《Bear With Me》 Foreword Naively, I thought this story was a gift I had given to someone when in reality, it was more of a selfish need to be heard and a need to make sense of everything I had been going through. The gift that I wanted to give had always been there. In the recent month, especially leading up to the last couple of days, I had gone through much suffering, mostly mental and physical, but even more so emotional. There were times where I wanted to die. But at the same time, I haven''t felt more driven and filled with meaning than ever before. The skies are bluer and trees greener, the air is cleaner and the world is brighter. For these reasons, a gift that I initially, selfishly hid from everyone for a few months shall now be open for all to read so that I may move on from all the mistakes and all the accomplishments that have been made here.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Writing and explaining things are my biggest passions. It helps make things a little clearer. It makes me happy. I''m glad that that someone I met helped me in that way. Its the Most Wonderful Time of the Year A milky smooth whiteness greeted the man. As far as the naked eye could tell, there appeared to be nothing else for miles on end. As the man stood there, wondering where exactly everything was, and how quiet it had become, a knock came from nearby. From the seamless white expanse, a door pushed open as another individual showed themselves. ¡°Hello,¡± the man welcomed. ¡°Hi.¡± ¡°Do you know where we are?¡± the man asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t we here to play?¡± The man observed his empty surroundings, nothing but white. ¡°What are we playing?¡± The individual waved their arms with a little pizzazz. A toolkit of sorts materialized between the two. Brilliant paints and stencils, colorful pastels and pencils, and a beaming smile from the individual invited the man to draw. ¡°Where¡¯s the canvas?¡± he asked. The individual grabbed one of the paintbrushes from the receptacles. After dipping the tip in lemon yellow, they lashed their paintbrush vertically upward, forming a splash of color that miraculously hung in the air. The man inspected this new paint smear seemingly suspended like some colloid. As he got closer, gawking and squinting, he realized the paint did not actually hover midair but rather adhered to a wall. Curiously pressing his palm out onto this white wall, he shuffled over until he reached a corner. He continued walking around, tracing out the walls with his bare hands, hitting two more corners. Eventually, he had made his way back to the paint smear. It turned out the ceilings, the walls, and maybe even the air all camouflaged together because everything was milky white. It was none other than a white room that he had found himself in. The individual handed the man another paintbrush from the toolkit. ¡°What should I draw?¡± ¡°Something pretty,¡± the individual suggested. The man contemplated for a few minutes before summoning his inner romanticism (the art movement, not the one involving lovey-dovey feel-goods). Alternating through an arsenal of brushes and assorted acrylics mixed on his ceramic palette, he applied himself wholeheartedly, fully immersed in his own imagination. By the time he finished the final layer, he took a step back to proudly examine his own handiwork. ¡°Wowzers,¡± the individual admired. White clouds shrouding snow capped summits overlooked their own mirror image down in the clear lake below. Little black arches representing ravens soared near the mountain crests, the hillside stippled in frosty green pines. The individual beckoned the man over. ¡°Come look at mine.¡± Golden and twinkling, the individual¡¯s painting radiated a nostalgic warmth. A cozy fireplace illuminated a burgundy rug guarded by cotton sofas. Steaming mugs of hot chocolate cooled on seasonal coasters at the dining table. Ornaments dazzled from a Christmas tree with the fragrance of pine wafting through the living room. And the individual themselves surrounded by their family in the kitchen, making cookies, produced a cohesive narrative far more compelling than the man¡¯s. It wasn¡¯t merely an exposition. Music began to play. The man recognized it as a Christmas carol. Redirecting his eyes to the source, the man saw the individual cradling a small retro boombox as if it were a baby. The individual swayed back and forth in glee, caroling to the man, ¡°You¡¯re no Grinch, mister.¡± ¡°No. Well, I¡¯m not at all green.¡± The individual frowned in puzzlement. ¡°That¡¯s a weird way to put it.¡± The man smiled. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a wonderful state of bliss. Like the comfort of home after having been gone for so many years, the redolent aroma of gingerbread and hot chocolate effusing from the individual¡¯s painting smothered his soul with love and affection, placing him under a spell. ¡°You want to come with me?¡± they offered. ¡°Where to?¡± The individual tapped their own painting, enlarging its area by twenty-fold. The family members, the furniture, the fixtures, and everything else depicted in the painting exploded in size. Deliberately and decisively, the individual maintained eye contact with the man while striding forward, disappearing into their own picture. The man now looked before him. The painting had sparked to life. The flames in the fireplace flickered. The family members and the individual could be seen rolling out dough, cutting shapes, and powdering cooled trays of cookies with confectioners¡¯ sugar, laughing and chatting about something the man couldn¡¯t hear. How silent did the white room become without the individual? He looked over at his own painting and then back to the one animated before him. In his mind, he thought maybe it¡¯d be nice. He slowly poked his index into the drawing. A soothing warmth immediately embraced his finger. It made him slightly euphoric. Pulling back, he slipped off his shoes and placed them to the side.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Pardon my intrusion,¡± he announced. He took a step forward into the painting. ¡°So bright!¡± Rubbing his eyes and tumbling over, he felt his body hit the ground. Thud. The cold floor jolted him into reality. He steadily hoisted himself up. At his headboard, he found the bright spot where the sun had peeked through under the blinds, perfectly shining on the indent in the pillow where his head lay moments ago. He turned to face his reflection in the closet door mirror. Disheveled, grumpy, and ridden with bed hair, the man grunted. He trudged to the kitchen. Stacks of dishes cluttered the sink. The stovetop had some burn marks on it. Bringing out a black pot from a cabinet underneath, he filled it halfway before setting it on the stovetop, cranking the heat to high and chucking in a handful of spaghetti. Without a second thought, he retreated back into his bedroom to go on his phone. The first and second notifications on his screen displayed ¡°Ye is missing¡± followed by ¡°Chess scandal involving vibrational beads.¡± The third notification read, ¡°Janna¡¯s hot dog water.¡± The fourth notification exclaimed, ¡°Your Giant Chest is ready to open!¡± The man touched his own chest. They reminded him of barren flatlands. In fact, his entire body had nothing to show for. Mindlessly scrolling through everything his social media and video recommendations had to offer without keeping track of time, the familiar sound of sizzling entered his ears. He hopped off his bed and back to the pot, blowing down the foam overflowing onto the stovetop. He snatched the leftover meat sauce from his refrigerator, mixing it in with the hastily strained overcooked pasta in a bowl. Once calmly situated at his tiny dining room table, he ate with his phone in his right hand. A sense of boredom numbed his mind as he sparingly took a bite here and there. There was no particular purpose in what he read or watched. It was as if a perpetual fog obscured his reasoning and he couldn¡¯t remember why he did some of the things he did a few minutes ago. Upon consumption of his breakfast, he sunk his dirty bowl into the sink. Jacket, car keys, house keys, and with phone already glued in hand, he exited his dingy apartment, descending into the freezing underground garage and into his old Honda, coughing from the musty odor of leather and a sour pair of socks balled up next to some crumpled crackers in the backseat. He drove outside. White snow glittered in patches. Neighborhood children ran around on their lawns and into the streets. Decorative inflatables of red and white waved at passersby. He couldn¡¯t quite piece together the phenomenon. This mood of unbounded jubilance and mystical wonder seemed unfounded to him. Where did all this energy and spirit come from? Driving to the sandwich shop he worked at, he unknowingly fussed at all the red lights, the slow automobiles, and the crossing elderly pedestrians who ironically moved as if they had all the time in the world. And to his dismay, as he pulled up into the plaza where he worked and got out, he found the sandwich shop dark and vacant. ¡°Closed for Christmas,¡± the sign showed behind the glass. It now dawned on him. He felt dumb. Really dumb. Surveying the empty parking lot and the multicolored lights bedecking the eaves of local businesses, he sat back down in his car. An indescribable, nagging sensation bugged him. Like the seed to a thought, it sprouted with its roots digging deep into the recesses of his mind. He turned on the radio in frustration. ¡°Chestnuts roasting on an open fire¡­¡± Normally, he would have muted the music if it sounded too halcyon. His reasoning was that it evoked a sense of dread within him, knowing moments like these don¡¯t last forever. But he didn¡¯t cut the radio this time. After listening for a while, he began to hum along. By the time he made his way back home, he remembered he heard ¡°The Christmas Song¡± at some point last night in that white dream of his. Everything looked white in the room, like a blank canvas, a tabula rasa, until the individual showed up. They were painting something happy. Going in front of his computer, he decided to browse the internet as usual to occupy his mind, watching and reading some more until his room darkened. It was getting late. His stomach grumbled. Alone, slightly anxious as he always had been in his single bedroom apartment, he darted to his fridge to grab his bag of leftovers, a sandwich probably from yesterday or if not, the day before that. ¡°Two minutes in the microwave you go, you hot pastrami,¡± he nervously personified. The sandwich rotated on the turntable, the cheese gradually melting and the bread sweating oil. The man occasionally peeked over his shoulder or into the darkness of his dining room. Beep! Beep! Beep! He carefully carried the piping hot pastrami out and tippy-toed back into his bedroom, bolting the door shut before delicately nibbling on his dinner while another video on his computer played. ¡°Despite their cute and cuddly appearance, the domestic house cat is nothing less than an apex predator, primarily carnivorous crepuscular hunters who stalk their prey in the wee hours of the morning or into the later hours of the evening.