Waking sucks. Riley would have preferred to keep sleeping forever, but his better mind cared little for his foolish desires, doing instead what it knows it must. Sensing uncomfortable situations that the light of day might expose his lids flutter themselves open, fanning Riley’s currently diminished spark of life with light. There are several good reasons for not waking, to include a pre-dawn, bone penetrating chill which works in tandem with the rhythmic pounding like waves of blood through his head, and the infantile demands of a handful of needy gulls whose cries are a reminder to Riley of his own currently empty stomach. Adding to this little list, as if there need be more, is the slippery grit of sand beneath him; cold, wet, uncomfortable sand that has worked it's way into his clothing and hair (among other cracks and crevices), and the sombering gray of an as yet sunless sky above. It is not even fucking daylight yet. Still, these pitiful reasons to continue sleeping pale beside the biggest and greatest reason for waking... that uncomfortable situation that the light of day might expose. Daylight is here!

From afar, even above the pounding waves, Riley hears the sound of happy laughter, of children excited for a day at the beach, children still too young to be ashamed of their being. The world is waking and so must he… wake the fuck up, asshole! There is a zipping of lights when he re-closes his lids, and a dripping of colors not unlike the paper-hit trails of his younger and wilder days that make the darkness uncomfortable. He wished that those things and his overall sourness would just stop trying to pull him away from the much desired seductress that is Sleep. But Sleep is vanished, just like everyone else. She has abandoned him. She has left him, and he must wake. “Fuuuuck…” groaning with the effort Riley rolls to his elbows for a look around.

The boy is nowhere in site, the child who had only yesterday set him on this demented quest. Riley is not sure of how to feel about that. The sea seems to have spitted Riley out in the exact same spot where he’d come upon the boy yesterday, although as far as he could see northward up the beach everything looked exactly the same, and southward too, so he could be wrong. Mirror trick-like, the wooden fishing piers disappearing in the gloomy distance are too similar to distinguish from one another on the one side of the white sand, while on the other side the same tourist taffy shops provided backgrounds for the same swim-suited joggers alongside the same trotting dogs with the same glistening lifeguards prying the same fucking, happy-assed umbrellas into the pale flesh of the same foot dimpled fucking beach. A gasp escaped him at the thought of the boy, a gasp that spilt a warm wash of seawater from his throat. Perhaps it had all been a dream? A nightmare? But another cough of seawater was enough to answer. It had been no dream. Riley reached for his back pocket. The bottle was gone, leaving him with absolutely nothing other than his sobering reflections on yesterday.

What miserable fucking luck Riley had, to wander under this particular pier, at this particular time. While some have the good fortune to discover treasure at the beach, and others love, poor Riley had only stumbled upon a boy. And not just any boy. This boy had been propped upright against a barnacled pillar when Riley chanced upon him. The first disconcerting thing Riley had noticed about the boy was his lack of arms, but as Riley drew closer it was with horror that he realized that what he’d hoped was an unfortunate illusion of liquor, shadow and sand was not, as it became evident to him that the boy had no legs either. Yet even without arms or legs the child’s eyes still blazed out from the cool, briny darkness of the pier’s underbelly with all of the passions of life. A look around revealed to Riley that no one else was nearby. Where had the boy’s caregivers gone? How had the youngster come to be in this hidden spot, and alone? The lad certainly hadn’t come here on his own? While contemplating these things Riley slipped the bottle from his back pocket and took from it a long, habitually thoughtful pull.

”Say kid, are you ok?” Even as he said it Riley realized the ridiculousness of the question. The boy had no arms or legs, how could he be ok? But then an even further horror was revealed when the boy attempted an answer, as to Riley’s absolute dismay a steady stream of gurgles and moans forced an awareness upon him that the boy had no tongue, either. No fingers to grab, no hands to clap, no arms to wave, feet to balance upon, nor legs for walking… and no tongue to complain about any of it, either?

Of all the fucking shit luck!

Riley’s first impulse was to run far and fast, as from a monster. He wanted away. What infernal luck had brought him here, he wondered? To this dreadful scene? Why him to stumble upon something so horrid? And what was he to do now, once here? Could he just walk away from something so pitiful, from someone so needful of help? But if he stayed, what then? He could not know what the boy wanted, or needed? He never could know, could he? Nor what the child was even thinking? Not ever, as the poor son-of-a-bitch could never tell it. A panic began inside Riley, subtly at first, a cold stomach knot which slowly as freezing water hardened across his gut. He looked around again, venturing out from under the pier as he did so, a little at a time. There must be someone nearby, so Riley called out. “Hey! Hello? Is anyone here?” And then louder. “There is a boy here… whose boy is this?”

A very few sun-glassed eyes turned his way, but those few only briefly, as the sun-reddened tourists were here for holiday, not drama. No one answered Riley’s hails, nor ventured forth to share in his dilemma.

And from the darkness below the pier shone a pair of eyes as blue as any ocean, their light a beacon to Riley; beseeching eyes, eyes abandoned by all the rest of the world. Riley found himself pulled back to the eyes by some unknown charity within him that he didn’t even know was there, that he wished was not.

Riley understood loneliness to some extent. The love of his life had recently chosen her boss over him, taking their son with her, and their home, and such a sizable chunk of Riley’s journalism salary that it hardly seemed worth showing up to work anymore, though surely he would be be sought out by the court system if he didn’t. Riley was really little more than a worker bee at this point, no longer working for himself, but instead slaving away for a queen bee who had betrayed him, for a son whom that woman was slowly turning against him, and for a man who was fucking that woman under Riley’s own roof while Riley made do on a fold-away YMCA cot.

Still, that he would be alright Riley knew with a certainty. He was drinking a little much, yea, but these changes were all so shocking and new, and so out of his control, weren't they? Riley slipped the bottle from his pocket once more and choked down another drag of liquid fire that neither helped his situation, nor made him feel any better.

Yes, Riley understood loneliness to some extent, but this boy… his was an altogether different sort of loneliness, was it not? His was a loneliness that Riley could not begin to fathom, a loneliness that would necessitate insanity. Surely there was nothing reasonable left behind those blazing eyes, that is if there had ever been anything reasonable behind them to begin with. There could be nothing, could there? Fuck! Heaven help the little fucker if there was even a trace of it. The only situation Riley could imagine being worse than stumbling upon this kid would be in being this kid. Of all the fucking luck.

The waves were creeping up now, lapping forth strands of sea-weeded yack towards the boy like frothy tongues. The last thing in the world Riley wanted to do was to touch the kid, but he had to, didn’t he? Should he not at least move him a few feet further away from the encroaching water? With his courage gathered, Riley‘s hands gripped either side of the lad’s torso, finding it surprisingly light, if somewhat top-heavy. Riley held it out at arm’s length, as one would a wild, captured animal, or a poisonous snake, but as the boy's eyes came up level with his own Riley could not help but see the panic within them.

