You know that moment before you jump? Before you make a decision that could affect your life in a major way.

How you can pull any guy within the first few minutes of meeting them. So you act weird, so your not just remembered as the cute girl at the supermarket, but rather somebody who actually was funny. Who'd best trait wasn't her looks. Because you don't want that.

Yet, you know this happens every time you meet a guy. But your so insecure. Think that you're ugly because every time somebody calls you pretty- if they ever do- it feels so backhanded. You can see the signs that a guy is interested in you, or likes you, or is crushing on you with nearly every guy. But where's all the friends? All the people who are just supposed to be there to talk to? Where's the guy who asks you out? Who actually learns what your favorite flower is? Where's the guy who realizes that even though you say your favorite color is scarlet, you have an extra soft spot for vert green. The deep green you find in the crayon packets, and that's why you buy so many crayons even though you hate coloring with them because they feel to waxy.

I want somebody who'll splash me with rain water, but kiss me before I can yell at him. Somebody who'll tell me flat out if I look bad in something, no fear, but will also not be to scared to say how pretty I look. A guy who'll mock me for doing something that I didn't even realize I did.

I want the type of love that's not really in the romance novels. When the guy buys you chocolate, when everything is perfect, when you always get along. The childhood friend, or the second chance ex. Or even the handsome stranger in the elevator.

I want the guy who'll bump into me one day, jokingly claim it was all my fault and try to walk away with the blame on me. The guy who's disrespectful, but also super kind. Who'll tease me for liking blueberry pancakes instead of chocolate chip, but will also go out of his way to make a blueberry pancake instead of plain ones.

I want a guy who'll tell me all of my faults, how I make him feel when he feels it. But will also help me grow. Uplift me through my failures, tell me that I can get through this. It's only a passing storm.

A person who I can fight with, but who'll always still be right there. Somebody who I can cuddle with at night, and sleep on his half of the bed even though we both said we'd sleep on our own sides. Somebody who'll tell me that wanting a motorcycle is dangerous, that I shouldn't ride. But who'll egg me on to go faster on the race track, but not to fast. The guy who'll buy another motorcycle right next to me so I'm not alone on the road.

I'm tired of pretending that I'm into the nice guys, because I'm honestly not.

Nice guys always stay a respectful distance away, so you can never tell if their interested or have a girlfriend. I want him to be all up in my face. To annoy me just so that he can make me laugh the very next minute and tell me that he knows I love him like an arrogant boy. Even when I claim not to, but he'll know I'm lying because he's got such a big ego, sometimes it just needs a little bruising.

I don't really want a nice guy, who'll talk about books and hold back on the flirting or joking, or making fun of. Sure I love talking about books. But I want to have the guy who asks why I'm such a nerd, just to read the book I finished last week. The guy who'll make fun of me for needing to have perfect grades and show me how to be a bit rebellious. Who'll challenge me on who can do better and faster. Even though we both already know it's going to be me, not because he's giving me the win like a nice guy would. But because I'm genuinely better.

I suppose what I'm saying is, I don't really want the guy my parents love. I want the one I see myself in. The guy my parents resent for being rebellious, but can't really prove it because he's respectful enough to get off the hook.

I love you, but you're not him. And I can't help but to compare.

When he's nervous he runs his hands through his hair until it points straight up. You just glance around the room. When he steals the rings from off my fingers, you're just barely noticing them. He'll turn off my computer, log me out. Just to annoy me when I have a smile on my face. You compliment my background,

Where he would add a flirty comment that kinda comes off as rude so nobody else will pick up on it, you're laughing humorlessly at my joke that I know you don't get. When he's making bets with ritz crackers because they're my favorite, your timidly asking me what my favorite food is. But he already knows. And he never asked.

Your eyes are blue, his are a light green. Like the fields in summer. Or the color of trees fresh leaves that just popped. Your hair is a fiery red, like flames. Like the color scarlet. But I think I prefer green now. His hair is gold, like the sun. Or golden fields.

Your growing taller than me, but his eyes are perfectly level with mine. You have glasses, but he has thick lashes that only appear if you look closely. you walk like a calm business man, but he swaggers like the teenagers we are. Bounces in his step non-chalantly, even though that's far from the truth. But you are non-chalant.

He would steal my umbrella, jump in a mud puddle to splash me, and them kiss me before running away laughing with an evil smirk. You would hold the umbrella over my head even though I love the rain. Walk me around the puddle even though I love looking at my self through them. You would frown at me, even though I just want somebody to laugh at my side. Even though laughter is my favorite sound.

I love you, but you are not him. I'm sorry.

I feel like a paradox, torn between what i want and what i need, crave. I wanted to be something big, to reach a height where no one would dare to ignore nor scoff at me but all my heart ever have needed were the simple things, love, contentness, peace and joy at even the trivial moment , and those little things that awes me, filling me with wonder so profound that i stand there looking out at the world waiting for the breeze to lift me up from the ground with the curve of a smile at my lips, my heart filling with a warmth so elusive and ephemeral that it halts the world for a moment.…

I stop to stare at the golden sunlight seeping through the leaves, lighting up the world in a stunning gold. I wait to hear the eagles calling from a height i could never reach yet it fills me with happiness. I still at the sound of the night birds calling out at the velvety silence of the pearly black night. Yet with all this i am lost between what i want and what i crave. It is a dull ache in me that scrapes at my heart every now and then that makes me crave for more. I have strived my whole life for something that i can't even understand but long for it till my heart bleeds.