¡± He opened a new tab, typing in the search bar, ¡°What do cats eat?¡± ¡°Cats have to have protein from meat. Cooked poultry or beef are best, and deli can be given sparingly.¡± ¡°Are cats hard to take care of?¡± ¡°Cats are quite independent relative to dogs. They are much easier to take care of in terms of attention and cleanliness.¡± ¡°Should I get a cat?¡± The man typed this next query into the search bar but did not hit enter. He rotated in his chair to inspect his own bedroom. Dirty laundry strewn all over his floor and empty water bottles huddled at the foot of his desk. If one scrutinized for any corners or crevices, one would find accumulated dust and cobwebs, neglected and gray. Maybe if he got a cat he would have a reason to rid all the filth he harbored in his apartment. Perhaps the cat might even help himself become clean once more, to become a decent human being. It¡¯s true, he thought. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he cared so deeply for another living thing. Click. Click. Tap. Tap. The man stayed up past midnight playing video games, occasionally hearing the vrooms of speeding cars and the spray of uncoordinated fireworks through the little gap he left in his window. It was only a little gap and nothing more. As abrupt as the holiday spirit that emanated out into the open winter like columns of smoke rising from the fire brick chimneys, so too did its cessation. Only the ambient rustling of leaves could be perceived in place of the once convivial night. The chill in the room had grown quite noticeable. He found himself with his knees tucked into his chest, his thin frame shivering. As he reached to check his phone, his hand rigidly grasped, icy cold and stiff. ¡°3:56 AM.¡± He put his computer to sleep and brought his phone with him to bed, curling up in his blankets as he turned off the bright lamp on his nightstand. With only the tiny little screen of his phone to keep him company, he scrolled through whatever the internet suggested, his mind laxly drifting away like tufts of clouds. In the darkness of his bedroom, only the bright little screen of his phone could comfort him. There was no lingering fear of loneliness or the daunting existential dread moments before one fell asleep. There was only the prospect of oblivion as he held his device in his hand, dozing off before he could even realize what was happening to him. Some Dreams Just Don’t Make Sense Milky white, but not as harsh as the screen on his phone, the man marveled in wonderment. The whiteness must have gone on infinitely if he didn¡¯t reach around to touch the walls that camouflaged together, verifying that he once again found himself in the white room. While the man tried to feel for anything he might have missed on the ground or on the walls, a door swung ajar with an individual popping out. ¡°Hello!¡± ¡°Hey,¡± the individual responded back. ¡°Are we drawing again?¡± The individual paused before revealing in somewhat cryptic lines, ¡°All of us are different shades of the ideal form. Not surprisingly, we can be mistaken for each other despite each of us possessing our own unique identity.¡± The man squinted in confusion. Not only did the individual speak differently, but the aura they exuded expressed a sharper intuition that wasn¡¯t there before. Walking closer and blinking, he realized not only the individual, but he himself looked entirely different from what he remembered. Both of them were completely white from head to toe in the same exact milkiness as that of the room. They had no features or clothes or even distinct dimensionalities and proportions. Standing in the room were two plain, smooth white mannequins you would see in shopping malls-- one the man and the other the individual-- that could not be spotted by the naked eye in the background of white, let alone distinguished from each other. How could this be? The man pondered further. If he couldn¡¯t see but only feel the boundaries of the walls and ceilings, how did he even manage to spot the individual to begin with? He could have sworn they looked like normal human beings just moments before. So where did all their features go? Oblivious of the man¡¯s internal inquiries, the individual walked over to one of the walls and pressed the tip of their fingers against it. Pulling their arm back, an extruded torus emerged. ¡°A doughnut?¡± the man asked. ¡°It can be.¡± Unlike the wall, the torus appeared light blue and translucent like aerogel. With a malleability of playdough, the individual telekinetically dilated its size while its thick circumference congruously shrunk down to no larger than the width of a corn snake. It effectively transformed into a hoop. The individual concentrated with a deadly focus. Two more blobs flew out of the wall. The individual continued to manipulate the blobs until they had molded a sculpture. ¡°Okey-dokey.¡± The man stared. ¡°What am I looking at?¡± ¡°Does it not look familiar?¡± ¡°It looks like modern art.¡± The individual laughed. ¡°Yeah, it does. It¡¯s a physics problem that you gave me from a long time ago.¡± ¡°A problem I gave you?¡± ¡°The rising hoop problem.¡± The man approached the creation. A hoop balanced perfectly on its edge, its height reached up to his chest with two spherical beads resting at the top, both strung through by the hoop. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t the beads slide down?¡± the man asked, ¡°Unless there¡¯s friction holding it in place.¡± ¡°I¡¯m holding them in place. No friction. But watch what happens as I let them go.¡± Right on cue, the two beads slid down from the very top, one on each side. When the beads reached a certain point while sliding down the upper semicircle of the hoop, the hoop did something out of the man¡¯s expectations. It jumped up before toppling over. The individual erected the hoop upright once more, sliding the beads back to the top. As they let go for a second iteration, the hoop once again jumped up on its own as the two beads slid down due to gravity. The man smiled in incredulity, some of it coming back to him. ¡°I remember doing this problem a long, long time ago. I almost forgot how strange it initially appeared.¡± The individual smiled, too. The man requested, ¡°Can you make it such that the beads are lighter than the hoop?¡± The individual nodded. Instantly, the beads grew much more transparent, indicative of a reduction in density. The individual proceeded to repeat the experiment. This time, the hoop did not leave the ground before falling over. The man recollected, ¡°We want to find the minimum mass ratio between the beads and the hoop such that there is an upward net force.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Did you manage to figure it out?¡± the man hopefully asked. ¡°Considering the amount of time it has been since we¡¯ve last met, most definitely yes.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t we meet yesterday? We painted together.¡± ¡°Not yesterday!¡± the individual impatiently emphasized, ¡°That wasn¡¯t me. That was someone else. Unfortunately, there are a lot of things we don¡¯t remember once we¡¯ve grown up. It¡¯s really a shame.¡± The man couldn¡¯t make sense of the individual¡¯s words and decided not to delve further into their identity. He instead looked around, requesting, ¡°Are you able to spawn in a paper and a pencil? Wait, am I able to do all the stuff you¡¯re doing?¡± ¡°In principle, you should.¡± ¡°Can you teach me how?¡± ¡°No. It should be an innate ability. It¡¯s like breathing. You just do it without thinking.¡± ¡°Umm, alright.¡± The man closed his eyes, attempting to attain a meditative state of nothingness. Yet his thoughts bombarded him like torrents crashing into the side of a rocky cliff. At times, it felt like he spectated himself in the third person. He could see both himself and the individual in the white room, together, waiting there motionlessly. At other times, he could feel the gentle pressure of his eyelids over his pupils. With his mind aloof, he realized there appeared to be strangeness in this whole scenario. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Despite the room of whiteness bearing its white inhabitants, featureless and smooth, there existed remarkable detail. For example, the wall undeniably presented itself in full white yet the chunks of material that the individual extracted from the wall to mold the hoop and the beads looked light blue, delicate, and brittle. The individual themself did not actually look featureless when he tried remembering them but indeed had the full appearance of a human with a face he had seen from somewhere before in his life. Perhaps if he opened his eyes, he would discover that there were no white mannequins, that it must have been an illusion, and that in this room, there were undoubtedly two normal human beings tackling an old physics problem. In anticipation, he opened his eyes to confirm his thoughts. The sunlight shone on his dried face. Crusted with rheum at the corner of his eyes, with chapped lips and traces of saliva down his right cheek, he slowly sat up. Without thinking, he clumsily walked over to his small wooden drawer, retrieving a sheet of printing paper. He then picked up the dull pencil on his desk and brought the two pieces of stationary with him out onto the round table of his balcony. Sketching out the hoop with its two beads at different points in time on the piece of paper, he began scribbling lines of math. ¡°Hey dude! Aren¡¯t you cold?¡± The man lifted his head and peered down, locating the voice who had called out to him from the ground below. It was his neighbor from next door who he had never talked to. Not quite registering what his neighbor had just said to him, he awkwardly waved back before resuming his work. After a few minutes of calculating, he brought everything back inside, slamming the paper on his desk in triumph. ¡°I guess I solved it,¡± the man shared aloud. Hearing only the weak rumble of his heater through the ceiling vent, he quickly spun around, expecting the presence of the individual. But the dream had already ended. He looked into the closet mirror door to see himself in only his underwear. He then made eye contact with his own reflection. ¡°I am all here,¡± he murmured in concern. Who was the individual? Were they one person or multiple? Why did he feel like he¡¯s known them all this time? He seized his phone, frantically searching on Safari, ¡°What does it mean when I dream of an empty white room?¡± ¡°An empty white room means a lack of love and emotion, inadequacy, or feeling overwhelmed with life.¡± The man¡¯s left eye twitched. ¡°That¡¯s not true. Everything is great in my life.