"No worries, son. I'm just gonna move you further up the beach, away from the water."

But the panic in the eyes grew at Riley's words rather than dissipating, enlightening Riley to everything. Jesus fucking Christ, Riley thought to himself. The poor bastard wants to be here! The knowledge of it angered Riley. What the hell? Some son-of-a-bitch had carried this boy here and left him for the sea? Not even the plea in those blazing eyes could squelch the disgust Riley felt. What the fucking hell? It was not something Riley could ever do. And how could anyone have done so? If the boy had nothing else, he at least had that light in his eyes! And if the little shit wanted to kill himself he would have to do it on his own, as Riley wanted no fucking part of it!

But Riley was part of it, wasn’t he? And the kid couldn’t possibly do it on his fucking own, could he? Riley had not signed up for this shit, but he was the one who was here. And fuck the fucking luck that had brought him here, too! All he’d wanted was a walk on the fucking beach! Was that too much to ask for? Isn’t that what the beach is supposed to be for? A place to find a little bit of peace in this fucked up world? A place to sink your feet in the cool sand and forget it all? A place to stand and watch a brilliant, blazing gulf sunset and to just exist? Was it too much for Riley to have something nice for himself? A bit of fucking peace? Fuck all the fucking fuck!

With the boy still at arm’s length Riley began to cry. It was no little cry either, but was a great, sobbing cry which drew an expression of pity from the blazing eyes, a pity that made it apparent to Riley that there was indeed a bit sanity in there behind them. The boy felt. If nothing else, the boy felt, and knowing that he did was just about more than Riley could bear. This child with no appendages was feeling sorry for him?

And God damn it all to hell if Riley was the man to leave a boy to the sea. He just couldn’t, could he? But the boy was growing heavy, and when Riley finally placed him back in his spot it was in a puddle now. The sea was coming up! Dear Lord, what to do? Riley was crying again, but not for his own stupid luck this time. And the eyes were still pleading, and the sea was still rising, and the sun was now setting, and God was fucking smiling, so not knowing what else to do Riley sat himself down in the cold puddle beside the boy and took the child up. He pulled the stumps over into his lap before wrapping them up in his arms to wait. His arms pulled tightly around the boy’s torso breathed along with the body's lungs, and throbbed along with it’s pulsings, and languished with it’s sighs.

Curiously, Riley’s tears ceased. Oddly, he felt no need to reach for the bottle in his pocket. As the tide rose it was not water, but a strange contentment that flooded Riley over. And it was only then that Riley found the peace he had come to the beach in search of.

No, Riley had not been the man to leave a boy to the sea, had he? No… Riley had fucking stayed the fucking course, right alongside the fucking lad.

And thanks be to Heaven for that bit of luck.

Small waves float lazily on a nearly white sea. A seagull rides those waves, unbothered, unmoving. The sky is clear but in the distance, over the horizon they’re dark and ominous, moving towards the mainland where a flash flood will cleanse the dry earth after weeks of heat and no rain.

Richard Turse walks along the sand, head down, dragging his feet. His hands are both placed inside the pockets of his beige khaki shorts, and his hair drops in front of his eyes in a snake curl that he blows away several times. His head kind of feels like the sky. There’s sun, and thick clouds, and the feeling that something sinister is coming. Like soon his mind is going to simply stop providing him with comfort, and it’ll all be replaced with discomfort. His skin will feel too tight, and he’ll develop some serious form of agoraphobia.

Depression isn’t at the forefront of his mind, but it’s there. He’s heard friends and family talk about it, but he’d never felt it first hand. His ex-girlfriend, Holly Jensen had once told him that it had nothing to do with sadness, that it was simply an inability to feel comfort, and an inability to feel at one with the natural world.

He understood that now. Couples sat on the beach, scrolling on their phones. The sun blinded the screens, and he wondered if they could even see what they were looking at?

He wants to yell, “Hey, is there anyone out there? I’m looking for human life, human connection. Can anyone hear me?” But like every other time, he remains quiet, when he wishes he could speak up.

Up ahead, he sees something. And hears a hoarse voice singing out of tune. Richard squints and as he approaches he sees a man who must be on his knees, because he’s barely half the height of Richard, then he supposes it could be a little person, and then he stops squinting incase offense is taken at this man zeroing in on what the little person might suspect is some kind of circus freak. So, he returns to his casual walk, staring down at the sand, and the voice gets louder and clearer.

They sent me off to Vietnam

And I came home, half a man

They sent me off to Vietnam

Now all I have is a tin can

Richard can see the man clearly now, and he isn’t a little person, rather a legless veteran planted in the sand by the water with a cup held out. His eyes are closed, his face is old and his beard hangs down to his chest. The man is wearing a tattered faded green army jacket with pins and patches etched all across. And he notices the ring finger of his left hand is nothing but a stub, and he feels shitty for letting his mind tell him that his problems were the worst in this world, when there were people like this who still found a reason to wake in the morning.

Before he knows it, he’s standing in front of the man and the shadow from his body creates shade that opens the veterans eyes.

He looks down at the man and tries to hide pity from his face, but feels as though he’s failed that test. So, he sees the cup and inside his shorts he hauls out some change, nods his head and drops it in the cup.

There’s a splash, and he looks down to see it’s filled with coffee.

“Oh, my goodness. I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.”

And instinctively, due to the nerves and guilt he’s feeling, Richard reaches down to put his hand in the scolding hot cup of coffee, and the veteran grabs his wrist. It feels like fire scolding his skin, and Richard lets out a scream and looks into the man’s eyes to see only empty white.

“Show us, then”

As he pulls his hands free, he stumbles back into the sand. But it’s no longer sand, just a blank nothingness. He rubs his hands on the surface and looks behind him, nothing. He rubs at his eyes, and tries again. The same thing.

The man is gone, the couple on their phones. The blue in the sky, the clouds, and darkening horizon, all gone.

“What’s going on?” He asks, and then screams it. “WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

He puts his hands on his face, rocking back and forth and says, “bring back the sand, the sky, clouds. Bring it all back.”

Then he puts his hands next to him, and can feel the softness and the heat. He opens his eyes, and the sand is back, and the sky, but there’s nothingness where the water was, and Richard says softly, and questioningly, “uh the beach? The water?” And it returns.

Richards gets back on his feet, and the beach is back but there are no people, and he thinks he’s going crazy. He thinks about the couple on their phones, and looks in the direction where they were, and they appear, like nothing happened. Still scrolling the darkened screens.

It must be a dream, he thinks. It has to be a dream or everything he’s ever learned about the world, about time, space, all of it, was a blatant fucking lie. Because if an old legless man grabbing his wrist could stop the world and he could bring it back by thinking, then what in the holy hell did everything mean?