I’m listening, go ahead

April 09, 2025

“I’m listening, go ahead.”

He looked at me as if I was crazy. Up and down, twice. He wanted to run. He wanted to pace. However, a 6x8 foot cell does not offer these as options. He was a newly convicted lifer, with parole (maybe) in 40 years. I was a short timer; out in 1 month.

I asked him again, “I’m listening, go ahead.”

He took ten minutes before he began. I kept my part of the bargain.

“He killed my wife. He killed my daughter. The bailiff was sympathetic. I told him I would be quick and then give myself up. During his arraignment, I sat patiently, biding my time. He entered with a swag of dominance, as if knowing nothing could touch him. Someone paid for his defense attorney, one of the best in the business. The docket that day was full and the judge made laws from the bench to ensure the rights of the accused. The combination of the two meant he would most likely get bond, then skip, never to be heard from again. Knowing all of this, today would be my only chance. I wanted to wipe that smirk off of his face. I wanted to tear that designer jacket from his body. I wanted him to feel pain, the kind of pain my wife and daughter felt as he broke their necks while laughing. I wanted him to feel a loss that could never be filled. Most of all, I wanted him to know he was not invincible.”

Telling all of this to a complete stranger was not easy for the man who shared my cell. He needed more time to think about what he did and how it affected all those who knew he did it. I could be there for the beginning, but not the end. For that, he had to discover something deep within himself, yearning to escape, fighting for whatever redemption that was available to him. His crime was just as heinous. Yet, in the eyes of many, completely justified.

I thought so. He thought so. His jury did not arrive at that conclusion.

“Just before he sat down, he scanned the room to make sure all in attendance saw no fear in his eyes. His stare cowered most. He flexed the muscles on his neck and cracked his knuckles for the rest. If he recognized me, he did not show it. His poker face was nothing short of cold. His black eyes were vacant of life. This man was the incarnate of all evil.”

I gave him the time to summon whatever courage he needed, not to relate the details of what happened next, but to take ownership of them. He swallowed before he continued.

“The bailiff instructed all to rise when the judge entered. Here was my only chance. I had the knife hidden in my sleeve so no one could see. When I rose, I ran directly toward him. I made no sound, uttered no words, and gave no thought about his or my future. I was prepared to die whether I was successful or not.”

It was the only time I would interrupt. “But you were successful, weren’t you?”

“Yes! I managed to lash across his throat not just once, but two times. Blood flowed from his wounds pouring both out and in from his throat. With his last few breaths, everyone in the courtroom heard the gurgling cries of a creature who deserved more than they heard. When the other bailiffs pulled their guns on me, I dropped the knife, laid face down on the floor, and turned my head to see the last glimmer of life escape from his long dead corpse. Whether he saw my smile did not matter. I took the first step in my revenge.”

Now I had to ask. What do you mean, “the first step in your revenge?” “Do you plan on killing others?”

My cellmate composed himself and cleared his throat. Perhaps he did not believe I was listening this closely. Perhaps, no one ever did before. But, I was and I wanted to know.

“I have no intention of killing another. I do have every intention in preventing this from happening again. I want to protect others who need protection from harm. I want to see young children live long and prosperous lives, long enough to have children of their own. Since I can not have the happiness I want, I want others to have it. I think the word is vicariously. Some will call me a crusader for thinking this way. Others will think I am just crazy. But there is a need for someone to be on the right side of life instead of the wrong side. I cannot be the only person who thinks like this. I am just the only person I know who does.”

One more long pause. One more soul searching moment before continuing.

“But what difference does that make? I will never leave here. I will never get the opportunity to prove that it can be done. In the end, I will be as rotten as he was. To the core, possibly even more.”

That was all I needed to know.

I asked him forgiveness in advance before I took action.

I move faster than most think. I caught my cellmate in a choke hold and kept it intact as he began to fall to the ground. He made no sound. He offered no resistance. Perhaps he thought I was going to offer him the only escape he would ever get from this prison.

In a manner of speaking, I did.

When he passed out, I laid down beside him. He was not the first human I have forced a transference upon. My species’s physiology is close enough to initiate and conclude the process without any permanent harm to the recipient. He will suffer intense mental anguish for a few weeks, but then it will subside. That will be all the time I will need.

The doctor tells me I was in a coma for nearly three weeks since the attack. During that time, I mumbled incessantly about the “presence” that took over me. In the infirmary, I spent the time handcuffed to my bed, alone in isolation, until I recovered. Then, I began the procedures for my release (no parole needed). The cell block captain gave me instructions to the halfway house and the job that both awaited me. I could keep them for three months until I saved enough to really be on my own. None of this made any sense to me, but I was not going to complain. My cellmate, the man who killed his wife and daughter’s murderer, was placed in isolation for the next two months. They told me he was dangerous and I was lucky not to have been killed by him.

They told me he would never get parole.

The day I was released, two things happened that never happened before. The first, I stopped a young man from beating his girlfriend. I told him the consequences of his actions. I physically forced him to release her. Then I listened to him. The last took nearly an hour. He was frustrated. He was poor. He was hungry. He was also wrong. He needed some help. I was the last person who could have offered what I did. I gave him the paper with the address to the halfway house and the job that the Captain gave to me. This young man needed both of these more than I. Without either, I would survive. With both, he would now be OK.