¡± He had a low rent apartment all to himself. His job as a sandwich maker provided a relatively stable source of income as he never splurged or bought unnecessary things¡­ although, he definitely needed that new computer he had his eyes on for over a year. This is all I need, he thought. Just me and myself. It was just a weird dream, a coinkydink for it to have happened two consecutive nights. Coughing from the cold, he properly dressed himself and headed over to the kitchen. He wanted to eat something hot and soft. Steamed egg will do. He cracked two eggs and beat their yolks and whites into a slurry, adding in a pinch of salt and four eggshells full of water. Carefully lowering the bowl of emulsified eggs and water into the steamer, switching on the heat and sealing with a lid, he sat at one of the two chairs in his dining room, listlessly watching as soon, wisps of steam from the steamer rose and escaped up into the fume hood. The steam, indifferent and evanescing, twirled unpredictably without worry. It unknowingly reminded him of an allegory he had heard from some place peaceful and loving, from someone important. It centered on a pioneer named Ku who stumbled upon steaming hot springs at the heart of a mountain. Feeling himself relaxing for some reason, he allowed the story of Ku to unfold in place of the mysterious dreams he¡¯d been having for the past two days. ¡­ Once upon a time, there was a traveler named Ku, who journeyed up the Mountain of a Thousand Dreams. The mountain had earned its appellation from its perpetual fog shrouding the base all the way up to the dreary gray clouds that obscured the peak. Rumor has it that many of the missing people reported in the nearby villages had simply gone up and left to ascend the mountain, seeking a dream they dearly desired. Thus, the fog and clouds represented these innumerable dreams, each as tiny as a star in the boundless night sky, each as mysterious and hard to interpret as the next. Paired with a proclivity in the belief of the supernatural, whenever purple and green lights danced near the peak like phantasmagoric auroras, the villagers concluded a dream must have been granted to someone up in the mountain. As successive generations passed, the story of missing people ascending to the peak would evolve into a story about the afterlife. For when you die, the villagers believed your spirit would march up the mountain¡¯s slope, wishing to reincarnate for the better. After all, the villagers were poverty-stricken and didn¡¯t have much to work with. What better option did they have, with their uneducated views and lack of knowledge of the outside world, than to toil in the fields and tend to the livestock day after day while dreaming about the good things that would likely never happen to them? When Ku was born in one of the villages surrounding the base of the Mountain of a Thousand Wishes, he cried loudly, defiantly almost, as if rejecting the world around him. His parents, their ears ringing from the shrill cries of their newborn, thought their child must have been extremely bitter. As a youth, Ku learned fast and managed to speak intelligibly by the age of two. By the age of four, Ku had been enrolled into the local school. Unlike his peers who were at least two years older than him, he diligently studied, wishing to know more about himself and the world. When he went home after a long day of school, he would help out his mother and father with the chores. With his two little hands, he scrubbed their dirty dishes and clothes as skillfully and expediently as he could, making sure they were spotless and squeaky clean. This way, with chores and duties done and dusted, he could spend more time with the people he cared about. But Ku cared maybe too much for his own good. His peers despised him. He noticed the adults stared at him as well. They would either talk to him in rude or condescending tones or simply ignored him when it was his turn to talk. This wasn¡¯t out of order. Ku was the type of person to always openly speak his mind. Oftentimes, he could be brutally honest to those he knew including himself. Ku was a child who held everyone to excellence. He did not tolerate laziness and those who gave up easily. He believed everyone to be capable. Naturally, Ku overexerted himself at times, always trying his very best. Thus, Ku¡¯s way of living evoked the wrath and bitterness of those around him, especially those who wanted nothing more in life than the easy way out. But despite making enemies with the rest of the world, his parents always smiled and laughed when Ku ate dinner with them, crowded around the small table inside their hut. They couldn¡¯t have wished for a better son and placed all their hope in Ku¡¯s education. To them, Ku was their hopes and dreams. One morning, Ku learned in language class about the mountain. He had heard the stories many times, told to him as a baby before bed every night. However, he never quite understood their significance until that day. As his teacher asked each of them about their dreams in life, the students¡¯ answers all seemed rather disconnected in the sense that they were not a community, but rather a poorly congregated group of impoverished individuals who only lived for themselves and only helped others out of a mutual interest to survive. So when the teacher asked Ku what his dreams were, Ku determinedly answered, ¡°I want to find out what lies in the Mountain of a Thousand Dreams.¡± The teacher asked what he meant. ¡°I want to climb the mountain and see if our dreams are really in the fog and in the clouds.¡± Ku distinctly felt he had crossed a certain line. He could feel a collective hostility in the room honing in on him. His teacher sternly informed, ¡°It is an indisputable fact that all our dreams sleep on the mountain. When someone in the village dies, their dream will be granted. Their spirit summits the mountain, passing into the gates of heaven, where they shall be reborn.¡± ¡°Where¡¯s the proof?¡± His teacher savagely replied, ¡°The proof is Ku, you are always sticking out like a sore thumb. You should really focus on being more acceptable as an individual. Perhaps try making some friends. Or else the Mountain of a Thousand Dreams will likely be one dream short.¡± Some kids snickered. Ku went home later that day, telling his parents what had happened. His parents guffawed and explained, ¡°You have rejected our culture, our sweet Ku.¡± ¡°But why? Why does no one else think this way? What if your dreams aren¡¯t fulfilled and you don¡¯t reincarnate after you die?¡± ¡°And what if we happen to reincarnate? How would you know?¡± his father countered. Ku expressed bitterness and frustration. His mother smiled and suggested, ¡°Why don¡¯t you climb the mountain someday so you can come back and tell us what you saw?¡± Ku listened to his mother¡¯s words with revelation. In his glassy gaze, there seemed to be a light that radiated with a will of glowing iron. He firmly nodded with a ¡°mm!¡± before eating with gusto, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. I’ve Never Went to a Hot Spring Before The day would come when Ku would ascend the mountain. Ku, early in the morning, packed all his necessary equipment into a makeshift hide bag. Crouching down, he hugged both of his parents. Alone, without anyone else from the village to cheer him on, he ventured out into the darkness without a shred of fear or doubt, knowing he had trained and gathered intel over the years just for this expedition. A melodic jingle chimed from the man¡¯s bedroom, snapping him out of his daydream. The man calmly got up to go pick up his phone. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Hi, is this Theodore?¡± ¡°Yes, this is him speaking.¡± ¡°Hi, this is Delilah Kirtan calling to ask if you¡¯re still interested in the teaching position at Gillette High School.¡± Theodore¡¯s heart tremored. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Okay, great. Can you tell me a bit about yourself?¡± Theodore revealed what he thought the interviewer wanted to hear most. ¡°Very nice. Are you free next Monday for an onsite interview?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Alright, thank you for your time, Theodore. I hope you have a great rest of your day.¡± ¡°Thank you. You too.¡± ¡°Bye.¡± ¡°Bye.¡± Theodore ended the call. A terrible despair welled up inside. ¡°What the hell am I doing?¡± he muttered under his breath. He opened his Photos app and scrolled through his favorites on his phone. An odd-eyed Khao Manee, a stylish computer flashing with over a thousand RGB LEDs, the interior of a boba shop late at night, and many more snippets fluttered by, going further and further back into the past. After a minute of digging, he swiped by a portrait of a smiling woman in an amusement park, finally stopping on a snapshot of a ripped piece of binder paper. Jotted on it, legible italics polluted by ink blots could be deciphered. In the single paragraph, he reread: ¡°No one listens. I can¡¯t choose anymore. But I want to say thank you to someone who encouraged me to write before I leave. He helped me with my work under the oak tree at lunchtime. He always told me to be more confident as a writer. ¡®If you don¡¯t believe in yourself, how can you expect others to believe in your writing?¡¯ I tried to make it work. I¡¯m sorry. But I loved all the time we shared. So thank you, Teddy. I¡¯ll miss you. It hurts so bad.¡± Theodore blinked, his throat dry, wondering if he should drive down next week to Gillette High School, wholeheartedly trying for the teaching position. Is this what she would have wanted? No, that¡¯s not what it¡¯s about. What¡¯s the right thing to do in this situation? Should I do it for her? It¡¯s not about that either. Theodore knew the reason why he hesitated. As stubborn as he was, he felt scared. He walked back out into his small kitchen, trying to put his mind at ease. It was steamed egg time. He took a deep breath. Removing the lid, a huge billow of steam rolled towards his face, temporarily clouding his vision, warm and humid. Veiled and dazed, his mind played out the rest of Ku¡¯s story like a movie. The Mountain of a Thousand Dreams did not exceed Ku¡¯s expectations. After all, Ku had thoroughly done his research, traveling to the surrounding villages at the base of the mountain during his teenage years. While working odd jobs and meeting different people from each community, he would learn valuable skills as well as their folklore. He would learn their different cultures and find that there existed a much bigger world out there for him to explore. From each place he stayed at, he would ask the people what they knew about the mountain. Some would tell him about what kinds of plants and animals were indigenous to the region. Some would tell him about the existence of special mountain trails made from their ancestors which the spirits would use to ascend. Some would give him journals or maps for him to investigate on his own. However, no matter where he asked, there would always be something about the fog and the clouds, ranging from tragedy to tales of salvation, constantly reminding him of the villagers¡¯ belief in reincarnation. By the end of his research, Ku had accumulated a wealth of knowledge of not only how to navigate most of the mountain, but how to survive in the mountain. He had also trained his body to its peak fitness, his physique akin to a Greek god, in order to ensure the best chances of mounting the summit on his first attempt. Ku had a good feeling about this. As he hiked up the moderate incline from the base, many of the vegetation smelled or appeared familiar, some of which he grew back at home. The path he went on did not prove too difficult either with his hefty hide bag securely strapped across his broad chest. Gazing ahead into the dark forest beyond, he smiled in his march of progress, excited to discover and experience new things, hoping to bring back many more stories down the mountain than those he brought with him on his way up.