So he tries to bring back the legless man. He thinks and looks at the spot where he was just sitting. Richard feels foolish like he’s Professor X or something, holding his temples, trying to use his newfound power, or curse, or whatever it was, to make a man reappear. But he won’t.

So he continues along the beach, trying to remember everything as it was, but realizing just how hard that is, and just how much he’s gone through his days lately like a zombie, not paying attention to anything around him.

But then he clears his head, and says, fuck it. If he can’t remember, he’ll just make it better. He looks up ahead, and thinks of a jungle gym, monkey bars, a large slide that snakes around, and lands on soft ground. Kids laughing, and parents pushing them on the swings. Then beside that he puts in a splash pad, and a volleyball net, and a basketball court. Before long the beach is filled with laughter, and Richard smiles.

His legs are tired so he puts a bench to his left, and he sits and looks out. He imagines sail boats, yachts, and a cruise ship in the distance. He takes away the storm clouds over the horizon, and he puts a cold can of beer in his right hand.

And then in the empty spot next to him, he thinks about Holly Jensen, and when she appears, she says, “Hi, Richard,” and puts her hand out. Richard puts his hand on hers, and they look out at the water. “Things have been crazy, Hol. Real crazy. But maybe they’ll be okay. Maybe we can just stay here?l?”

And when he looks at her, she smiles but her eyes are hollow like the legless man.

“Keep your mind clear, Richard. Keep your mind from darkness.”

“What?”

And she points to the water. The water begins to turn red, and the storm clouds return.

“Don’t think about death and destruction, Richard. Keep your mind clear.”

And Holly begins to laugh maniacally. Mouth wide, too wide. Like her jaw should be broken. And then the voice of the legless man in his head, “They sent me off to Vietnam,” and the ring of artillery fire.

Richard falls off the bench, and sees a platoon of men in green, shooting at the Viet Cong.

“No, no, no, no.”

Then his mind is racing. He looks out and Professor Halburton, his History professor in college is standing in the sand with a whiteboard behind him. His eyes hollow. Blank white, and he has a stick and he’s pointing it at the board.

“Today’s lesson will be about the Salem Witch trials which began in February of 1692.”

And then Halburton points the stick beside him, and Richard looks.

Two women tied to a wooden pole scream as flames rise up, and burn their flesh.

Then Halburton says, “Today’s lesson will be the Holocaust”

“Today’s lesson will be about Columbine.”

“Today’s lesson will be about 9/11”

“Today’s lesson will be about Rwanda”

“Today’s lesson Richard will be about the bloodshed of everyone you love.”

He sees his parents lying in an x on the sand over each other. His little sister next to them. He’s crying now, holding his head.

“Please stop. Please, Dear God, stop”

He closes his eyes, screaming. And when he opens them, the couple who was staring at their phones, are looking up at him like he’s crazy. They do so only for a second, before returning to their screens.

Richard stands up slowly, shaking.

They sent me off to Vietnam

And I came home half a man

They sent me off to Vietnam

Now all I got is a dirty tin can”

Richard sees the body in the distance. And he wants to run the other way, but something is telling him that he can’t. That he shouldn’t. That he needs answers to whatever in the hell just happened.

And so he gets up, and walks slowly towards the legless man singing. As he approaches, he gets a sickening sense of deja-vu. He stops in front of the man he’s holding out a cup, but this time it’s empty. He does a double take just to make sure, but it’s empty, except for a few small coins.

“Do you uh know me?” Richard asks, and the man opens his eyes.

“Keep your mind clear, boy.”

“What in the hell was that?”

“Your world is coming to an end.”

“What?”

“Your world is coming to an end, Richard.” The blank eyes stare up at him. “The only way to keep your life intact is to rebuild it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The time will come when you’ll have to rebuild this world. And you’ve seen how beautiful it can be, but also how tragic. You’ll need training.”

“Training?”

The man puts the cup out. “Drop the change.”

Richard takes the change from his shorts, and drops it in.

Again, he grabs his wrist.

"Show me, then"

Again, nothingness.

The sun shone brightly; of course, that was the only job it had. It was sandy like every beach was. I hated the gritty touches I felt as I walked barefooted on the sandy beach. I had tied the laces on my shoes into a knot and hung them around my neck. For a while, I stood and stared at the water. It seemed like it had no end as it blended with the skies above my head. I took in a deep breathe and continued walking on the beach.

“How could she say no? To me? After everything?” I kept thinking whether last night was a joke or a dream.

Maybe it never happened. I paused again and smelt my breathe. Oh yeah, last night was no dream. Then, in a distance I could see a lovely couple, happy as they played and basked in the sand.

“Why can’t we be like that?” I wondered.

One particular scene caught my attention. I enjoyed my job but it seemed like the cop on the mountain bike did not. With an angry face, he engaged in a speed pursuit of a thief while yelling at him to stop. It was more of a nuisance to me. And there were the loners, just like I had become. It seemed like he had just come out of the water after a bath as he was still wet. He sat alone staring at his phone and then to the sky and back to his phone again. Was it despair? Or something else?

“Oh God!” I prayed, “let my life not turn miserable.”

Why would I pray such a prayer? My life was already miserable; I just needed to cope with it. Yet again, I saw another man, lonely. He sat in the sand, pretty close to the water. As if he had noticed me staring, he turned to me as I stood a distance away and looked up at me, real close. He stared as if he knew me or he wanted me to feel uncomfortable and look away. That was exactly what happened. But I could feel him still staring. I continued walking on the gritty beach towards the lonely man that sat close to the water. As I passed behind his back, oh goodness, he had no legs, not even one? What a world. I felt pity for him.

“And you’re complaining?” I muttered to myself.

How I wished I could help. Oh, I could. A strong force urged me to turn back. Which I did. I reached into my pocket. What? Only coins? I began to think back to where I had left my wallet as it was in neither of my pockets.

“Damn! In my coat at Stanley’s place,” I yelped as I held my head.

The legless man turned to me. The force that had urged me to turn back now pushed me to move towards the staring legless man. With my hand still in my pocket, I collected every coin I felt and oh, a note. When I got close, I reached down to set some change in his cup. He grabbed my wrist and I immediately looked up and stared straight into his eyes. Then I stared back down. Coffee? I pulled my hand back up just before I could release the coins and note into the cup filled with coffee.

“Show us, then,” the legless man whispered into my ears.

I pulled free, releasing myself from his firm grip. I was confused at the words he had used but OMG! I was more confused and shocked for a moment when I turned around. The gritty feeling of the sand was gone. In fact, the entire beach was gone. No happy couple, no lonely man staring at his phone and then, the sky. No one; the walkway was gone along with everyone. Everyone except I and the legless man. I looked around for a while and then turned back to the …

What a miracle! He was healed and now had two legs. His hairy legs that were exposed by his shorts.

“Oh my, I must be going crazy,” I whispered to myself.

I had every reason to turn irrational.

“Oh!” I slapped my head, “you drank too much last night!”