The second, was that I took a look at myself in a mirror. I suspected I would not like what I saw. In reality, I did not recognize who I saw. I could not tell anyone why I saw him, but I could tell everyone who needed my help, what they needed to hear from him.

“I’m listening, go ahead.”

Crawling through the aperture of adults, crouching and away from their immature word battle; those hands of theirs are ready to slap each other's faces.

This is their way to trigger the blind, appealing aggression; beating, chewing and sucking all the manner that's lectured on their broken description books.

Growling drunk people are spitting out their bladders; they're leaving no motivation for their livers to clean their mess.

This is how he sees the things happening in front of his eyes, just a pomegranate juice that makes the ones who are drinking feeling in an overwhelming pleasure.

Worry tickles his intestines and delaying the assimilation, he's already being stirred in their meal that's gonna be consumed by the sadistic chatters.

He could've never guessed what it would cost for him to be borned in the middle hours of wednesday; now his shade is sewing him like a piece of clothing.

Staying proper and vigilant is the sickness of these modern terms, loneliness and paranoia are their norms they're pushing him into.

Traumatized and dealing with the life's pressure; afraid of stepping out of line one day, cause he knows that going nuts is giving up in front of the pressers.

They've already reached to the adulthood and forced to face who they've become in a regretful way that causes them wishing to rest even if they can't yet.

This is what he's afraid of becoming; he knows what he's going to be, a chain that leads to the infinity restless and more ambitious than the ones who are trying to get out of it

He wished that the script would be handled by the readers instead of the reaper; the situation is helpless if he's nothing more than a mortal

Denying the negotiation, erasing the bestowed ones, tricking the oneself, dreaming hypothetical life prompts; this is his way of persuading himself to be on in this filth

Now he needs to find something to hide under it

Remember when you tried out for that job? That second of anticipation before you opened up the email to figure out whether or not you got it? Of course you did it tucked away from everybody else, because you were just checking. The few moments you let your face fall when they denied you the job.

Yet, you skipped out of your room. When I asked if you got the job you just shrugged, said nah, No biggie though. I wasn't the best option y'know? I'm glad they even considered me for the job. Then you smiled, cracked a joke and forgot about the whole thing.

But I kept wondering how you were able to brush it off so easily. I remember you stressing over the application, crossing your fingers through the entire interview. Tight enough that your knuckles turned white. I remember all your nervous remarks through the entire process.

I wanted to be just like you, able to brush off such an inconvenience with no thought except to smile. With only being grateful that you didn't get it. Claiming you only ever applied because it would look good on a college application in the future.

Yet, as the next year rolled around, and you applied for the same spot. Stressed over the application just a little more. Crossed your fingers a little tighter. Let the second of anticipation last a little longer, I wonder why. If it's really no biggie. Just something you can put on an application.

When you get the job this time, you jump squealing and excited. Thanking the Lord with all your heart. I can't help but to think, that maybe this job was a big deal. Being able to amount to whatever your sisters and brothers were. Being able to set a good path for your younger sister.

I wonder if you were just playing it off. Then again, maybe you did understand, and maybe you were simply grateful. But I also wish that you'd have told me what a big deal it truly was to you. Crying before being thankful is an option that I wish you knew.

Its been happening for more than five years now -people are disappearing and no-one has been able to explain why. All I can do is to give you the bare facts and see if you can solve the riddle.

People were reported missing and after some reluctant investigation by the police, the cases were dropped. All that was ever reported was that the vehicles owned by the missing persons were found in the car parks of popular beaches. Nothing suspicious was ever found other than their strange disappearance - but then people do disappear. when they want to! No bodies were found at the beach , or down the coast where the tide might be expected to wash dead bodies ashore. Occasionally. a dog was found on the beach. sometimes patiently awaiting his master's return. sometimes with a frizby and gazing fixedly at a patch of sand. These areas were examined in case they were quicksand and were excavated at first to see if there were any bodies.

The only result was certain people feeling rather stupid at having been so gullible. The only noteworthy thing that has been discovered to date is that all the disappearances coincided with high tides and the deposition of large patches of seaweed. Whenever a hightide is forecast crowds of people gather to watch the beach. Since this time no-one has disappeared - but no-one has ventured out onto the beach! Has this cured the problem?

I looked up at the icy blackness of the night sky and let three large puffs of smoke escape my lips. Leaning back in the creaky porch chair, I took another large inhale from the pipe. The bitter sting of it left an oaky residue in my throat. The burn traveled deep into my lungs as they filled with the thick purple and blue smoke. I inhaled, my shoulders dropped away from my ears, my eyelids fluttered gently.

In the distance, I heard a great owl calling. It's gentle call rolled through the silence. Though it was sudden, it wasn’t jarring or frightening. Pleasantly deep, it lulled me into relaxation. I rocked back in the chair, hovering the front legs off of the ground. My feet pressed up against the stump of an old tree, long since removed from here. As most things were.

"Time to go." Grisham's voice ran opposite to the owl's call. I dropped my pipe, the legs of my chair landing with a thud on the solid earth beneath me.

"Grisham," I sighed and rolled my eyes, leaning over to dust off my glass pipe, "how many times must you startle me before you accept my high-strung nature?"