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The sun eventually rose at the crack of dawn. Sunlight seemed to flood the forest with color. Verdant green, white aspen speckled with black, and most notably a thin bluish layer of fog that pervaded the area harmonized with each other in this untouched ecosystem. Before long, Ku spotted docile deers poking their heads out from behind the brush, edible mushrooms to forage, and cute little finches dancing in the foliage. Believing it to be more than his imagination, he keenly felt a cleansing reinvigoration, as if all the pores on his skin had opened up and his mind heightened to a clarity of nirvana. The Mountain of Thousand Dreams couldn¡¯t have been more lively! Day and night shifted back and forth as Ku ascended higher and higher. All looked well. Beyond the metaphorical significance of the mountain he hiked, it was truly nothing more than a beautiful place to live in. How lovely did the fresh aspen pleasure the senses. How delightful did the gentle breeze flow and weave between the trees. How wondrous and mystical did the ever present fog hang in the air, growing denser and denser the further Ku climbed. On the fourteenth day, the fog thickened to the point that he could barely make out the path ahead. He couldn''t see more than a few feet before him. Proceeding with caution, he kept onwards, slowing with each step until he became practically blind. He had now reached a standstill. Conditions drastically changed in such a short time. Such was the folly of life. Perhaps he had to turn back. The mere thought of giving up elicited a binding anxiety that clenched his heart. Years worth of effort met with failure. He felt tears returning to the corner of his eyes. Right as he teetered on the edge of defeat, mentally preparing himself to face his parents back down, a blue light blinked into existence. He himself blinked twice. "A will-o-wisp?" The blue light, hovering at a distance difficult to gauge due to the sheer lack of visibility and depth, bounced up and down as if it were nodding. The blue light then started shrinking deeper into the fog. Ku followed. After a few minutes of gradual turns and mild inclines, Ku reached a fork in the road. On the path diverging to the right, the fog had cleared and a distinct path snaking up to the peak revealed lofty clouds forming a dome, insulating the top of the mountain from the outside world. On the path to the left, the blue light vigorously zipped around, as if urging him to continue following it. However, unlike the path to the right, the path on his left remained foggy and obscure with no end in sight. The blue light froze, sensing Ku¡¯s indecision. Ku thought if it wasn''t for this light, he would have likely turned back, never to have realized how close he had come. On the other hand, his goal was to his right. All he had to do was take the final steps. The blue light began shrinking again. Ku, slightly panicked, thought this wasn''t the plan. On a whim, he leaped out and chased, sprinting after the blue light, abandoning the peak. Diminishing faster and faster, Ku cried out for the light to wait. Branch, stumble, boulder, abdomen, jab, cough, crunch, splash! Ku reflexively held his breath, submerging into a body of water. A sensation of warmth encapsulated his entirety. A vacant complacency placated his ambitions. He heard a voice echo, "Welcome to my humble abode." Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle. Ku broke through the surface, greedily gasping for air. Looking about in shock, the fog had disappeared, replaced by soothing curls of steam. A magnificent ceiling of icicles twinkled overhead. The voice from the blue light echoed, "You are my first human visitor." Ku calmed himself in a few breath¡¯s time. "What is this place?" "It is my personal hot spring room." "Hot spring?" Ku suddenly felt a nostalgic warmth waist down, a familiar warmth we all innately know and love and never received enough of. The warmth of a mother¡¯s embrace. Ku swished his arms in the hot water like a toddler. "You like it?" the blue light asked. "Mmm, it feels very nice.¡± "These hot springs are for all living things to enjoy. They contain special minerals eroded from the heart of the mountain with excellent healing properties." "What should I call you by?" "I am a mountain spirit. I have no name." "May I call you Qian Meng?" "Okay. But why?" "The villages that live near the bottom all refer to this mountain as the Mountain of a Thousand Dreams. The fog and the clouds are supposed to represent our dreams." "I see." "Speaking of which, do you know why the mountain is covered in so much fog?" "That''s not fog. That is steam coming out of the hundred and eight hot springs in here. If you look towards the entrance behind you, from where you entered, you can see streams of steam from the springs condensing and exiting back out. There are also other openings that lead out to other parts of the mountain." "Oh." Ku looked up and pointed. "What about the icicles up there? Why don¡¯t they melt from the steam?" "That''s not ice. That''s glass." "Oh." Everything had been accounted for. Ku felt satisfied. The mountain spirit asked, "So why did you come here from one of the villages below? Life on this mountain is not easy. You must be adequately equipped and well-prepared. There are many poisonous plants and dangerous beasts here." Ku frowned, thinking the journey, for the majority of the duration, had been quite pleasant. He loved it. But to answer the mountain spirit, he fumbled on his words. He didn''t know what he should say. The mountain spirit awkwardly hummed. "I think," he slowly began, "I wanted to ascend the mountain to initially find out what hid at the top. But as I spent more time sightseeing, I think I did what I did just for the sake of doing it, if that makes sense." The mountain spirit confirmed, "So the purpose is in the action itself?" Ku smiled in eureka. "Yes!¡± Theodore always appreciated the abrupt ending to the tale. Sometimes you just have to go through the motion of things. In his workplace t-shirt, he sliced open a loaf of dutch, spreading the halves with mayonnaise. He slapped on tomatoes, pepperoncinis, a handful of lettuce, turkey cuts, mustard, and other ingredients up to order for the customer standing before him. Although sandwich construction felt quite tedious and monotonous at times, there existed an unspoken harmony in the way he assembled everything. A well-oiled machine, dexterous fingers, and a devotion to the recipe down to the number of olives for a specific sandwich, Theodore quietly performed. By nightfall, he helped close shop, rinsing the dirty dishes and sweeping the floor before he locked up. At home, he brushed his teeth and showered in his dimly lit bathroom, scrubbing off three days worth of filth. Then, rather than browsing on his computer deep into the night as he always did, he decided to call it in early. He also left his phone on his desk as he lay there in the silent darkness, hearing the hooting of owls from someplace he couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint. Moonlight crept through the blinds. An ethereal loneliness deepened and waned. ¡°Only seven more days until Gillette,¡± Theodore murmured to himself. Drifting off for the first time in a long time with his thoughts intact and his emotions in touch, he faced the fear that lingered in his heart. Exercise is Good For You ¡°I¡¯m excited!¡± ¡°Why is that?¡± Theodore asked the individual, the same one he had painted with. ¡°Because I¡¯m going to Paris!¡± ¡°What for?¡± The individual lowered their intensity, bravely revealing, ¡°To dance.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a professional dancer?¡± ¡°Not yet but I¡¯m trying.¡± ¡°That¡¯s crazy.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± Theodore surveyed their surroundings, plain white and delectable. He felt like he could take a bite out of the walls. ¡°What¡¯s the plan for today?¡± ¡°I need to keep myself in shape. Let¡¯s go swimming.¡± Flourishing their arms with much more pizzazz than last time, the individual changed the white room into an indoor swimming pool. The walls and ceiling expanded outward, materializing windows, beams, and other various infrastructure. A large dent in the ground evolved into a rectangular hole with varying depth, slowly filling with water. The acute smell of chlorine soon prickled Theodore¡¯s nose. The individual donned a cap, a pair of goggles, and a sleek swimsuit, diving into the pool like a dolphin before bulldozing through the water with freestyle. Theodore, without thinking too hard, spawned his own pair of swim trunks and goggles onto himself. Sinking into the pool, he swam as well, warming up with breaststroke instead. He demonstrated immaculate form. Tucking in at the rise, letting his arms penetrate back into the water, sweeping his hands up to his chest and past his head, and kicking with the proper range before repeating the stroke, Theodore imagined himself to be a frog. While the two completed laps, a slow pitter-patter of rain causing ripples on the pool surface gradually intensified into a downpour. Looking above, the ceiling had vanished. Stormy gray clouds thundered. A roaring rainfall crashed against the pool water. The individual returned to Theodore. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°I had thought of myself as being a frog and rainy weather is froggy weather.¡± ¡°It¡¯s cold. Can you stop it?¡± ¡°It feels nice though.¡± The individual looked in shock, warning Theodore, ¡°Your skin is turning green!¡± Theodore didn¡¯t seem bothered. His nose flattened. His webbed appendages elongated and his tummy turned an ugly yellow. His eyes popped out. Panicked, the individual proposed, ¡°How about we have a race? If I win, then no more rain.¡± ¡°Ribbit,¡± Theodore agreed. The two climbed out of the pool and onto the diving boards of their respective lanes, each of them positioning and steadying themselves. Sentient tripods and cameras gathered at the edge of the pool, serving as spectators for this match. The individual, quivering from the cold rain with chattering teeth, shakily proposed, ¡°One lap, back and forth?