I turned back to where the walkway laid, where all the people sat and walked and then, it appeared. What was happening? A dream? A game? Some sort of a trick? I stood, confused, surprised. Then, it all came back to me.

“Last night!” I yelled out.

I began to walk up and down the beach which had appeared again. I began to ran towards the car park. As I ran past the man who used to be legless, he repeatedly shouted the words, “show us, then!”

“Oh no, I’m not going crazy. He is crazy,” I said and kept running to find my black Benz.

When I found it, I hurriedly unlocked it and grabbed my phone. I called Stanley, he was there.

“Stanley, tell me, what happened last night?” I questioned as soon as he answered the phone.

“Last night?”

“Yeah, last night?”

“Look man, I told you to leave 'cause I had a gig but you were already drunk so I locked you in.”

He locked me in? m

Meaning I was there alone? Or maybe it was just the alcohol making me imagine things. Why was I even making a big deal out of it? I relaxed and took in deep breathes to calm down.

He continued angrily, “when I came back, you were gone and so was every drop of wine I had on the shelf.” “Thanks, man,” he added but I could tell he did not mean it.

I got out of the car with the phone in hand. I ran back to the beach; it was still there and so was everyone else. Unlike many other days, the beach was quiet and quite empty. I turned around to leave. Suddenly, the noise behind me grew louder. I turned to the beach again and with shock I realized that hundreds, in fact, thousands of people had gathered at the beach. Some in the water, others on the sand and many on the walkway where I stood. “Stanley? Are you still there?” I asked quite frightened as I kept staring at the large crowd of people.

“Yeah man, what’s up with you?”

What’s up with me? My lady had rejected me, the first time I tasted hard drink, I got myself drunk and now I was at a beach with numerous people which somehow appeared when I thought of it.

“Look man, if it’s about last night, I don’t know. The only words I allowed you to say were ‘I wish I could make things happen’. Yeah, I think that’s what you said before I locked you in,”

Stanley sounded less angry now and I was still shocked.

“And you left your coat,” he added before ending the call.

I stood, still staring at the beach. I hated to be there whenever there were a lot of people. Then, from a distance I could see a lifeguard tower. I thought of something, and it happened. From where I stood, I could see a young lady and her son ran towards the tower. They kept pointing at the water as the lifeguards ran after them into the large crowd of people that swam in the water. I watched as a guard went underneath the water and came out with a boy. For the first time ever, I had witnessed someone being rescued from drowning at the beach and I had made it happen. I ran away, into my car and off. What had I done? What was going on? I trembled as I drove onto the main road. The cars were many, the heavy traffic gave me a headache. My phone clinked.

The message read, ‘where on earth are you?’

Whoever sent that must be very angry or worried, I thought. I checked the time. 9:23?

“Damn! I’m going to be late!” I realized.

But no one could move; everyone on the road was stuck in the traffic. Then, what Stanley said about what I had said came to mind.

“I can make stuff happen?” I thought.

I looked out through the window and saw how far the traffic stretched. The numerous vehicles barely fit on the width of the road.

“Nope, only God can!”

But what if I could? All I had to do was to think it first, right? And that was what I did.

“You’re late!” I heard someone yell.

She was running towards me and when she got close, she held me by the hand and pulled me to the elevator. I was puzzled and frozen as to what I had made a reality. I couldn’t even speak but when I turned to her, she was watching me.

“Look, I’m sorry…” I tried to apologize but she cut in.

“You don’t need to say anything. Let’s get this deal and then we can all go home,” she said looking away. “And please, tuck in your shirt,” she added shyly.

“Why? Did you not like the ring I got?” I asked when I regained my composure.

She said nothing and as soon as the elevator’s door opened, she pushed me out.

“Finally,” Jeremy, who had been waiting said relieved. “Where on earth have you been?” he asked but I had no answer for him. Probably, he sent the text. He place his hand in my hair and fixed it up and then he took off his coat and helped me put it on. It had no match with my trouser but who cared. All that was needed was that deal. I was pushed inside the room where men and women with serious faces sat. Oh no, I had forgotten all my lines. At that moment I wished I was outside getting some fresh air and even before I could blink and open my eyes, I stood outside the tall building where I worked.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said silently as I rushed back inside, into the elevator and to what floor?

What was this? A curse or a gift? “But we need this deal,” I cried as I stood stranded in the building I had been working in for seven years. I came out of the elevator and began to use the stairs back down. I closed my eyes and found myself on the sofa in my house when I opened it. Well, I had sort of become used to it. Whatever I thought of, whether small or big would become a reality. I could create my own reality? I place my head down and closed my eyes to sleep waiting to wake up and realize it was all just a dream. Then, the door bell rung. Lazily, I got up to open it and there she stood. I thought I could never see her again.

“What happened back there?” she questioned softly.

So everything was real? From the beach to the office scene? That all I had to do was to think and it would simply come to exist. She stood there waiting for a response but I could not take my eyes of her beautiful face. Then, I remembered last night when I went on a knee to ask her to marry me. I had been planning that for years, to be precise, two years. I knew she would say yes; I was super confident and sure about that. I could not remember the rest of what happened at that restaurant, her favorite. But if I woke up blue, then it was certain what happened. There she stood, before me. I imagined a world filled with peace and laughter, with her by my side as my wife. A bright place and even when it was night, there was light. In a house we worked hard to build up from scratch and when one entered through the front door, he could see pictures of our happiest days and feel emotions of pure happiness. With our kids running around. Children we would name after her late parents. And a garden, a beautiful one filled with all the flowers she loved.

Then I closed and opened my eyes…

It was a Good Friday kind of day. A mass we always wanted to skip. The one where the congregation is urged to shout "Crucify him! Crucify him!" to further compound the fact and bring home the disgust, at having a human hand that reaches that far back with killer's blood coursing there just beneath the fingernails.

Gulls screech above, circling confusedly like buzzards. Bottle caps, shells, and those six-pack rings that choke the wildlife, poke between the toes, on an aimless walk. The debris upon the beach, washed up is unremarkable, except for one that toys with memory, if not imagination. It's these action figure legs, jackknifed into the landscape. Anonymous, yet familiar. The camo pants, the combat boots.

We know him, like our own reflections. Like childhood. Like John Doe. Joe.

I'm so far removed from the board walk. It's sunlight and amusements on a film strip. The ants unrelated to me. Eating, laughing, and recreating the impression of Life. It's colors.  The wind takes all their marching on, farther into the distance, and the greater gusts obscure my immediate footprint. My past insignificance highlighted in the glare of sand. Dark clouds, blazed from the underside where the sun has slid around and stuck its tongue out.

I can feel two quarters clanking in my shorts. Not gonna get me much. Not even hot or cold coffee these days. I approach closer to the G.I. Joe, I can see his torso's stuck in a cup. Styrofoam. Figures. A tenacious trap that won't decompose, and will leave him locked in that sinkhole, like a laughable foot soldier. Arms locked. All the more disposable. The good guy.