"How do you know I haven't accepted it?" He laughed. "Perhaps I just enjoy scaring the heartless maiden."

"And why would you enjoy that?" I took a long puff and inhaled deeply before releasing the smoke into the night sky.

"Because it's the only time I see remnants of the humanness left in you, Runel." His heavy footfalls approached my side before a hand plucked my pipe from my lips.

I watched as he inhaled the sweet smoke. His eyelids fluttering as mine had moments ago.

"Help yourself." I muttered, finally forcing myself to stand. Brushing myself off before meeting his eyes with my own.

Tilting my head upwards, I watched the purple smoke float from his nostrils.

"Ready?" He asked.

His golden-green eyes and short-cropped auburn hair were just as they'd been since he was a boy. His sharp features developed more as he matured into the man he'd become. When we were kids, everyone called us the ‘Tormult twins’. Despite our differences now, our auburn hair and green eyes still gave us away. The only ones like us on this side of the wall.

"The more time you waste, the more pissed he's gonna be," he put the pipe on the stump, "no use avoiding it, Rue."

An exaggerated sigh escaped me and I walked back towards the house. I didn't have to look back to know Grisham followed. The sound of his footsteps trailed closely at my back. The old door creaked loudly though it opened easily. Everything about this place was old, the wall paper peeled from the walls, the wood planks of the floor barely holding together, cracks in the ceiling that threatened to split the place in half. Even the smell was old- dirty and dusty.

"Home sweet home." Grisham muttered.

The kitchen, though clean, was hardly usable. I tried to keep things tidy. It was the least I could do to give it the facade that this place was inhabitable. Crossing the threshold to the front room revealed that the lamps were already lit, illuminating the space just enough to see him.

"You've been avoiding me, Rue." His voice was silk. It was oil in my ears.

"I'd never dream of it." I retorted before coughing into my sleeve. Leftover Indigo working it's way from my lungs.

"Using your own supply, are you?" He asked knowingly.

"In moderation." I plopped down in the armchair across from him. None of the furniture matched here. The cloth fabric of the chair beneath me was ripped, only held together by whatever fastened it to the frame.

Grisham remained standing behind me. These visits always put him on alert. The Chancellor wouldn't dare harm one of his most valuable resources, but Grisham knew what he was capable of.

I hung my arms over the edges of the chair as I slumped back carelessly. Grisham on alert meant that I could relax. As my looks were often deceiving, his weren't. He was precisely as strong as he appeared to be.

"What can we do for you, Chancellor?" I asked through a yawn. I crossed my ankle atop my opposite thigh. I wore the same boots I had during the incursion, the same jeans -tattered and torn. Not that I had much choice anyway.

The Chancellor sucked his teeth as he ran his eyes over my shoddy posture. No doubt irritated by my lack of formality. He came to his feet, his uniform neatly pressed and clean. Shoulder pads secured in place to give a more masculine appearance than was natural to him. Short black hair slicked over his head giving it a shine that reflected the flames from the lamps. His glasses did the same, making it hard to read the expression of his eyes.

"There was an incursion at the North Gate." His voice turned grave. It had been a year, almost to the day, since the last incursion. Since the last time I took off these damn boots.

"How many?" I asked, feeling tired already.

"We slaughtered fifteen at the gate before the rest retreated.” He picked up his hat which he'd set on the end table and began turning it in his hands. As if he knew my next question.

"How many did we lose?" I asked again, leaning forward.

"Five Facets. Six Wayfarers." His eyes remained drawn to his hat as he spoke. Their deaths were his shame.

"How did we suffer so many casualties?" Grisham cut in. His voice just loud enough to reach The Chancellor.

"We sent for more antidote from the Cambria Colony. The Surveyor teams were sent ahead and cleared the wilderness. It should've been safe."

"Did anyone survive the attack?" I asked.

"Only one. A Wayfarer. He hasn't spoken since we recovered him." The Chancellor replied.

"Casian," I repeated with more disdain than compassion, "what exactly are you expecting us to do about this? Did you forget? We're not indebted to you anymore. This is your mess. You clean it." I stood up, turning my back to him and facing Grisham.

"Indigo," The Chancellor muttered, "the Wayfarer team stumbled upon a hold of it when they tried to escape."

I froze. My affliction was also my for-profit, slightly illegal, endeavor. I spoke through clenched teeth, "I imagine in their desperation to flee, they failed to draw a map?"

"You want it don't you, Rue?" When I turned to him, his eyes were touched by the tip of his grin, "I know your sources aren't as plentiful as they once were here in Divern. And you're not one to travel to the other colonies these days."

"I didn't say I didn't want it, Chancellor," I stared back at him, "I'm just in no hurry to die, either."

I felt a breath in my ear and tipped my head towards it, "Let's talk to him, Rue. The survivor." Grisham whispered, "He might have enough information to get us there."

I sighed, "so you want us to find out where the Watchers came from and the Indigo we find out there is ours?"

"If-," His voice hung on the word, "if you find where they came from, how they were able to ambush us, then I'll let you back into Divern with all the Indigo you can carry."

The Chancellor liked to pretend our Indigo affliction didn't benefit him as much as it did me. He knowingly reaped the rewards of a chemically dependent populace that cared more about their rocks than their rulers.

“Why not just send another team of Wayfarers and Facets?” I asked.