¡± ¡°Ribbit.¡± A radio speaker boomed throughout the facility. ¡°In the first lane, we have The Odor Frog! Smelly but effective, he¡¯s not only a champion in breaststroke. Former record holder for the high jump event as well, Mr. Frog is a tough contender!¡± On command, a foul stench from Mr. Frog assaulted all those within close proximity. The individual gagged thrice, trying to hold their breath. ¡°In the second lane, we have our underdog. And you know what they say. Dogs only know how to doggy paddle!¡± The announcer broke into hysterical laughter with intermittent wheezes while the cameras clicked and flashed for the hottest scoop. ¡°Haha. Hahaha. Alright. Racers, are you ready?¡± ¡°Racers, are you ready?¡± the individual mocked in annoyance. ¡°Ribbit.¡± ¡°On your mark. Get set. BEEP.¡± The individual gracefully pierced through the water, producing little to no ripples. Mr. Frog leaped forward, belly flopping in with a big splash, off to a rough start. No worries, Mr. Frog believed. His strong things should be more than enough to compensate for his abysmal dive and propel him to victory. However, as the seconds passed, the gap between him and the individual only widened. When the individual reached the end of the pool and rebounded, passing by Mr. Frog who was only three quarters on the way there, Mr. Frog realized he had been played. The individual never specified the stroke type, meaning they could swim whatever they wanted. So the individual bolted down the lane with front crawl, a much faster technique than breaststroke. Mr. Frog desperately kicked but it was too late. The individual had finished first with almost half a lap of leeway. ¡°A major upset! I can¡¯t believe this,¡± the announcer broadcasted. One could audibly hear the microphone being dropped. The individual kept a weather eye on as the skies above upheld their promise. The calamitous clouds cleared back up into a warm, sunny day of boundless blue. Mr. Frog transmogrified back into Theodore who shook his head in befuddlement, positively flabbergasted. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The individual called out from the opposite end, ¡°What the heck happened?¡± ¡°Sorry! I don¡¯t know what came over me. Maybe I was tired.¡± ¡°You turn into a frog when you¡¯re tired?¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Whateva. Imma keep swimming.¡± The individual deeply inhaled before plunging into the clear water. Theodore glanced up and around, recognizing the pool belonged to a facility he had frequented as a child. To his left were large cylindrical water slides snaking down into a reservoir at the bottom. Encircling the reservoir was the Lazy River, a channel flowing in clockwise fashion, carrying pool noodles and animal pool floats. Currently, the side closest to him had a giraffe and a peacock. No frogs, however. Chuckling at himself for the pandemonium he had caused earlier, Theodore submerged into the lukewarm pool. Soon, he joined the individual, proceeding to swim his own freestyle. Stroke after stroke, kick after kick, he felt himself lightweight and buoyant, his troubles lifting and his mind at ease just like when he was a kid. He almost forgot how elevating cardio could be. Maybe he should try getting fit again. Theodore yawned at the receptionist, his body bathed in the glorious sunlight. ¡°The regular membership is only a dollar a month for an annual term with a one-time down payment of forty dollars.¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll do that, then.¡± ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡± Theodore inserted his debit card. The receptionist then took a picture of him. ¡°You¡¯re all set.¡± Nodding, half-awake, Theodore made his way to one of the hundred treadmills arranged in the gym. He slightly frowned at himself. He had just purchased a local gym membership based on the funny dream from last night. This was not exactly a financial decision he could be proud of. Positioning himself on the track, the treadmill counted down: Three, two, one, go. His thin calves and nonexistent quads engaged and flexed what little there was. His arms haphazardly swung back and forth. His chest heaved while beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and the side of his face, some of it getting into his eyes. He coughed. He retched a couple of times, his stomach empty. His throat turned dry like the Mojave Desert. Phlegm rapidly accumulated. Before long, he had to stop, panting for his dear life. He staggered into the men¡¯s bathroom, staring into the mirror, thinking this was nothing like the uplifting swim in his dreams. A blob of mucus came up from the back of his throat. Ptooey! Saliva dribbled from his lips. He blew with his mouth to remove the excess but the strings of saliva only dangled and vibrated. He instinctively looked up, seeing someone else had walked in, standing in front of the sinks beside him. They, of course, were washing their hands and minding their own business. Theodore drenched his face, wiped everything off with a brown paper towel, and exited, returning back to the same treadmill that exhausted him moments before. He adjusted the settings to a milder speed. Again. Three, two, one, go. Theodore calmly jogged with deliberation in each step, avoiding overextension of his knees and maintaining a steady cadence. He monitored his own breathing, counting to three in his mind before taking each breath. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes! The treadmill slowed to a stop. Theodore gasped for air. He felt a slap on his shoulder. ¡°Gyuh!¡± Theodore spun around. ¡°Yo, long time no see big T.! Whatcha been up to?¡± ¡°Woah.¡± Theodore observed the behemoth who towered over him. He remembered Christian from high school. A scrawny African-American kid, he now boasted thick muscles bulging and oozing with power. ¡°You¡¯re huge!¡± Theodore blurted out. ¡°Eyy. Thanks! But seriously, how¡¯s things? You lookin¡¯ a lil¡¯ pale.¡± ¡°Out of shape.¡± ¡°Okay, okay. You¡¯re gettin¡¯ started. Revving it up.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°I respect that bro. You planning on hitting anything today?¡± ¡°Kind of, umm, freestyling,¡± Theodore responded. ¡°Cool, cool.¡± ¡°How about you? Do you have a plan? Or--¡± ¡°Yeah, going to do arms today. Biceps and triceps.¡± Theodore accidentally looked Christian in the eyes. It was the same old Christian who would sing the hardest and loudest (although not the best) during karaoke every Friday in Mrs. Henderson¡¯s fourth period English class. Theodore, along with many other classmates, would often break out into laughter whenever Christian sang the wrong notes. But you could see Christian smiling, too, with laughter in his eyes as he continued to project his voice with all his might. ¡°Can I workout with you? You can show me how it¡¯s--¡± ¡°Absolutely!¡± The two men stood in front of a rack of dumbbells. Christian advised, ¡°Pick weights you feel most comfortable with. Always, always focus on the right form. Or else you''re gonna go negative.¡± Theodore shamelessly picked up the ten KGs, following Christian¡¯s lead. Christian¡¯s biceps bulged as he alternated between left and right on the curls. Theodore, well, Theodore worked hard. By the fourth set, Theodore¡¯s eyes were tight shut as he struggled to lift the dumbbell in his left. ¡°Yaaaaah!¡± ¡°There ya go,¡± Christian encouraged. Theodore slackened immediately after. ¡°You feelin¡¯ good?¡± ¡°Great,¡± Theodore squeezed out. ¡°Rest up, rest up.¡± Time passed. Set after set, the two continued, transitioning from one exercise to the next. The noise of clanks and grunts and beeps rang throughout the gym, the whole interior bustling with activity. There were young people who simply came to exercise in good health. There were old people who didn¡¯t quite know what they were doing but at least they had the spirit. There were regulars who wore tight-fitting clothing or were in their hoodies, pumping iron with pure consistency, interspersed with lots of screen time on their phone. There were couples and friends who worked out together, who held idle chatter and cheered each other on, whether quietly or vocally. There was also this bald white guy who grunted really hard, as if he were constipated, for the whole gym to hear. ¡°My arms are swollen,¡± Theodore complained. ¡°Yeah. We''re gonna stretch after this last one. Are you doing okay?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Thinking of quitting?¡± Christian asked again. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡± Theodore did not bother hiding his sarcasm. ¡°You''re making the same face I had when I first started lol.¡± ¡°How long have you been doing this?¡± ¡°A long time, man. You get into the motion of things. It¡¯s a rhythm.¡± ¡°You got days you don¡¯t want to go?¡± ¡°There are days I take breaks but you know, once you¡¯re doing it, not really. It¡¯s like me asking you why you like-- well, what do you like?¡± ¡°I like beautiful places.¡± ¡°Sure. There¡¯s no reason, purpose, whatever. Like why do you like beautiful places? I don¡¯t know. But you''re probably gonna try going there, right? You just do it because it makes sense. Ya know?¡± Theodore instinctively nodded. He thought about the ending to Ku¡¯s story. ¡°The purpose is in the action itself.¡± ¡°Whatchu say?¡± ¡°Nothing. You''re just spitting straight facts my dude.¡± I Didn’t Know You Can Actually Dance! Theodore hit the sack sore that night. Lying there in the darkness, an overwhelming drowsiness he hadn¡¯t experienced in over seven years overtook him as he felt himself fading away with dissipating thoughts. There was a time, he recollected, when he didn¡¯t know how the world worked. He didn''t know how to love or what the word even meant. All there were were people who placed importance on materialistic and superficial things. They told him to become great one day according to their standards. They implicitly or explicitly told him you should get into a top tier university, become wealthy, earn the highest grades in your class, and more, all for the wrong reasons. It wore him down. He didn¡¯t know why at the time. He only felt monstrous, inhuman, wishing for the destruction of others for the pain they have caused him. It filled him with endless holes. All he knew was that he felt very lucky back then, meeting a very special student back when he taught at Gillette High School. If only that student was still here today. Theodore sat crisscrossed in the white room as usual. The individual walked in. Both smiling, Theodore and the individual did their secret handshake. Slap, slap, pound, clap, L, checkmark. Absolutely thrilled by their success, the individual waved their hands with plentiful pizzazz. A ten-story marble pagoda dazzling in neon resurrected from the ground up. Beneath, a rock garden exhibited circular flows, the periphery accessorized by trimmed bushes and Japanese maple. ¡°How about now?¡± the individual asked. ¡°It¡¯s too colorful.