Rain makes a mockery of us both. His cup now full and stained with old grind residue. Darkness pools around the waist and on impulse I flick a coin to dislodge the legs. I don't know why I feel like he should get his head out of the sand or something. But I won't lean down to pluck the figure out. My clothes are dotting with cold drops, and my fingers slip. I miss. Just slightly, the soft edge rejects the metal and sends it back to land at my big toe. It stings. It doesn't hurt really. But I'm crying all the sudden.

It's just a thing, and then it isn't. Empty.

Show us, then, the wind whistles.

It's white on white on white. A glare.

"What's your name?" Bobby. Joe.

"Where you from?" Under the lamp arm.

"Which division?" First. From reality.

"It's a game. It's only a game."

"Bobby Joe, play with us."

"You be this one."

"Pow pow."

Teeth. White, on white.

Smile. Wince.

"Bobby?"

"It's only a game..."

"He's going to get up again."

"Right?"

"Bobby? Joe?"

"Galvanized iron."

"What?"

"Government issued."

"Not Gen Infantry?"

"No. Issue."

"Bobby Joe?"

White noise.

"Do you hear?"

"General issue."

"He's not responding..."

White on white, sheet.

There's the clouds. The soulless beach. There's reality I know nothing about.

This sad forgiveness that hangs heavy. A grain of sand like a boulder.

An empty shroud. A smear.

We were playing. We were just playing, until we weren't.

03.25.2024

Legless man Prose Fantasy Challenge for March @Prose

“Weird,” I stared at my hands, then back at the newly formed path. “Did I just… make that?”

No one answered. Nothing existed except me and the path and the void, if it could be called a void. It reminded me more of a blank page in a book. I started walking along the path, closing my eyes the further out I went. The white space started to hurt my brain. It was too empty, too full of nothing.

Too lonely.

A twig snapped under my feet on the path. My eyes flew open to find a beautiful forest and leaves falling around me. Sunlight trickled down through the autumn-colored canopy, the swirl of oranges, reds, and yellows almost glowing as they landed on the roof of a stone cottage. Despite not being made of wood, it seemed to grow out of the herculean redwood behind it. Smoke drifted from the chimney, disappearing as quickly as it came. Smooth tiles slanted down in a perfect roof, and the windows glinted in the available light. The most vibrant part of the cottage, however, was the dark burgundy door and the fox sitting in front of it.

I took a slight step back only to find the path gone. My bare feet hit leaf litter, and where it should’ve felt irritating or lifeless, like the grainy sand of the beach, it felt… comforting. For whatever reason, my mind created this place. The fox cocked its head at me as if asking why I was just standing there. If I could do anything, why was I afraid? Still, I couldn’t convince myself to move.

The fox, sensing my nervousness, approached me. It moved like a ghost, its footsteps whispering as it walked. It gently nudged my hand with its nose, another touch of warmth in an already warm world. Carefully, cautiously, I brushed my fingers through its soft, orange fur. It should’ve been rough, spiky, wild just like the fox was, yet like the leaves, it felt like home. I followed it this time, going up the steps and opening the door to the cottage.

If the outside was a fantasy, inside was a dream. Tree branches spiraled high above on the ceiling, rooting the cottage to the land. A small iron stove and oven found their places on the wall next to shelves of grain, spices, herbs, tea. A wooden table and two chairs were right in the middle, inviting anyone to sit down and relax. At the other end, thick tree branches that had curled around the ceiling now hugged the walls, holding an array of books, thick and thin, old and new. Just below the natural bookshelves lay a bed, soft and cozy and just as inviting as the table.

I quietly closed the door behind me and approached the bed, suddenly feeling light-headed and exhausted. The autumn-colored quilt was even softer than it looked, and I climbed in, savoring the warmth, the safety. The fox stood to the side, watching me for a moment before leaving out of a smaller door near the chimney area, back outside. Alone once again, I decided to sleep. I did not dream.

I woke up the next day to the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee. Stretching, I walked over to the table to find the fox standing there again, watching me as I sat down. A mug of warm coffee cooled on the side, and next to it, fresh coffee beans. The plate in front of me had two slices of whole wheat sourdough, baked and buttered to perfection. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything. Picking up a slice, I bit into it, closing my eyes as the flavors took over. It was such a simple combination, and yet simple things are often the most comforting.

Who taught me that?

I stopped chewing. A million questions ran through my head, blocking everything else. How long had I been wandering in the void before I created this? Had there been anything before the beach, before the blank canvas that was now my reality? How did I know this would be the perfect meal for me? Why couldn’t I remember anyone’s face from my past? Did I even have a past?

The fox was staring again when I glanced up at it.

“Why did I make you?” I asked, hoping that I could get some sort of sign, an answer in a sea of questions. It tilted its head to the side, unable to say anything.

“If this is my reality, why won’t you talk?” I put my slice down. “Everything has been exactly as I imagined except for you. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Still, it did not answer. I took a step toward it, and as I did, the fox finally broke its stance. Suddenly nervous, it hopped onto the table, tipping over the coffee beans -in the process. Something in my expression must have scared it even more because, after a final glance up at me, the fox ran out its door again, leaving me alone with a mess to clean up.

Sighing, I got to my knees and started to pick up the grounds, the smell of coffee wafting around me. Stains spread on my hands and got under my nails. A few of the beans got stuck between the floorboards. I dug my fingers in, trying to get one out when the floorboard moved. The bean dropped down and I heard a hollow sound as if there was a compartment below. Curious, I tugged at the floorboard until it gave way, the nails ripping out and the wood splintering. There was a compartment, and the bean had landed right on top of a book. I reached down and took it in my hands. After blowing the dust off the cover, I read the title:

The Girl and the Vixen.

The picture below was of me and… a red-haired girl. Not just any girl; one I knew. One whose curls I’d brushed, one whose freckles I’d counted like stars, one whose eyes – green eyes – I’d stare into for hours. I knew her name, had it on the tip of my tongue, had it in the deep crevices of my mind full of memories that I hadn’t been able to conjure since I got here. Why couldn’t I remember her name? I knew everything else, even Vesper’s love of coffee –

Vesper.

I flipped through the pages, desperate for more, craving my story, the memories I lost. Every word brought up another piece, and as I kept reading, the whole picture built itself in my mind.

I found her in a gallery, surrounded by portraits and sculptures and paintings, staring at a larger-than-life ocean. Every brushstroke and every color culminated in the illustration of a turbulent and angry sea, witnessed only by the moon and two stars by its side. She wore a sweater the same blue as the ocean, and a lighter blue scarf hung on her neck. Her hair was like fire on water – untamed and beautiful – a cascade that only just covered a face full of freckles. I’d gone up to her to ask for her name, her number, and the type of coffee she held in her right hand. Smiling, she gave me all three, and that taste of coffee would linger until we met again.