“I don't want to draw the attention of the other colonies by pulling away our crews. I want to keep this quiet.” He replied.

Despite his true motives, he was right. Our stores were running incredibly low. I'd burned too many bridges with the Angore Colony to rely on their plentiful supply. The journey through the wilds was treacherous. I hadn't ventured outside the walls since the war, but I remember it well. The thought of it sent a shiver through my body. We relied on what my only remaining contact from Angore would send. And the store we'd found beneath this house. The one we kept hidden from wanting eyes.

Still, it wasn't enough and the people of Divern depended on us. The people depended on Indigo. We depended on Indigo.

"Who am I to stop giving the people what they need?" I held out my hand, "Right, Chancellor?"

He shook my outstretched hand. That wolfish grin creeping over his face, "Pleasure as always, Rue."

"Take us to the Wayfarer." Grisham demanded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We followed The Chancellor to the front of the house where his Facets awaited him, sitting high atop their horses. Horseback was the preferred method of travel when the gas pumps ran dry years ago. Looking up and down the streets, bodies of motor vehicles sat idle. Frames rusted, tires flat, stripped completely bare for parts. No one bothered to move them on the outskirts of Divern. Their dilapidated forms merely accented the deteriorating road beneath them.

Horses grazed on overgrown yards in front of houses that should've been condemned. Fifteen years ago, they would've been, but not now. Since Indigo arrived, we've had much bigger problems. Preventing incursions, securing antidotes and goods from the other colonies, and my own personal mission-feeding the Indigo affliction.

Grisham and I mounted our horses. Following close enough to see, but far enough to whisper to one another. As twins, much was unspoken, making private conversation practical.

“Plan?” I asked before cupping my hand over a deep cough.

Grisham nodded.

“The usual?” I asked.

He nodded again, “If it ain't broke…”

“Don't fix it.” I finished his thought, the phrase mom always used.

We made our way through Divern. Slowly, the streets became neater, fewer barren car frames. Weeds peeking through the broken asphalt had been plucked away by Keepers. The houses grew larger the closer we got to the center of town. I enjoyed rides through this part of the colony for one reason-the laughter. Children ran through the streets here, chasing one another and giggling wildly.

Where Grisham and I stayed, there were no children. Only the lost lived where we did-former Facets, widows, and the afflicted. But here, there were families, there were children. There was a future. Somehow there were still those who believed in a future bright enough to raise a child in.

How beautiful. And how very, very stupid.

When we reached the hospital, Grisham and I dismounted and followed The Chancellor once more. Only this time, his Facets followed behind him. Each of them eyeing Graham and I with a sense of unease and suspicion. The hospital was a two story building that was once some sort of factory, from what I could tell. It was equipped with machines that had been kept up by engineers from Cambria. The engineers a commodity The Chancellor undoubtedly bartered a few Facets for.

We walked by the intake desk, The Chancellor giving a curt nod before they let us through. Only a few Divernians possessed the authority he did. Doors that would've been shut in my face opened easily for him. Being the Chancellor of Divern did have its perks. No door off limits, an army of Facets at your command.

“I wish they'd stop following us.” I said, referencing the Facets behind us as we continued down the long hallway, “It's putting me on edge.”

I scratched my neck, calculating how long it had been since I inhaled that sweet smoke of my pipe.

“It's their job, Rue.” Grisham replied, “They're told to protect The Chancellor and that's what they do. You remember what it's like.”

“I remember.” I replied.

Grisham stopped abruptly and turned to face the two male Facets following closely behind us, “Would you mind giving us some breathing room here? We're not a threat.”

“You sure about that?” The younger of the two remarked, looking me up and down as I bit off a loose fingernail and spit it to the side of the hall, “This one looks like she woke up on the bad side of an Indigo affliction.”

He scoffed, nudging his partner who grinned widely.

I cocked an eyebrow but didn't say a word.

Reaching out his strong, slender fingers, Grisham grabbed the young Facet by his collar and pulled him towards his face. The camouflage jacket the young man wore stretched beneath the resistance of Grisham’s pull.

“Do you know who we are? Who she is?” He nodded towards me without taking his eyes off the young man, “She saved us from the last incursion. If not for her, Divern would've been overrun by The Watchers. Show some fucking respect.”

“She's not- one of us-” The young Facet struggled, “She wears the greens- of another soldier.”

“There's only been one female Facet.” The slightly older man interrupted his comrade, “You're not telling me this is her? She's not…”

“The Silver Blade,” my brother finished the man's sentence. The muscles of Grisham's neck flared as he set his jaw. His arms were hidden beneath his tattered leather jacket. He dared not wear his Facet greens anymore. It was too painful for him.

Quite the contrary to my daily garb. I wore the same greens every single day. I couldn't seem to let them go. No matter how sick I felt at the sight of my jacket, my boots- I saw myself no other way. I was a living photograph of who I'd been when the wall fell.

“She's fucking crazy, man. Look at her.” The young Facet’s brown eyes ran me over once again. The look on his face became increasingly disgusted, even as Grisham's grip tightened, “She's got those glassy eyes. She's pale. Her cheeks are sunken in. And she's still wearing greens. If she really is The Silver Blade, she's a deserter and doesn't deserve to wear the greens!”

