legs ache from running and the cut on her back screams as if it is a fresh wound, though Oscar had healed it last night. She wishes that he could repair nerve endings, but at least there is no physical wound.

With a gentle groan Oscar sits up from behind her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbles. She nods, turning back towards the window. He stumbles to the back room of the abandoned shop and returns with two cans. He hands one to Aster, and while she has never been particularly fond of tuna she forces the foul mixture down. Food would be a lot harder to find now.

Oscar kneels by the window, picking at his own food.

“Do you think they made it out?” Aster whispers.

“What?”

“The Gentlemen. Do you think they even survived, or was everything we did last night for nothing?”

“Hey. Don’t think like that. I’m sure they’re fine. I know a few people in the area. We can ask around and see if anyone knows where they are.

“But what if…”

“Stop,” Oscar growls, suddenly angry. Aster flinches. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s just… there’s no use dwelling on the ‘what if’s’ right now,” Oscar pleads. Aster nods, and turns back towards the window.

This silence should be a respite from the screams and deafening gunshots of the night before, but now it seems suffocating, pressing the air from the room.

“How did you find this place,” Aster attempts.

“A friend,” Oscar mumbles. He looks away, grief flashing in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry about it, Ace. I suppose I’m not a very good conversation partner,” Oscar mumbles, giving a halfhearted chuckle. “Where does your nickname come from, anyway? Ace isn’t exactly short for Aster.” Aster smiles in relief, if only because talking gives her less time alone with her thoughts.

“Luca started calling me that and it kind of stuck.” She smiles sadly.

“Same here,” Oscar chuckles. “He started calling me Oz- not because it’s short for Oscar, but because it’s the abbreviation for ounces and I’m kinda… small.”

Aster laughs, covering her mouth with a hand to muffle the noise. She is surprised at how genuine the noise is- a part of her feels guilty for being able to laugh at a time like this, but the hint of normalcy comforts her.

Encouraged, Oscar continues. “Luca tried to convince me to call him ‘Gallons’, because he’s so tall but it didn’t really stick.” Aster rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Luca can kind of be a dumbass, sometimes,” she admits.

“He’s a sweet dumbass, though. What’s the story behind your nickname?”

Aster hesitates, staring at the floor.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me,” Oscar mumbles, sounding a bit hurt.

“No, it’s not that. I just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath.

Oscar had saved her life last night, and yet she sat, too guarded to talk to him. Some people trusted easily, she had heard. For her trust was painful and forced… but necessary.

She begins again. “A few years ago Luca tried to set me up on this date and… erm… I may or may not have socked the guy in the gut when he tried to kiss me. Luca gave me shit for it for weeks.” Oscar chuckles, leaning against the wall. “I guess I should have realized I was Asexual earlier… Ace is just a nickname for Asexual.” Aster smiles. “Sorry to disappoint- I guess we can’t get married now,” she jokes, elbowing Oscar in the ribs.

He lets out an awkward chuckle, his cheeks turning a bright red. “That’s alright… I don’t really like girls anyway.” He stumbles to his feet anxiously. “Just kidding. I mean, I like…” he trails off, looking at Aster fearfully. He flinches as she stands to join him.

“Hey. I support you,” she reassures, pulling him into a tight hug. He tenses for a moment, but then relaxes in her arms.

“That’s how I know about this shop,” Oscar confesses, gesturing to the concrete walls around them. “Theo, my partner at the time, showed me. I lied before. It wasn’t living on the streets that almost killed me. It was living here alone after he died.

There was an old woman- she used to give all the kids scraps when we were little, even though she hardly had anything left for herself. Enforcers tried to take her to The Keep and Theo tried to stop them. They killed him there,” Oscar blurts, pointing to a barely visible alley at the end of the street. “Damn enforcers didn’t even leave the body. Rode off like nothing happened, his body bag slung over their shoulders like some kind of war trophy.” Oscar kneels, pressing his face between his knees. “That was three years ago. I barely made it through one year without him. Every day seemed a little harder.”

“Then Luca found you,” Aster murmurs, resting a hand on his back. Hesitantly she continues. “I’m lucky he did. I… I don’t know what I would have done without you last night.”

Oscar looks up numbly.