Dinner, candlelit and classy. This time she wore a black dress and I wore a green one. Both of us had chosen gold hoop earrings and a necklace to match. I learned she was an artist herself as we sipped red wine and ate pasta smothered in pesto and parmesan and topped with grilled chicken. I told her I was an aspiring writer, working a day job while I worked on my manuscript. She asked if I could show her some time. Only if you show me your work, I’d said.

I went to her home; she came to mine. Back and forth, a pattern emerged, a new rhythm. Lunch meant going to my run-down place after. Dinner meant going over to her studio apartment and falling asleep. Slowly, my toothbrush, my clothes, my journal moved with me. Her kitchen became our kitchen. Her room became our room. Her place became our place.

Vesper breathed life into me. I went out with her to art shows and picnics and coffee dates. I spoke my mind and listened to her voice as she listened to mine. My writing blossomed, words flowing in my mind and out onto the page. Countless poems detailing that hair, those freckles, those green eyes filled the journal. Short, everyday stories reflected the kindness, the intelligence, the confidence she embodied so effortlessly. As I wrote about her, she made art about me. She hid it from me, locking her creative space away, telling me it wasn’t ready. All I got were clues: orange and red paint and canvases stacked against the walls.

One day, she made me wear a blindfold and took my hands to guide me. I kept asking when I could look, only hearing soft laughs and whispered no’s until she shut the door behind us. Vesper untied the blindfold.

A forest, orange and red and yellow, was laid out on the canvas. A single redwood sat in the center, and just in front of it, a stone cottage. If I looked closely, I saw the two figures in the window, sharing a kiss, hidden away in a beautiful fantasy, a wonderland.

“Vesper, it’s breathtaking,” I could hardly speak, overwhelmed. “What did you name it?”

“‘Our Future,’” She smiled at me. “It’s our future, Farah.”

The memories after that could not be pieced together. Something had gone wrong. Something had taken Vesper away and trapped me here. All I remembered was a twisted shadow rising, swallowing her in darkness, and leaving me stranded on a beach. With no memory and no purpose, I had walked aimlessly for who knows how long.

I only woke up when that man tried to hand me that cup of coffee.

The fox had returned and was staring again. Instead of a wild spirit, I only found sadness. There were no pages left in the book, nothing to tell me what happened next, only what happened before. But I didn’t need that to know why the fox was here now, the vixen.

When I blinked, she was there, beautiful as the day I’d met her. She wore that same blue sweater, the same scarf, but a new smile, a grateful one. I reached out to her, this ethereal figment of my imagination that I could bring to life if I wanted. I could kiss her, hold her, be with her in the future we always wanted.

But it wouldn’t be real.

At that thought, Vesper, the coffee, the cottage, and the forest all fell away, revealing the white void underneath. I was alone in a prison with no idea who put me there and no idea how to get out and no idea how to get to Vesper. All that remained was me, the book, and a pen. The book was still opened to the blank page, the unfinished story.

Unfinished…

This wasn’t over, was it? I had power here – a power I only realized when coffee woke me up again. If I could create worlds in here, where was the limit?

After hesitating, I took the pen and wrote my name, Farah, in the book. The ink stuck for a second just before sinking into the pages. I kept writing, words flowing as I once again remembered Vesper, knowing that nothing would take her from my mind again. All the words sunk. They had to have power, I knew they did. I knew I had power, more than I ever could've imagined if I succeeded now.

After a few moments, words appeared on the page, ones I’d heard before when I came back to myself.

"Show us, then."

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and stared at the empty space in front of me. I reached out and touched the edge of the void, feeling it between my fingers. Rather than air, it was now paper, soft and delicate as a newly made book. My book. My story. Our story.

I took a deep breath and ripped my world open.

"Show us, then."

I can feel the pressure of his hand on my wrist disappear as my vision goes white. My immediate thought was that I was having a seizure, that my brain had finally decided to send me back to the void that my childhood had plagued me with. Yet, my consciousness remained and I realized that this was something new, something different. I was standing on a similar promenade as to the one that I had been on before, but beyond the five feet where I stood, there was just a white expanse in every direction.

Was I on drugs? It didn't feel like any trip I'd been on before, just an endless sea of nothing.

I peered into my surroundings desperate for a glimpse of something, anything. Minutes, seconds, and hours passed as I stared into the expanse. I was desperate for something to track the time that I had passed, and as the thoughts of my wish crossed through my mind- a speck appeared in my white surroundings. It was a dull recreation of a stopwatch as if I pulled from my faded memories of gym class and wondered how much longer we would have to run around the track at school.

Had I done this? Had my wish for a way to figure out how long I had been in this odd vision created what I wanted?

I wished for more things now. A place to sit, the perfect meal, the mansions that I had dreamed of as a child. The more I wished and thought and imagined, the more items appeared. A bench akin to the ones I would pass by in the park. The taco I had been craving since the week before. A tall building, with a moat and spires, as if pulled from my childhood dreams.

But as I sat on the bench, it collapsed under me. I took a bite of the taco, and it felt like sawdust. I crossed the bridge towards the castle-like building before me, and as I opened the door, the inside was nothing but endless gleaming white. It was nothing but a 2D recreation of childhood drawings.

I didn't know how to create a world. I wished desperately for a way back to mine. I wanted a ladder, a trapdoor, a portal, something, anything, that would get me out of this nightmare.

A door appeared nearby, wooden and glowing with purple light. I rushed for it, wrenching it open. But inside was just another white expanse. My mind not built for the creative ability to make a passage back to the world that I remembered. Could I recreate it? I thought about my friends and my family, pulling on my memories, desperate for them to join me. Shapes started to appear beside me. My mom, my best friends Marie and Douglas, and my coworker Grace. They looked almost correct. But as I stared closer, I started to doubt myself. Were Marie's eyes really that shade of blue or were they darker? Hadn't Grace gotten a haircut recently? Was her hair really that long?

And as I started, these questions ran through my head - they started to change in front of me. Marie's eyes turned just a few shades darker, Grace's hair shrinking just a few inches. My thoughts were changing them. Whoever "them" truly was.

I was terrified. I wanted it gone. I didn't want to create the world. I wanted my world back. The recreations I had made of my friends, of my family, of my favorite places - they were lifeless imitations.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

The word echoed through my head. I wanted it gone. All of it.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

The people, and the places that I had created started to fade. The expanse of white slowly returned.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

I could see shades of black creeping out the edges of my vision, overtaking the blank canvas that had been laid out in front of me.

Gone. Gone.

Maybe I hadn't been able to create my world. But I certainly was able to end this one. The black enveloped me, enveloped everything. I could feel the pressure and tension slowly leave my body.

Gone.

"A beach is a place where a man can feel

He's the only soul in the world that's real."