“She's earned the right to wear the greens as long as she wants to,” spit from Grisham's mouth flew towards the Facet's face, “have you ever seen them? The Watchers? Do you know the empty, soulless eyes they have? Their pallid skin touching yours, the feeling of death creeping over you. And when they get close enough, the feeling of cold emptiness you feel when they suck your life away. Leaving you to suffocate and die just for the fun of it.”

The Facet quivered at Grisham's words. The tension on his greens grew until his jacket was too taut for him to move any farther, “Look man, calm down. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“You haven't even seen the outside of these walls have you?” Grisham’s voice purred through his clenched jaw. Hand on my forehead, I sighed as the exchange continued. Grisham's defensiveness wasn't a surprise. He'd always been my champion. My only fan. Even when I didn't deserve it.

“Well no, not yet. I… We….” he looked over at his partner who glanced off towards the wall. Refusing to speak on his behalf. I laughed as I chewed on my sleeve.

I walked to the Facet hanging from my brother's grasp and patted him on the shoulder before whispering into his ear, “Come find me if you survive outside these walls. I'll save some Indigo for you. We can share a smoke.”

“Unhand him, you brute!” The Chancellor shouted before forcing himself between my brother and the Facet.

The Facet stumbled backward and straightened his greens in an attempt to appear unbothered by the encounter. I flung my heavy auburn braid back over my shoulder and we continued down the hallway.

“You don't have to do that, you know?” I spoke quietly.

“You're my sister, Runel. It's my responsibility.” He replied.

“I'm a big girl, Grish. I can handle a little shit talking.”

“I know you can. But I don't think you should have to,” he nudged me with his shoulder. “You're strong, I know that better than anyone. I just don't want you to have to be all the time.”

I smiled at him and nudged back. If he hadn't been there with me after the incursion, I'd be dead. Not from any doing of The Watchers, at least not directly, but by my own hand. Long after the fighting stopped, I still heard their noises in my head. They'd burrowed into my mind once it touched me and I couldn't get them out. When it touched me, the strongest Watcher I’d ever faced, I saw the pictures in my mind. Death, over and over, our people being slowly killed by them. I couldn't stop all of the pictures, even after it released me. An endless playlist of death in my head.

Indigo affliction was already a part of me by then. If I wasn’t smoking it, I was running from the terrors I couldn’t explain to anyone. Not even my brother. I would've done anything to make it stop.

And I did.

Grisham found me that night. Covered in my own blood. The panic on his face, the fault all mine. I promised I'd never do it again, no matter how tempting it was.

But the Indigo…

It was the only thing to keep the voices away. The images that played in my mind. The soulless stares of The Watchers. The shrieks they made each time they claimed another life. It was constantly dwelling at the back of my mind, just waiting to be freed. But as long as I had the Indigo, I could manage it.

And I wasn't alone.

My clients were mostly former Facets. They needed it just as much as I did. The only thing keeping them tethered to their lives was Indigo. Even as some went mad and withered away, at least they lived when they so easily could’ve died.

I walked to The Chancellor who stood outside one of the treatment rooms. He read the treatment sheet just outside the door, mumbling to himself.

“What's his name?” I asked softly.

“Vellum.” The Chancellor replied quietly.

He slowly turned the handle and we followed him in. The Chancellor’s Facets stationed themselves outside the door.

The room smelled of stale, old crackers and mothballs. It was somewhat revolting when mixed alongside the smell of bloodied bandages and homemade anesthetic.

Vellum sat at the edge of his thin white mattress and looked out the window. From the window, the edge of the wall was visible just above the rims of the buildings that filled every crevasse of central Divern. A visual reminder that we'd been packed together like sardines in a can after the collapse of everything.

The wall was the only thing separating us from them. Like the other colonies, the people of Divern learned quickly that they shouldn't touch Indigo shards of the wall. Even the afflicted wouldn’t dare steal those shards. The colonies farmed it to build the walls making it property of the government and the people. Without it, The Watchers would have killed us all off long ago.

Some believe the Indigo appeared to warn us of their arrival. And that's why they can't touch it. Others think it's nothing more than a far-fetched coincidence, citing Murphy's Law. I think it's neither option. I think it's something far worse.

But I smoke it to keep the worries away. To remind myself that it's someone else's problem. Certainly not mine. Not anymore.

“Vellum?” The Chancellor whispered, placing his hand on the frail man's shoulder. “We're here to talk to you.”

Vellum turned to look at the chancellor and then at Grisham and I. His dark hair was disheveled and hung over his forehead. His blue eyes were shadowed with the burdens of what he'd seen. A look I knew from glimpses I'd caught of myself in the mirror. His face was lean, as if he hadn't eaten since the attack at the Gate. His hospital gown revealed little of his stature or size, leaving it a mystery to me.

“Talk… to me.” He spoke slowly.

“Yes we need some very important information, Vellum.” The Chancellor began, “This is Grisham and that's Runel. They were some of the best Facets we've ever had. They're retired, but they agreed to help us now. What happened at the Gate, we need to find out what we can do to prevent it. We need to know everything you saw. What you saw before the attack, when the Watchers followed you back to the Gate, anything that might help them. You're a Wayfarer. You know this area better than any of us and we need you to show us where you found those Indigo shards. If you do, then these two agreed to retrieve the antidote from Cambria for us. I know you're-”

“Sshhhh.” I hissed. As the chancellor spoke, Vellum’s expression became more drawn. I'd watched the eyes of my comrades turn glassy too many times to ignore what had happened to him.

