The bed in the guest room was comfortable, but wasn’t the same as home. Lying on her back, she willed herself to sleep.

A cat jumped onto the bed near her feet.

Oh, she thought, hello bedmate...

She felt the cat walk over her legs, felt its feline weight as it draped its body over her abdomen.

Friendly...

She soon drifted off to sleep hoping it wouldn’t begin that kneading thing cats sometimes do and wake her.

In the morning, she poured herself coffee and commented, “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

Her host’s face grew pale, “I don’t.”

She loved the feeling of walking away. Everyone exited the train, masses herd to the left, following the siren sound of success. She turned right. To her street. To her home. She still works. But it doesn’t look like it used to. No pantyhose and heels. No bumping elbows or bruised egos that punch harder than a heavyweight boxer. She was so happy about this new world, answering to herself on her own timeline, she never noticed the shadow figure in her periphery. He masked the malice of his intent. Method over mania, he repeated to himself. Method over mania.

In my memory, while sightseeing, I stopped in a bar for lunch where I made friends with the workers. A friend of theirs invited me to his restaurant for dinner to try some typical Valencian food. I accepted, got the address and left.

In my memory, the meal was delicious. Afterwards, he escorted me– to keep me safe on the night streets.

In reality, I don’t remember the meal and I woke up in an alley, clothes ripped, bloody, bruised.

In reality, I still have a scar where he carved his initials, though I have no memory of his name.

This hill was steep as fuck, and it'd been five years since I last climbed. The path wound in a spiral to the edge of the cliff: The Craigs, they called them. As I neared the summit, a peace settled over me. This was it. This is where I belong. I stepped to the edge and closed my eyes. I breathed in the scent of heather and dew, rumbling of the pages of history screaming welcome home beloved one. Welcome home. The ground shook underfoot and the world spun faster in the wake of my return.

And then, I fell.

She squinted through her glasses at his quiet, studied form, taking tiny but significant steps across the garden. It didn’t take long to get to him. A polite cough chirped out to catch his attention but he didn’t look up and over at her.

Despite the cloud of smoke over his bent head, like a grey halo, she sat a few feet away. Ten seconds later, she shimmied the skirt of her long dress with her across the length of the oak bench, even closer.

He breathed a deeply impatient sigh, and eventually looked her way.

“Hi again”, she whispered.

Searing pain flared in Ruth's knee with every step. Her body screamed at her to stop, begged her. But she refused. She knew that wasn't an option. She had to finish this.

"You okay, Mom?" Liam asked from his chair in front of her.

Ruth looked down at him, and the pain in her knee vanished. Instead, all she felt was love in an unfair world. Running a marathon was his dream, not hers. Thanks to his recent ALS diagnosis that dream had become impossible.

"I'm fine, honey," Ruth smiled.

"Push yourself, Mom," Liam encouraged. "And, well, push me too."

I sat in my grandmother's armchair, caving under the heavy weight of crippling depression. Since my sister's passing, every day has been an uphill battle. As I clung to her faded photo, a soft smile crossed my languid lips. I searched for the memory in its entirety as I drowned in the anguish of my loss. Every morning since, I found myself enmeshed in a relentless battle between life and death. I was suffering a slow emotional death, and regret flooded the shores of my tattered psyche. Had I done enough as a brother? My contrition rang out like lamentations.

I boldly stood on the edge of the cliff, knowing it was dangerous, not caring about the risk. And then it happened; I slipped. My feet swung in empty air, as my hands grasped unsuccessfully at the slippery edge, and I cried out in desperation, wishing that I hadn't disobeyed the only one who could save me. Then, out of the dark, a pair of warm hands grasped mine, pulling me back to solid ground. A pair of comforting arms wrapped tightly around me, and a voice said, "My child, even if you disobey me, I will never leave you."

He's at our house every day. My mom has supper on the table at 4:30 in the afternoon these days, instead of 9 p.m. It's because we've had company the past few weeks-- my dad's childhood friend, then my grandparents, now this big-boned, baby-faced boy. He might love me; I think he does. Although, he told me when we were standing in the yard that his parents are getting a divorce, and that's really why he's here so much. I can't believe it. I've met his siblings, but not his parents. Apparently his mom has issues. Apparently she's like me.

I had once been married to the sea, however I now sought a divorce. To escape the abuse those waves had inflicted upon me. Taking all my brothers and my men, bonded eternally to her depth and cruelty.

The wildwood now my refuge, greeting me as a foreign invader, falling silent with every step I take against the softened moss and snapping twig. Yet the calling of my name still flows along the smooth wind, pulling me along as an animal on a leash. If I had known the Siren dwelled in pond water, I would have never come here.