— From "Bell Boy," (Quadraphenia, by the Who)

"Show us, then!" the man whispered urgently. "Show us what you can do. Quickly, now. Hurry. Before it's too late."

"I beg your pardon?" I said.

"Oh, that's rich. You begging me. And to pardon you, at that." he laughed. Then he grabbed the sand where his legs should have been, moaning in phantom pain.

The cruelty of the scene was not overstated. Someone had fashioned, out of the sand, two replicas of his legs for him. When he braced them to splint the pain he imagined, the sand crumbled, ruining them. Now he screamed.

"What can I do?" I pleaded.

"Rebuild them!" he answered. "Show me and the rest of us how you help people--like me and the rest of us!"

I quickly cupped my hands to reform his smashed sand-shins, then patted them firmly to lock in their shapes. He exhaled in relief. "Thank you," he said. "Those are nice ones, indeed."

I realized that the cruelty of the scene I had surmised before was mistakenly assumed on my part. I had not been the first one here. I wondered who would think of my own cruelty in forming his new legs.

"Could you make me a friend?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean," I confessed.

"Like you made my legs. So beautiful and strong. Do it next to me but don't stop at the legs. Make the rest of my buddy."

"Your buddy?"

"Yea. I said, 'friend,' c'mon."

"I'm no sand artist," I said, a bit frustrated.

"Do it!" he commanded sternly. "If you don't do anything for anyone else, you can do this for me!"

I knew I probably could fashion a torso, arms, and a head during the time it would take me to think over this entire complicated and bizarre scenario. And I knew I wasn't sure I'd even arrive at the right decision. Rather than do nothing, I began to gather and shape the sand next to him. I'd rather be wrong doing that than not do it and be wrong. Logic didn't apply, that was clear. I was on unfirm ground here, as tentative as any sand castle or man doomed to the next tide.

"Not bad," he said, surveying my work.

"I suppose," I agreed, but it was more of a capitulation.

And with that he stood up, miraculously, brushed off the loose sand, and ran away, leaving me with his friend.

I plopped down next to my creation, confused more than relieved at the man's astounding and impossible transformation; and angry more than amazed.

"Well, pal," I told the sand doppelgänger, "ain't that something."

The sandman turned his head and nodded in agreement. "Well, done," he told me.

Further unfirm ground here. Could anything make sense now?

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"Not at all," I answered, giving up to reason, the laws of physics, and reality in general. "What can I do for you?" Like some rogue wave, I was in it and just needed to ride it out.

"Well, I'm just plopped down here, all intact and better off than the other guy. I mean, I've got legs at the start. Hard to complain, right?"

"I suppose..."

"But you know, tides comin' in and I'm a little nervous about that. Could you maybe move me farther away?"

Thus, there was one thing left in this quagmire of loose quicksand irrationality and impossibility. It was the need to do. Do for someone else.

Now I took the time to think. I thought long and hard. And that's when I realized that you just can't fix everyone.

"No, my friend. That's ridiculous. You're no more real to me than my ability to create a person from sand. What's real to me is what matters. That's only fair, right? So, I'm going back to my world where everything makes sense. Where I belong and you don't."

"A lotta good that'll do me," he huffed. But I didn't care.

I get on my knees and breathe in and out, hating the slight flash of relief I feel. Perhaps I may never have the fear of people judging me if they're simply gone but that is no prize compared to existence wiping out without me going with it. Or is this death? Is this purgatory or hell? Heaven? Have I finally gone mad and broke my mind? What the fuck do I-

A hand touches my shoulder. I look up at the familiar skin, backing away when I notice my face looking back at me. It's rather uncanny to see yourself in 3d, knowing it's the way others see you. The mirror of me goes around my frozen form and clicks its tongue, then sits in front of me.

"Don't you want to see me, too? This isn't an opportunity you'll always get, kit. And who knows how long it'll last?"

"I'm... Dreaming. Aren't I? But usually when I realise it's a dream, it means I'm in danger and then I wake up. I should be awake by now."

"But instead, you're here with me. Two Icaruses. Icari? Icari works. I like how it sounds."

"...me too."

I sit up and stare at it, waving my hand with the silly expectation that it will follow me. Instead, it languidly stretches back, and then stares at me a bit longer, waiting. I suppose I'm waiting too. Someone must speak first but if it's anything like me, we are both so filled with questions that we are paralysed by it.

"That man, mirror me... Was that... A god of some kind? Was I put here because I tried to give him money? Is this a reward or punishment?"

"I didn't expect God to have dreadlocks. No way it's one from the main religions - those guys aren't that cool."

"Will you focus?! We might be trapped here forever!"

"...not if you hope not. Tell me... If you could've gone anywhere. Anywhere at all. Where would it be?"

"I... There's so many places coming to mind. The Eiffel Tower, for some reason. A field of flowers. A... A pride parade-"

Suddenly I find myself on a float. Lito from Sense8 waves at me, peckes his husband and they both gesture for me to join their dancing and laughing. They look so sweet together, so real and I am so very, very frightened. My eyes widen as I shake my head to clear this delusion, startled when it all wafts away in a moment.

"I remember that series," it says softly. "You and I felt so much pain because it wasn't real but so much safety because in that moment, earphones in, tears rushing from our eyes, it was more true than anything else in the world. Do you..."

"I remember. But why do you? Are you me? Do you have this power?"

"I'm an extension of you. The voice in your head that you talk to, I suppose. One of them, anyway, seeing as I'm not an asshole, not am I extra soft and sweet. I'm... A more neutral, apathetic side of you. Likely chosen because you were freaking out and needed to be grounded and you're used to helping yourself alone."

"It's safer that way. And maybe... I was lonely." It stares at me. They stare at me. Then they nod and clear their throat.

"So? What now? Are we going to create planet Zeeweirld, finally?"

"Do you not realise how many people were vanished from the face of existence because of this? Some curious god who wanted to see what one of its creations may do with its power? Do you realise how much time it took for the earth to form as it did? For the universe to come into being - blackholes, galaxies, asteroids... For every little and big living thing to come into being... You want me to be responsible for destroying that?"

We are now seated on a space backdrop. However, it looks fake. You can tell it's some sort of a green screen or painting. I do my best but my memory and true interstellar beauty cannot measure up to each other. I usually think so small. The sky. A bird or two to entertain me. I lose myself in what isn't real most times to make it easier for me to exist. I avoid the emptiness but this...

It's all there is, now.

"We could do anything... Have anything. We don't have to suffer anymore. We don't have to be around people anymore. Come on, Self. Just one day of this?"

"The concept of time doesn't exist now either, not that it ever truly and fully did. We made it too important. That ruined a lot of things."

"Hey. Stop going the philosophical route! We can paint galaxies, like you just did, with our mind! You get to sit on clouds and turn them into cotton candy. You get to literally dance among the stars Sinatra style and create the perfect partner to kiss if you wish. Why are you thinking of giving it up...? Why...?"