I nodded at Grisham who approached Vellum slowly, carefully. His large form turning impossibly smaller when he sat before him.

“Vellum,” Grisham spoke softly and the frail man turned to face him, “I'm going to help you clear your mind to remember things that might be helpful to us, but I need your permission to do that.”

“You can… but how?” Vellum asked through strained breath.

“Think of it as cleaning the debris from your mind. Decluttering it so you can focus on what's useful.”

Vellum nodded, “We can… try….”

“Okay, take a deep breath and close your eyes,” Grisham spoke in a hushed, comforting tone.

Grisham sat before Vellum who was still perched at the edge of the hospital bed. Vellum's eyes reluctantly closed, even as his weary gaze swept the room in a final protest. Grisham had a gift for honing in on thoughts we needed to find. Interrogation some called it. But it was nowhere near as brutal as tactics often employed by Facets. Grisham merely unburdened them of painful memories held deeply. Decluttered their minds.

“Think about what you smell here in the room.

What you hear.

Now focus only on the sound of my voice.

Listen to my voice as you search for what we need.

Listen to my voice as you find the Indigo.

Picture it.

Look around.

Tell me what you see.”

Vellum's breathing slowed, his eyelids relaxed. His shoulders dropped away from his ears. He shivered. His voice suddenly more clear. “It's night. It's cold here. We got turned around… lost the trail to Cambria. The sounds of The Watchers are around us. G-getting closer.” His teeth began to chatter.

“We were trying… to get back to Divern. The path was dangerous…. We needed backup…. We could hear them…” Vellum's breath shuddered.

I saw the fear on his face. He pushed it aside in an effort to remember where he was and what he saw, but it was buried under the scaly, translucent skin of the Watchers who found them on that trail. I knew that fear because I'd felt it too. I'd been the best Divern could offer to stop them during the incursion. And I did just that, I killed and maimed dozens of Watchers when they tried to enter the colony. But what I'd lost during that fight, I'd never get back. It was a feeling that drew my pipe to my lips at the thought of it- despair.

I slowly stepped to Vellum and rested my hand on his shoulder. “You're safe now, they can't reach you here.” I retracted my hand quickly as if I'd been burned. Hoping the brief reassurance would help him find what he'd lost.

He inhaled deeply and turned his cheek towards me. Without opening his eyes, he spoke again, “When we retreated. We saw the blue glow of the Indigo. It wasn't a mountainside. It was a cave.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. Indigo had only ever been found on mountain faces. The reason the Angore Colony possessed it in droves, it was a colony alongside the mountain range.

Vellum nodded his head. I looked towards Grisham who nodded as well, no doubt thinking the same thing I was. Our basement wasn't the only underground cache of Indigo.

When Grisham retracted, Vellum opened his eyes, “That's all I can remember.”

“It's alright.” Grisham replied. “The Watchers seem to make us forgetful. Can you take us there?”

“I… believe so,” Vellum’s voice turned frail once again.

“We need weapons,” As soon as I faced The Chancellor, Vellum began to speak again.

“There are… people out there.” Vellum's shaky voice barely noticeable. “We weren't… the only people… in the woods.”

The attention in the room shifted to Vellum. Through the silence, the young Facet spoke, “Another group of Wayfarers. Maybe an expedition from Cambria.”

“No.” Vellum replied, “these people… weren't from the colonies. They spoke… in sounds. Their weapons… were primitive. And the way they moved… when they fought The Watchers. I've only seen it once… before.”

He turned to look into my eyes for the first time. His dark, disheveled hair parted only to reveal his bloodshot blue eyes. The stubble along his jawline matched his dark hair. The slope of his nose drew my eyes to his lips, soft despite his unkempt appearance.

“Only once…” He drew in a deep breath to steady his voice again. As if it took all his focus and energy to do so, “I saw someone moving so quickly you could hardly see her cut them down. Her blade gliding through the air, saving so many of us. Someone so beautiful, I couldn't believe she was real. Someone who never truly got what she deserved,” his eyes widened as he looked at me. It felt as though he were looking at a myth he'd only read about.

“Runel,” I jerked at the sound of The Chancellor’s voice. I'd been so glad to be rid of him when I left the Facets last year, I'd forgotten the way his voice turned my stomach, “We’ll send you with weapons. I'll send you with your weapon.”

My blade. He was going to return it to me.

“Anything else you need for the journey, I'll do what I can to-”

“I'll go,” I interrupted The Chancellor. “I'll do it.”

“And you?” He turned to Grisham, “I need you with her. That's the only way this works.”

Grisham's expression grew fatigued, his eyes shadowed, “Where she goes, I go.”

I bit my lip, still twisting my pipe in the pocket of my greens. I hoped then, that we'd survive out there in the wilds. That we'd come back to Divern with Indigo and answers. But there was more, an unanswered question in Vellum's words. Deep down, I knew we'd get the answers I searched for.

But I could never have prepared myself for the cost.

There is no more quintessential shifting of blame, shirking of responsibility, laying of fault at the foot of a convenient scapegoat than the devil made me do it.

Think about it: He created the world and called it good. But even a flame burns itself out in search of darkness. Everything has its opposite, even existence; although, full disclosure, we, He and I, have never experienced its opposite.