¡± The individual rolled their eyes. They gestured and waved to their surroundings as if saying, ¡°Hello? The whole room is white. Don¡¯t you like it when there¡¯s some color?¡± ¡°You asked if I like it,¡± Theodore stated. The individual jumped topics. ¡°Yesterday, I got second in my dance competition.¡± ¡°Paris?¡± ¡°I had to wake up at 7 am and didn¡¯t get back home until 3 in the morning.¡± Theodore blinked in astonishment. ¡°Yep. But it was worth it.¡± ¡°How much sleep did you get?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know yet.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know yet?¡± ¡°You wanna see me dance?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°Oh. Okay.¡± With even more pizzazz than what Theodore thought possible, pizzazzing so much pizzazz that left him pizzazzless, the white room morphed into two parts. Theodore found himself in the dark audience while the individual now stood on a bright stage in a crimson tutu. Kitri¡¯s variation sounded throughout the auditorium. The performance was underway. Theodore gaped in awe, unable to holistically comprehend the immense physicality behind the elegance that unfolded before him. The spinny things and bendy things were by far the most eye-catching. In each and every maneuver hid a purpose that naturally flowed to the next. Theodore looked on, wonderstruck. When the three-minute-long interpretation ended, Theodore had summoned a whole crowd to fill in the empty rows in the audience. Thus, together, he and the rest got up from their seats, roaring with applause as the individual bowed in gratitude. Changing back into street clothes, the individual bounded down the stage. ¡°Bravo!¡± the whole crowd praised in unison like one gigantic organism. Both Theodore and the individual stared at each other in perplexity. In the crowd were hundreds of Theodores, all of their attention focused on the individual. It turns out that creating people in this dream world, or in the white room, whatever you prefer to call it, is extremely mentally demanding compared to spawning inanimate objects, especially on a larger scale. So instead of creating a unique person to fill in each of the hundreds of seats, Theodore auto filled it with doppelgangers of himself by accident. ¡°Sorry,¡± they all apologized simultaneously before each Theodore vanished one by one, until only the original Theodore remained. ¡°Anyway, back to my building,¡± the individual happily concluded. The theater reverted into the white room. The pagoda resurrected from the ground up once more. The rock garden traced out smooth flows in the gravel. And the Japanese maple trees matured in merely a matter of seconds. Theodore patiently observed as the individual tried new ideas, implementing some while discarding others. Occasionally, they would ask Theodore for his opinion, to which he would respond with unreserved honesty. ¡°Do you think the orchard looks nice?¡± the individual would ask. ¡°The gazebo looks cramped with all the orange trees surrounding it. Why don¡¯t you put it in the grassy field over there?¡± Theodore would propose. The individual continued polishing and refining. By the time the individual had added an additional river, an open grassfield, an orchard with a gazebo, a koi pond, and a few walkways to navigate between each of these attractions, the sun had fully risen. Theodore shot upright, sitting on his bed, grinning from ear to ear. Over the last few days, the dreams in the white room were something he now looked forward to every night. Undergoing a weeklong endeavor of bringing an outdoor zen space into fruition, they had delved into many other subjects over the period. One day they spent some time playing with balloons, altering their voices into annoying, high-pitched squeals with helium before setting up an experiment to calculate the amount of static charge one could generate through rubbing surfaces on other objects such as a dry wool rag. Another day Theodore showed the individual how to make their own sandwich (not some homemade PB&Js but ones you¡¯d actually purchase at a sandwich shop). Providing a plethora of ingredients, the two were left to their own creative devices. Not surprisingly, Theodore woke up hungry that morning, performing exceptionally well at work that day, the artisanal craft of sandwich-making lucidly imprinted in his mind, each step methodically and clearly laid out upon customer orders. He had stopped questioning the nature of these dreams altogether. Where did they come from? Why did they happen? None of it mattered. He just felt happy. Theodore rubbed his crusty eyes as he heard a melodic jingle chiming from his phone. He almost forgot. It was a reminder: Onsite interview at Gillette High School today! Don¡¯t be late you bum. We All Have Those Days Strolling through the rotunda and the blacktops, everything looked nearly the same as seven years ago. The mighty oak firmly stood amidst the grassy fields. The blue benches were rusting right outside the cafeteria entrance. The seagulls, insufferable as always, fought over bags of chips and food crumbs the students had left behind. Theodore grew up in the neighborhood and found out a lot about himself in those brief four years he spent in Gillette High School as a teenager. He learned even more when he returned here as a teacher, greeting the bright, curious faces of his students on the first day of class. ¡°I believe you taught at Gillette a long time ago. Do you mind me asking why you quit?¡± Theodore sighed. ¡°I needed some time off.¡± The vice principal, Ms. Kirtran, did not know of the incident. Ms. Kirtran glanced at Theodore. He seemed teary-eyed. The two walked into one of the new classrooms belonging to the new buildings recently constructed in the last couple of years. Ms. Kirtran announced, ¡°You will be shadowing Mr. Busco.¡± Theodore asked, ¡°What about the interview?¡± Ms. Kirtran acknowledged, ¡°You¡¯re already hired, considering your background. Oh, well, you don¡¯t have to stay the whole time for the shadowing session since you might have other plans for today. We can arrange for another date in the week if that is more convenient for you.¡± ¡°I called off work today. I should be good.¡± ¡°Alright. Great. Then, have fun, you two. Thank you, Mr. Busco.¡± Ms. Kirtran waved goodbye, leaving Theodore behind. Mr. Busco introduced, ¡°James.¡± ¡°Theodore.¡± The two shook hands. Mr. Busco urgently and formally articulated, as if he was in a hurry for a business meeting. ¡°Right, since I¡¯m going to be leaving in three weeks, you couldn¡¯t have arrived at a better time. Do you have any questions?¡± ¡°Just want to know how your typical day goes.¡± ¡°Yeah. So, if you read the job description, the day starts during lunch. That¡¯s when the students are out of class. We, as multiple subject teachers, act as supplemental tutors. If a student needs additional help in an area, they can come in here. Some students have a free period which is only available in the afternoon. Those students can come in, too. Those are usually the juniors and seniors. And then after school, freshmen and sophomores might start showing up. And we do this until eight.¡± ¡°Does it get busy? It¡¯s finals week, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°It should be busy. But it¡¯s been very low key so far. There is a maximum occupancy of thirty students so you can put up the FULL sign if that happens.¡± Theodore nodded. The classroom appeared like any other ordinary classroom. Just empty for now. The school bell rang like a prison siren. You could hear the loud chatter and the flock of footsteps flooding out from classrooms. ¡°There¡¯s lunch,¡± Mr. Busco muttered. Ten minutes of retarded shrieks and conversations sneaked their way into the classroom, through the door crack, before the first highschooler showed up. ¡°Hey,¡± Mr. Busco said, ¡°How¡¯s everything going?¡± ¡°Good.¡± The kid, short and timid, holding a pizza slice on a plate, sat in one of the desks, retrieving a blue folder bursting with papers, the paint cracked and chipping off. They took out a worksheet and pencil. Mr. Busco continued typing away on his laptop, not paying much attention. Theodore internally frowned. Aren¡¯t you going to help, Mr. Busco, or at least ask what they¡¯re doing? The kid diligently worked. Theodore observed. At some point, they must have gotten stuck because their pencil stopped moving. They took a bite of their cafeteria-grade pizza and scanned the room. Turning about, they made eye contact with Theodore who sat in the corner. Who¡¯s this, the kid probably wondered. The kid kept staring at Theodore but didn¡¯t ask questions. Theodore, not quite sure of himself, went on his phone, breaking eye contact. With his head down, he could hear the kid¡¯s ragged breathing. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the kid reluctantly ask, ¡°Mr. Busco, is this how you solve the problem?¡± The clack of dress shoes loudly smacked against the floor. The room suddenly hushed into a pin-drop silence. A palpable tension, an overfamiliar nervousness alerted Theodore. He looked up in apprehension. Mr. Busco demanded, ¡°Which problem?¡± The kid pointed somewhere on the worksheet. ¡°Move your finger. Okay, find the derivative of tan(3x). Okay, so you just use the chain rule.¡± The kid kept quiet. They dared not to look up at Mr. Busco. Though, Mr. Busco likely wouldn¡¯t have reciprocated anyhow, his eyes focused entirely on the worksheet, waiting for the kid to magically write down the correct answer. ¡°Okay, what¡¯s the derivative of tan(x)?¡± Mr. Busco interrogated. ¡°S-secant squared x.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Okay. What about 3x?¡± The kid took longer than two seconds to respond. Mr. Busco repeated, ¡°3x!¡± The kid shook. ¡°Zero.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± The kid froze. A whole minute ticked by before they mustered up the courage to whisper, ¡°T-three?¡± ¡°What did you say? You got to speak louder.¡± The kid forced themselves, their voice quavering, ¡°Three.¡± ¡°Okay. So you multiply three with secant squared 3x. Do it.¡± The kid obediently did as told. ¡°What are you doing? Why are you putting the three there?¡± The kid frantically erased and rewrote their answer. Without considering if the kid knew what the hell they were doing, Mr. Busco strode back into his comfortable chair, returning onto his laptop. The kid sat still, pencil in their right grip tightly clenched. After two minutes of silence, they packed away their folder back into their backpack, leaving without a word. Mr. Busco didn¡¯t bother to say bye either. The bell rang. ¡°Where did the kid go? They didn¡¯t throw away their pizza,¡± Mr. Busco complained. He tried to humor Theodore. ¡°You can never really tell what¡¯s going on in their head sometimes.¡± Theodore nodded. He decided to stay for another hour maximum. Two brave, or likely desperate souls, showed up during that time frame. Mr. Busco delivered the same exact treatment. Why aren¡¯t you writing anything down? Why are you so slow? Why don¡¯t you remember this formula? ¡°I think I¡¯ll be heading out.