"Everything you said? It was humans before that gave it all their name. Somebody called clouds clouds. Somebody made cotton candy before people began to fantasise that the clouds tasted like such. The stars weren't made to be danced beside. Not by me. I'd rather look at them from my room. No... It would be cruel of me to bring humanity back into existence. We will suffer. But it would be cruel of me to deny humanity the chance of existing. Whoever that godlike entity was tried to pass on their dilemma to me. Curious about what I would do. But see, I'm curious too. Not about creating my own world of this empty space. I want to see what happens to the real, human me. I want to see what and who I will love and hate. What will hurt me again. What will bring me safety and joy. I want to know if I survive this thing or if I succumb to the seas within that want me drowned. And as I will it? So it shall be."

I wake up and find out my classes for the day are cancelled. A strange dream was had but I hardly remember it, now. I remind myself I need to go out and buy something to eat when I sleep and wake again at 1pm. I remind myself I must try to exist, even if I don't feel like I do, even if I sometimes don't want to.

Alone, I venture into the world. The sun is angrier than it should be. I suggest some gentleness to Anyanwu, the Igbo god of the sun, amused when a cloud later does me the kindness of granting my request. Coincidence or manifestation? The answer is whatever I believe. And I believe both and neither because what is possible if not everything?

I feel eyes on me and turn, faced with an empty space where I feel something... Perhaps someone was. It disorients me but I do as I always do. Try to put myself together. So this is life? I mentally greet a lizard on the way, then struggle with the weight of my groceries against the haze taking over my hungry mind.

This is life.

I knew not what the old man had done to me but there was something familiar about him and his eyes pierced my being. Now I stood in the blinding white void! "Show us then!" What did that mean? For some reason I felt it had something to do with my new blessing or was it a curse? I'd created the promenade & now set about weaving the tapestry of my new reality. I thought "Let there be light,"and there was light and it was good.

The coarse, ruff sand I replaced with grass. I populated this new world with people and animals and spectacular colors. I had crafted from my mind an untainted world, the kind of which that I had screamed to God most high about in the lowest depths of my melancholy states suchlike the one I'd been in prior to gaining this new power.

I walked through my domain for what seemed like centuries ridding myself of the void. But something was wrong when enough time passed my creations would fight, war steal, and become debased. How many times did I wipe them out and start over?

There was no Ark no prism of light hung as promise in the sky just destruction and creation over and over. Then one of the worlds I had created erased its ownself and I stood in the void again. I saw the man from the beach he had two legs now and was clad in a glowing white robe. He approached me. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"You already know that I am and that is enough. I challenged you to show me you could create a better less depressing world. You can't, for you too are imperfect.

"I am perfect and my Creation was ment to reflect that just as your creations reflected your imperfections. It was the Adversary and the choices of my first two mortals that made it not so.

"Go now and be grateful for the world around you. If you want it to change be the change and walk justly, doing right by your fellow man. Remember Charity covers a multitude of sins."

Then He pushed me without touching me and I blinked and was back on the beach. Listening to the waves crash and the gulls cry out.

I wasn't sure what I was feeling anymore.

life wasn't going well for me lately.

It didn't feel like it should be this heavy, they felt more like an inconvenience.

A series of inconveniences that kept piling from a molehill into my grave, feeling like I was buried six feet under. if it wasn't the car breaking down it was terrible customers and if it's not terrible customers it was fighting with my spouse more often. One bad day after another.

I sighed as I approached my manager, two-week notice in hand. "Sir, I'd like to talk to you." He turned around to face me from his desk. "Yes, come in."

I walked inside and steeled myself. "Sir, I'm handing in my two-week notice. I'm glad for the opportunities you have given me-"

What opportunities? this job was a dead end unless you knew someone.

"But unfortunately-"

"I'm going to stop you right there." My manager said. I looked at him confused.

"Excuse me?"

My manager nearly smiled. "I can't accept your two weeks, we're too short-staffed, you'll just have to stick to your regular schedule."

I couldn't believe the audacity. I was in shock, I nearly walked out of the room but I was done. I glared down at him, taking my name tag off and throwing it at him. "In that case, I quit. You and this place can get fucked."

I walked out, slamming the door.

it wasn't until I was outside, feeling the salty breeze from the local sea.

I could feel the lump growing in my throat, the anxiety making my heart pound. I looked at my car, it made me feel like I could be trapped. God, I need a walk.

I made my way toward the ocean. when I finally made it to the boardwalk, walking onto it. it was slow, for once and I was thankful for that.

Seeing the ocean, calmed me, even if I went from depressed to numb, it was better.

I ended up staring at the ocean, longer than I thought. movement next to me on the bench caught my eye.

A homeless man, with no legs, holding a cup. I went to him, getting some spare change. Instead of it making a thud or metallic sound of hitting other coins, it sounded like it dropped into the ocean, realizing it was a cup of coffee.

Another inconvenience. I was so embarrassed. I went fast, trying to dig out the coin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I thought you were homeless, I was trying to help, God I'm probably not helping am I? Assuming you're homeless-"

He suddenly grabbed my arm, nearly bringing me nose-to-nose with him. "Show us then."

I was so confused and a little scared. "What? show you what?" He let me go and I nearly fell, catching myself, stumbling before seeing the white void of nothing.

There was no ocean, no salty air, no cawing of seagulls, no wood of the boardwalk, and no legless man.

I closed my eyes, my voice shaking as I spoke. "Please be a dream, please be a dream.. it isn't real..it isn't real." I opened my eyes and the boardwalk was back.

Just the wooden boardwalk. I was thinking of it, did...did I make it appear? I swallowed my fear and thought of a coffee cup in my hand, I outstretched it and it appeared. steaming, dark, in my favorite mug.

It made me think of my parent's house before they passed away.

As I thought of their house everything around me changed. fields of grass appeared and popped from the ground, wildflowers followed, sprinkled, before a house was put together quickly, piece by piece, brick by brick. then I heard a sound I hadn't heard in five years.

The bark of my childhood dog, he died five years ago. it's a wound that never healed over. The tears I was holding back fell down my face as I saw him run at me, golden fur flowing with him as he ran, tongue hanging out of his mouth gleefully.

I kneeled down, sniffling my tears back as he licked my face, my hands gripping his soft fur.

"Hello Pumpkin, I missed you so much." I was petting Pumpkin for so long that I heard more voices I hadn't heard in four years.

"Here you are dear, honestly you'd sleep out here if I let you."

I just stared at my mom.

She didn't look mid-fifties like when she died, she looked young and vibrant. I sobbed, seeing her. She immediately kneeled down, wiping them away. "Oh no, did I say something wrong? Are you ok?"

I smiled weakly through the tears. "I just missed you."

she smiled back. "Well no need now, I'm right here. And I have your favorite ready for dinner, let's get inside."