He created all that is visible to the human eye, and when his creation disappointed, He could not blame himself (God forbid...so to speak), and so, he revealed me. I mean, the Bible is His word, yes? So, He blamed Eve's choice (original sin indeed; more like original scapegoating) on outside influences rather than an intrinsic flaw or design defect.

Deflect.

Consider this: if humanity has free will and makes choices considered not good (although I have to say that which is defined as good seems to live in a fluid, murky place), if you blame humanity, ultimately, you blame that which created humanity for having produced something at best, imperfect.

Similarly, if you say all is predetermined, that from the moment He conceived of Creation, He knew everything and everyone that would ever be until all that is returns to what it was pre-Creation, then who else can one blame other than the Creator?

The devil, of course.

And so, we have the devil made me do it.

Which, in the end, is all the same really.

As I said, everything in existence has its opposite. We, He and I, are the epitome of that duality. Two sides of the same coin, we are. The yin to his yang. The darkness he fills with light...or which douses it every now and again.

Where He is so too am I, the face he prefers to deny and call other.

It just makes Him and, I dare say, you, feel better to say the devil made me do it.

I don't mind.

A limp dildo slices through frigid air like a katana. A frayed man wields hardened silicone as guttural desperation tears his throat, spit spewing—the boulevard, a battlefield; his tent, the last fortress. The only thing he owns is surrounded by badges carrying out the mayor’s re-election campaign on Christmas Eve.

The slogan “Clean Streets by 2025” holds firm at sixty-four percent.

The man pivots on one knee, guarding his home, his life—the warthog’s last stand against jackals closing in with gas masks and batons, quotas, and guns. A flashback to the war, the ambush, and the narrow escape that led to the helicopter crash behind enemy lines.

Canisters become mortars. Orange vapor sears his lungs. The sky rains fiery tears as he swings the dick blindly, a crazed Saul of Tarsus.

With nothing to lose, he bares a toothy grimace and gnaws the air. He’s rabid—a street mutt tangled in chain-link, going down biting, fighting just as he did against the Viet Cong, relentlessly.

His knotted, mangy hair floats with the snowflakes caught in the breeze, both suspended in time.

Guns drawn—knee-jerk reactions. The pigs order him to drop his weapon. Their trigger fingers twitch, hungry for a reason to shoot, but somehow, he’s the ticking time bomb, the one who brought soft plastic to a gunfight and must be removed for everyone’s safety.

He holds his ground, threatening them with his floppy dagger. Wide-eyed like Manson, he twirls his martial dance on an asphalt stage. His magic wand casts a spell over a dozen myopic egos too blinded by fresh ink on their paychecks—a mercenary’s wage—to notice his madness, his suffering.

But before he’s sent to the grave, a woman’s voice cuts through the chaos from a fourth-story balcony.

“Enough,” she demands. “Leave that man alone. He’s never hurt nobody…”

The mayor’s soldiers ignore her, preparing to swarm until more neighbors join in. They come to their balconies, spilling into the streets.

“Let Crazy Dave be!” the crowd chants, growing louder. “The streets are his home!”

The mob soon outnumbers the force, standing behind the man swinging and missing, spitting and hissing—He’s a zebra, a unicorn—an untamable horse, oblivious to the neighborhood standing behind him.

“His home is our home!” they chant in unison, stepping forward to mirror Dave’s advances.

The riot shields withdraw.

Dave yowls a battle cry as they retreat, then charges after them. The crowd slips back into their homes, content to let Dave be.

When he returns, he sheathes his sword like a true samurai and checks the perimeter of his tent. He defended his home and rights and fought off the enemy.

Crazy Dave stands tall, proud—invincible.

And that’s the way the town remembers it, the way he remembered it.

In that moment, he protected the entire world. At that moment, he'd won the War.

He was The Phallic Samurai, the warrior who fought off an army with his Last Magic Sword.

End

©2024 Chris Sadhill

If every storm runs out of rain, the question to ask is: Did you stock up on the necessary provisions and were mentally ready to ride out the storm? Were you primed for the impending tempest and planned accordingly? Can you endure the intensity of the squall knowing that at some point, it will pass?

Or were you caught off guard when the first raindrops fell? If that’s the case, you’ll be in danger of getting swept away by a brief shower. Because even a little bit of rain (or problems or setbacks) can wreak havoc on those taken by surprise. Knowing that given the right conditions, a person can drown in just an inch of water, what are you doing today to ensure you can stay afloat if a flood inundates tomorrow?

A boat secured too tightly to a dock will list and strain with the waves generated from a storm. Too much slack and the boat violently rocks back and forth. If marine warnings are not heeded and the appropriate preparations not taken, there’s a greater probability the ship will sink where it’s harbored. While a vessel moored correctly will adjust with the surging water levels and emerge intact.

We don’t give ourselves enough credit when we weather the storms in our lives unscathed. Or the proper time for reflection and recovery if battered. Either way, once the rains have subsided, shed those soaking clothes. Hang everything up to dry. Towel yourself off. Get some coffee, tea, cocoa or a stiff drink. Bask in the arriving sun that inevitably dissipates the gray sky. Find the personalized, silver lining in every ominous cloud that passes over you. Life flourishes after times of despair. And so will you.

Every storm runs out of rain. Don’t you run out of perseverance.