¡± Theodore excused himself. Mr. Busco, engrossed by whatever he was looking at on his laptop screen, briefly took a glimpse of Theodore on the way out. ¡°Yeah, no worries. Take care.¡± Theodore tramped into the parking lot. He slammed his car door shut and drove off into traffic enraged. At home, he sat in front of his monitor in silent dissonance. Shouldn¡¯t he be happy? The school had rehired him. The pay is nearly triple to his current job at Joe¡¯s Hot Sandwich Shop. He could use the extra money to buy a new computer. So what was the problem with him? What was he getting so worked up for? He told himself not to think too hard about it while he booted up an RPG. Yet he knew, as he manipulated his party members in the video game to slay the raid boss, Helvetica Camille Bloch, that the kids had been intimidated and scared by Mr. Busco. He knew Mr. Busco saw the kids who visited his classroom as nothing more than his next paycheck. Helvetica Camille Bloch obliterated Theodore¡¯s entire team. On autopilot, he restarted the level back from his last checkpoint, reloading the cutscene of Helvetica Camille Bloch, Doombringer of Villars Frey. Surely, just because Mr. Busco treated the kids like crap did not mean he himself would do the same. He¡¯d probably do much, much better than that. So what was his problem? Theodore replayed the moment the first kid noticed and curiously stared at him, likely seeking a connection, a new friend. A poignancy dyed his heart black. In some dark alleyway of his memories, the same gentle voice that had haunted him for years echoed to him from a mountain of buried prayers, kindly proposing, ¡°Can I call you Teddy?¡± He asked why. ¡°I have a dog named Teddy.¡± She giggled. She looked at him with those same inquisitive eyes. To her, Teddy was her friend. Theodore jumped up and threw his mouse across the room after dying to Helvetica Camille Bloch, Doombringer of Villars Frey, Overlord of the Last Kingdom, for the fifth time. He screamed in agony. He wanted to break everything in sight. He thrashed about, finding more objects to fling, punching his wall, and sobbing. He didn¡¯t know why. He found his knuckles glistening with flecks of blood. Everything started turning red. Tears of frustration singed his eyes. He couldn¡¯t take it anymore as he continued to bellow his lungs out. What was his problem? He went to bed that night with a sore throat, his room destroyed, and without answers. Tired of everything, he put himself to sleep. His room was still cast in a murky darkness when he woke. He felt empty, a hollow husk that had been abandoned. Because for once, in the last ten days, he had a dreamless night. There was no white room to welcome him. There was no individual to play and laugh and have fun with. Doubts upon taking up the teaching position at his old high school resurfaced. He felt a sharp, constant pain, like there was a raven stuck inside his ribcage, pecking away at his fleshy interior. An utmost misery consumed him. He lay there in bed, underneath the sheets, his body turned, facing the wall as the hours passed. Did I do something wrong? Perhaps he had scared the individual away. Perhaps he should have said hi yesterday, or even at least smiled, to the kid under Mr. Busco¡¯s ¡°tutelage¡± instead of letting everything transpire. Perhaps he should have done something more in that year so she would still be here. A million what-ifs and the truth of the matter is nothing changed. He wanted to stay in bed today until the sunlight crawled over him. He wanted to go on his phone and let his mind endlessly wander in blissful ignorance like none of it ever happened. He wanted to forget once more. Let go. Just forget her. None of it ever happened. If I had never known you, I wouldn¡¯t have to go through all this. Tears welled up in his eyes. He opened his mouth yet nothing came out. His vision blurred. In place of the white wall before him, the scene of a lonely great oak standing tall amidst a large lush lawn came into view. Underneath the canopy, a girl in a flowery blouse sat at the base of the trunk. At the outskirts of the shade, a man patrolled, proudly and resolutely, like the great oak that sheltered both him and the girl. ¡°Guess what?¡± the girl asked ¡°What?¡± the man asked back. ¡°I wrote another story yesterday.¡± ¡°Oh? What¡¯s it about?¡± The girl rambled about some mysterious fog and social stigma and isolation and a spirit who owned hot springs. The man laughed, admitting, ¡°I have no idea what you just told me.¡± The girl giggled, too. ¡°Can I read your story?¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°What if it¡¯s bad?¡± ¡°Then it¡¯s bad. I don¡¯t care.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll read the story,¡± the girl decided. ¡°Okay.¡± The girl opened up her laptop, reading aloud, ¡°Once upon a time, there was a traveler¡­¡± By the time the girl finished narrating, the blaring school bell akin to a prison siren brought the two back to reality. The man complimented, ¡°I liked it. I liked it a lot.¡± The girl beamed. ¡°You do?¡± The man found boundless joy and meaning from the exceptional individual before him who tried their very best in everything they did. It made him want to try his hardest as well, to be the very best he can be. The man nodded. ¡°It¡¯s class time. Time to go back inside.¡± The Mighty Oak is Unwavering There was no melancholy, anger, or regret from earlier. Solely a singular pain that dully ached throughout his entirety, there was only a pure existence of being in the moment. Bread, mayonnaise, lettuce, tuna, tomato, red onion, pepperoncini, and bread again, he quickly wrapped the sandwich in deli paper, ringing up a guy in glasses. ¡°Your total is $14.39.¡± The guy first paid a ten and a five. ¡°One second. I think I have enough for thirty-nine cents.¡± From the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, the guy retrieved what looked like a watermelon wedge coin purse. It looked very odd, an artifact too cute and girly for the beholder. Theodore lifelessly gazed with his bloodshot eyes at the guy, the bearded man before him, fumbling around with his fingers for the exact change in his little pouch. ¡°A quarter, a dime, and one, two, three, four pennies,¡± the guy happily counted out. Theodore accepted the precise tender on the counter, depositing the bills and coins into the cash register and bagging the sandwich. Likely noticing Theodore staring, the guy cheekily asked, ¡°You like it?¡± ¡°Where¡¯d you get it from?¡± A wealth of warmth twinkled in his eyes, juxtaposed against the harsh cold glare of his glasses. He held the watermelon wedge with affection. ¡°A friend.¡± ¡°It must be a close friend.¡± The guy didn¡¯t seem to hear the last remark. He instead requested, ¡°Uhh, is it possible if you can give me two cookies?¡± At Joe¡¯s Hot Sandwich Shop, they always gave a free, complimentary cookie to go with any sandwich order. Theodore placed an extra chocolate chip delight into the guy¡¯s bag. ¡°Thank you!¡± With sincerity, the guy subtly nodded before hurrying out to somewhere they needed to be. Behind the register, Theodore watched as the guy¡¯s figure shrunk into the distance before turning a corner and disappearing. Where did people usually go when they left you? If the dreams stopped and he no longer saw the individual, where would he go? Would he go back to staying in his room like he used to, only leaving the house to do the bare minimum? Would he go back to the colorless days and nights, unfeeling and depressed, kept awake only by the bright screens of his phone and computer? Theodore felt so dead. There was so much to change about himself since the individual appeared yet his body couldn¡¯t keep up. And now that the individual had disappeared, he began to crumble, both emotionally and physically. ¡°Teddy, I¡¯m so tired!¡± ¡°Is that why you brought a blanket with you?¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± The girl had a blue wool blanket draped over her head. She looked like an eskimo granny. ¡°How much sleep did you get?¡± ¡°Hehe. Not a lot.¡± ¡°And how much is that? Five? Six?¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Six.¡± Seeing her yawning in fatigue, he turned to address the class. ¡°Alright, we¡¯re almost done with today¡¯s lesson! Jere-bear, you can talk to Norton about the ubiquity of Fourier Transforms after class.¡± ¡°Jere-bear,¡± much to his chagrin, respectfully gave his attention towards his teacher. A few of his students laughed. Resting under the cool shade of the oak tree in the orange autumn, everyone listened to Theodore lecture. ¡°There are things in life that seem important in a particular instant, at a particular time. Maybe it¡¯s to constantly be on top of things, making sure everything is properly taken care of. Maybe you feel that if you take a day off to rest, you¡¯re afraid that you will fall, unable to get back up again. Maybe there¡¯s this pressure to perform and uphold the excellent standards you or the people around you have set for you and that by taking a step back, it will damage your pride and make it seem like you have failed. Struggling to keep up with these unreasonable expectations, you find yourself completely broken, sleep-deprived, and exhausted. It feels like you don¡¯t want to do anything at all, anymore. You start hating things. You get burned out.¡± Theodore smiled. ¡°I value the time we spend together each and every day. We always have so much to accomplish. We always have so much to do. I couldn¡¯t have been more lucky to have such wonderful, hardworking students.¡± Theodore looked at each and every one of his kids much in the same way that guy in glasses did with his watermelon coin purse. ¡°But please properly take care of yourselves. As much as it saddens me to say this, I¡¯d rather have you not come to class if it¡¯s a matter of getting enough sleep and allowing yourself time to rest. When you feel refreshed, then we can resume and make sure we¡¯re spending the best quality time we can together.¡± Theodore glanced at the girl in the front, clutching to her blanket. He mandated impromptu, ¡°Since today¡¯s lesson revolves around the motif of how we choose to spend our time, for the remaining portion of class, I would like you all to choose how you want to spend your time. Ultimately, pick something you think would be much more meaningful than going on your phone or studying for a test that¡¯s in a week.¡± Some kids gave Theodore critical looks. If I can¡¯t go on my phone or study for the next test I need to get an A on, what am I supposed to do? However, the majority understood the assignment and opted to put their heads down for a nap or to talk with their friends. As Theodore sauntered around the classroom, thinking about something, he heard, ¡°Teddy, can you talk to me?¡± Nestled in blankets, with her head down, the girl who wrote stories for him whimpered. ¡°Teddy?¡± Theodore, standing beside her, asked, ¡°What do you want to talk about?