“But Enforcement got him- killed him- too. First my parents, then Theo, and now Luca. Whenever someone makes me happy they rip them away.”

“Stop.”

“I-”

“No. Right now we can only act. Thinking doesn’t get us anywhere. Pack up your things. there are too many memories here,” Aster urges. Oscar turns away with a nod.

The two teenagers step onto the street, unsure of where to go, knowing only that neither can bear this haven a moment longer. How many had Myriad killed while they slept in this forbidden sanctuary?

“I’m going to kill him, you know,” Aster snarls.

“Myriad?”

“Yeah.”

Oscar gives a halfhearted chuckle, ducking into a doorway alongside Aster as an Enforcer’s bike screams in the distance.

“You have no powers, no backup, and want to fight someone who has more abilities than we know. That’s why we call him Myriad, you know. They say he can control every ability,” Oscar insists.

Aster is silent, looking at the pavement ahead of her.

Oscar continues. “Please, Ace. You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger. One of these days you’ll get yourself killed. Give up on killing Myriad. That man has no weaknesses.”

Aster continues to stare at the pavement, eyes burning. She knows if she looks up at Oscar he will see the tratarious tears that threaten at the corners of her eyes.

Broken glass glints from the pavement, followed by a stubborn weed moments later. Aster finds it incredible that life still exists in a place like this, but she supposes The Gentlemen are also a testament to life against the odds. Or, at least, they would be if she knew for certain the Enforcer’s didn’t catch them last night. Aster forces the thought from her mind, looking back down to the blood passing under her feet.

She freezes.

Crimson droplets bead on the pavement like the gemstones Aster has only heard about in children’s stories. As Oscar continues to walk onwards, oblivious as to the ground, Aster’s heart skips a beat. Then she is sprinting to catch up with him, pulling her gun and shoving the wiry boy to the ground as she rounds the corner.

Her gun hits soft skin and the man crouching there lets out a grunt of surprise, the jagged scrap metal in his hands letting out a screech as it falls to the ground. Aster kicks the crude weapon away, pinning the man to the wall.

“I could kill you, you know,” she seethes, pressing her gun more firmly against his throat. “Why were you hunting us?”

The man lets out a bitter laugh, which quickly gives way to a coughing fit. He presses filthy fingers over his mouth and they come away covered with blood.

“I wasn’t hunting, pretty girl. I was hiding,” he spits, legs shaking as he leans against the wall behind him. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me. I’ll be dead in a few minutes anyway.” Oscar steps forwards.

“I can help you,” Oscar pleads, extending a tentative hand towards the man. The man slaps it away, eyes going feral as he begins to wrythe against Aster’s hand. She pins him to the ground, and is surprised at how brittle his bones feel under her body.

“Don’t let your healer touch me. Enforcers will be here soon enough. I intend to be dead before I have to look upon those wretched faces again.” The man’s body heaves as he coughs up more blood. He smiles in satisfaction as it dribbles across the pavement and begins to laugh. Madness glints in the whites of his eyes. “Bastards. Said I couldn’t get out. Said it was impossible. But I know the truth. I know.”

“Get out from where,” Aster ventures, looking towards the man.

“From The Keep… they used to keep me in the keep,” he sneers, and begins his laughter anew. Aster claps a hand over his mouth to cut off the noise. She presses her lips to his ear, whispering with a fierce intensity.

“How did you get out.”

“Out? Out? Nobody comes out of The Keep. Myriad says so,” he smiles.

“But you just said-”

The man begins humming loudly to himself, clamping his hands over his ears as he begins to violently rock side to side. Aster glares at him, turning towards Oscar.

“This is hopeless. He’s probably never been inside The Keep, let alone seen Luca,” Aster snaps. Oscar kneels by her side, putting his head between his knees. Hesitantly, she tries again.

“When you were in The Keep did you see an Enthopath. He’s a teenager, about six feet tall with blond hair,” she says slowly to the man, failing to hide the desperation in her tone. The man perks up at this, the madness in his eyes fading to the periphery for a moment.

“Lukey-boy. Myriad likes him, yes he does. Myriad doesn’t know Lukey-boy knows the secrets. Myriad doesn’t like it when you know the secrets.”

“What secrets?” Aster breathes.

In the distance she hears feet pounding against the concrete, an electric buzz filling the air as Enforcers ignite their abilities.

Aster gives a frustrated growl as the man turns to poke at the ground, ignoring her entirely. “This is hopeless, Oscar. Let’s get out of here.” She turns quickly and makes it to the mouth of the alley before she realizes her friend is not behind her. The static is louder now. Enforcers can’t be more than a block away. “Oscar. We have to leave,” she hisses.

“Go. I’m not leaving until he tells me where Luca is,” Oscar says, planting himself by the man’s side.

Aster tries to drag Oscar away, but he shoves her off. With a resigned sigh she joins him at the man’s side.

“Make this quick.”

He nods, and turns to the man.

“How did you get out of The Keep?”

“I’m not gonna tell,” the man sings. Stiffening, Oscar extends a hand towards him.

“Tell me or I’ll heal you.” This gets the man’s attention. He glares at Oscar and flinches when the scrawny boy extends his fingers a bit further.

“Fine. Myriad stole my t-t-telepathy. He doesn’t like it when you can see in other people’s heads. No, that makes you bad. Master doesn’t like it when you’re bad, he says…”

“What does that have to do with escaping?” Oscar asks, his voice a lethal calm. Aster can hear Enforcers around the corner and fights the urge to run.

“Myriad is a silly boy! He thought taking my powers would scare me. He couldn’t catch me, though. I am slippery, like an eel! You know what else is slippery?” As the man rambles a group of Enforcers round the corner, drawing pistols as they spot the man.

Barely two blocks separate them from the arcs of electricity lashing out from the Enforcer’s hands.

The man begins coughing harder as the Enforcers begin to run towards them, and Aster is able to pull Oscar away from his side at last. As they turn to retreat down the opposite side of the alley the man utters a few breathy words, sounding entirely too sane for a moment.

“The Scanners never saw me- I had no powers to see. Myriad doesn’t use cameras for security. Doesn’t want someone to hack them and figure out his weakness.”

“Myriad has no weakness,” Aster snaps, glancing over her shoulder at the man. His eyes lock on hers, trembling in their sockets.

“Myriad is not who you think he is… everyone has a weakness.” He convulses, a fountain of blood trickling down parted lips as he hits the alley floor. The Enforcers are almost upon them.

The man’s words echo in Aster’s mind but she forces herself to turn away, towing Oscar behind her by the corner of his sleeve. They sprint from the alley, emerging on a narrow side street. The Enforcers let them go as they are more concerned with the madman at their feet.

Aster and Oscar run for a few more blocks before collapsing against an aging brick wall by the edge of a courtyard. Panting, Oscar grins.

“Luca’s alive,” he smiles. Aster does not return his enthusiasm. Instead, her mouth is set in a line of grim determination.

“I’m going to bring him back.”

“What?”

“Tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” Oscar whispers reproachfully. “Nobody breaks into The Keep. I want Luca back as badly as you do, but it’s not worth it if you get yourself killed. Come on, let’s find The Gentlemen. If that man was telling the truth they might help us get Luca back.” Aster knows his point makes sense, but she pushes it aside.

“The Gentlemen are scared, Oscar. We are going to need more than the ravings of a madman to kindle a revolution against Myriad.” Oscar shakes his head, but Aster has already made up her mind. “If I can just prove it’s possible to get out of The Keep alive we may actually stand a chance… and maybe, if I’m lucky, Luca will know Myriad’s weakness.”

“There are too many variables in your plan. Even if Myriad’s Scanners don’t see you because you have no power all it takes is one nosy servant and you’re dead,” Oscar growls, a fierce protectiveness creeping into his voice.

“But if this works I’ll be a hero,” Aster urges.

“Is that all this is to you? A chance to play hero?”

Aster is silent for a moment before she continues.

“No. This is a chance to stop living in the shadows. To start a revolution.”

“A one-person revolution?” Oscar raises an eyebrow.

“But of course. Isn’t that how all revolutions begin?”

Dressed

in silence,

strung

like

pearls,

two truths:

white tux,

black tie.

p

Cloak a

and r

tales | t

dance – • n

with e

the r

rule, e

d

to

a lie.

(Even

a broken clock

is right

twice a day.)