¡± ¡°Anything,¡± she weakly mumbled. Theodore scratched his chin before beginning, ¡°There was once a dumb dog owner of a chonker named Teddy. For some odd reason, the dog owner decided to call their teacher that, too.¡± ¡°Heyyyy,¡± the girl softly whined. The girl soon fell asleep. That night, Theodore resolved to try again. Finding a playlist online, a medley of calm jazz, he accepted his weakness. He did not long for the computer that he had been saving up for a year anymore. He did not cower in worry or fear towards Gillette. He did not even bat an eye at the countless unread messages from his phone. Troubles upon troubles, Theodore shunned all meaninglessness aside. He brought in a trash bag, some Lysol wipes, and plenty of towels into his bedroom like he was going to war. He tossed his broken mouse and the empty water bottles into the trash bag and all his dirty laundry into a hamper. Switching on his portable vacuum cleaner, he swept across his floor to remove any loose particulates. Grains, granules, hair, he sucked it all up. Now he could wipe everything down. Loads of towels died in the process. After the dusty cobwebs and grimy stains of seven long years had been expunged from his room, he moved onto his kitchen. He thoroughly scrubbed the dishes with ample amounts of detergent. He applied baking soda onto the burn marks on his stovetop. Leaving a warm, damp cloth on top of the powdered spots, Theodore descended into the underground garage with two Febreze spray cans, locked and loaded. He sprayed the air freshener with all his might. Ooh, that lavender smelled splendid. Chucking a pair of socks and moldy crackers into the trash, he locked his car, returning upstairs, making his way back to the apartment and now into his bathroom. By the time everything had been fully purged of clutter and trash, Theodore stretched in exultation. The time read 2 AM. He paused and closed his musical playlist, going to bed in peace without a shred of fear or doubt, knowing he had done all he could for today. Purpose is in the Action Itself The white room looked as featureless and as plain as he remembered. Peeking out from behind the door, the individual explained, ¡°So I got really busy.¡± ¡°Where did you go?¡± Theodore questioned. ¡°I went to the woods.¡± ¡°The woods? What for?¡± ¡°To suck out all of the marrow in life.¡± Theodore gave the individual a funny look. ¡°Henry David Thoreau? I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately? Okay, I went foraging for raspberries.¡± ¡°Raspberries? What are we doing today?¡± ¡°I was wondering if we can try to go over the Euler-Lagrange equation.¡± Theodore spat out a mouthful of water. He felt the cold glass of a half-filled cup in his hand. Since when did he have a glass of water in the first place? ¡°What?¡± ¡°I want to know where the Euler-Lagrange equation came from. Like why they made it.¡± Theodore felt beads of sweat forming on the sides of his forehead. Could he answer the individual¡¯s inquiry as comprehensively as he desired? Was the individual testing him? He squirmed. Something felt out of place. ¡°Why are you asking me this?¡± ¡°What do you mean? You told me about it before as an alternate way of solving classical mechanics problems.¡± ¡°I did?¡± The individual impatiently reminded Theodore, ¡°It¡¯s easy to mistake those we do not expect.¡± ¡°What?¡± The individual gesticulated down their body. Theodore shook his head in confusion. ¡°Can you look closer? It¡¯s me. Not the other one.¡± Theodore leaned in. The individual who stood before him was not the one who he had painted and swam with. Rather, they were the one who had asked him about the hoop and beads from a couple of weeks ago. Seeing Theodore understand, the individual flicked on a mini flashlight, pointing the light at an angle into the water of Theodore¡¯s cup. One could perceive the ray of light bending. The individual continued, ¡°I know the Euler-Lagrange equation has something to do with Fermat¡¯s Principle of Least Time. Light always takes the path with the shortest time between two points. That¡¯s why it bends at the water-air interface.¡± As if the tarnished cogs of the gears in his mind creaked into commission, he remembered teaching a student about these things. With all of it coming back to him, Theodore coughed, regaining his composure. Swiping off the sweat on his forehead with his forearm, he procured a brush and a bucket full of black paint. Dipping the brush tip into the inky black, he dotted two points on the milky white ground, labeling them points A and B. ¡°Suppose you have a place where you want to begin and a place where you want to end. Point A can be our starting point and point B can be our endpoint. You might naturally ask how we will get from A to B?¡± Theodore proceeded to draw a straight line between the two points. ¡°Maybe we can go straight?¡± Then, he drew another path, much more convoluted with arbitrary bends and curves. ¡°Or maybe like this?¡± Theodore continued sketching out more and more paths, stating, ¡°The fact of the matter is there are many ways to get from one point to another without any rules in place. There are indeed infinitely many possibilities.¡± The individual reasoned, ¡°So why does the way light travels from one point to another in a medium go in a straight path rather than some weird path? Is it because there¡¯s some rule in place?¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Yes! That rule is Fermat¡¯s Principle of Least Time that you just mentioned. It is a suitable analogy to what we¡¯re about to do here.¡± Theodore transmuted his glass of water into a baseball. ¡°Suppose right here in my hands, where the baseball currently rests, is point A. I will now throw the ball towards an intended target, point B, on the wall over there-ish.¡± Some twenty feet away, a standard target board protruded out from the wall. Theodore dunked the baseball in the black paint, throwing it. As the ball arched in its path, the black paint that trailed behind it permanently stained the air. Splat! The ball gravely missed the target board, woefully rolling away on the floor like a teenager rejected for prom. The individual laughed. Theodore pointed at the black arch of paint. ¡°What do you call the shape of this curve?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a parabola.¡± ¡°Yes. Just like the light going from point A to point B, we see the baseball taking a specific type of path when I throw it. In this case, rather than a straight line, it¡¯s a parabola. So what¡¯s the rule?¡± The individual contemplated. ¡°Is it gravity?¡± ¡°Gravity! Gravity makes things we throw on Earth rise and fall in parabolas.¡± ¡°So what does the Euler-Lagrange equation have to do with all of this?¡± ¡°Usually when we want to figure out what path something takes, we use F=ma, Newton¡¯s 2nd Law. We look at an object. We ask what forces are acting on it. Then, we can see how those forces influence how the object moves. So the force of gravity can make an object move in a parabola. The electric force can make light bend when it goes from one medium to another. We continue to do this at every point, using F=ma, updating along the way. It¡¯s basically cause and effect. For instance, if I slapped you (the cause), you¡¯d slap me back twice as hard (the effect).¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°The Euler-Lagrange equations use a different approach. They assume nature prefers the most efficient route. If given the rules of the universe, nature will work its way around it such that the path it creates is one of least effort. The mathematical process of this is called the minimization of the action through a defined quantity called the Lagrangian. That¡¯s what Wikipedia will probably tell you. The important thing is, instead of caring about cause and effect, the Euler-Lagrange equation insists we only focus on the beginning, the end, and the rules of the universe. With these three truths, the Euler-Lagrange equation can determine the shape of the path for any object. In other words, it has all been predetermined in a sense.¡± ¡°How is it predetermined?¡± ¡°It means, well, going back to the slapping example, if we use the Euler-Lagrange perspective, we can say you would have slapped me twice as hard not because I slapped you first, but because the universe thought this ought to have been the path of least effort. You could have blowtorched, electrocuted, waterboarded, or tortured me however you pleased. But no. You slapped me, and the universe wouldn¡¯t have had it any other way. That¡¯s how it must have always been.¡± ¡°Then, doesn¡¯t that mean I don¡¯t get to make my own choices since everything is already set in stone?¡± ¡°The Euler-Lagrange equation only provides a perspective on how our universe functions. Perhaps you still have free will. Or perhaps everything is, indeed, set in stone. Interestingly enough, you can use the Euler-Lagrange equations to derive F=ma and vice versa. So it¡¯s really whatever way you want to look at things.¡± The individual nodded, quite gratified with Theodore¡¯s last statement. They acknowledged, ¡°I see. But since either way works, then, why do we use Euler-Lagrange if we can always use F=ma?¡± ¡°Oh, because it¡¯s useful,¡± Theodore dryly answered. ¡°Very helpful.¡± ¡°Because there are many classical mechanics problems out there that are impossible to solve with F=ma.¡± ¡°Can you show me?¡± ¡°Yeah! Let¡¯s do an example, something a bit more spicy than the projectile motion of a baseball but not too mathematically tedious. How about the simple pendulum?¡± ¡°Sure. I know that one.¡± Theodore eagerly dipped his paintbrush into the paint bucket. The individual copied him with their own brush. Working together, nitty-gritty lines of work involving the time derivatives of the cartesian components and the partial derivatives in respect to both the position and velocity gradually populated the walls. In the process, Theodore and the individual conversed along each step of the way. ¡°You see here, we now apply small-angle approximations so that we can use a Taylor series expansion to reduce this into a homogeneous second order differential equation,¡± Theodore expounded. ¡°Can we solve it using separation of variables?¡± ¡°It turns out you can by knowing this one neat trick of reformulating the acceleration with the chain rule.¡± What a wonderful feeling. It was a piece of fun the two shared without any reservations towards the trivialities of the mundane. There lay a purpose in every action. Whether it was in his control or predetermined from the beginning of time, Theodore knew he was heading in the right direction. A Christmas Miracle The clank of iron resonated throughout the gym. ¡°That¡¯s wild.¡± As if to drive the point home, Christian reiterated a second time, ¡°That¡¯s wild.¡± ¡°What do you think it means?¡± ¡°You tried Googling?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°What¡¯d it say?¡± ¡°Loneliness. Emptiness.¡± Christian returned the lat pulldown bar to the tray table. ¡°On the rundown, I¡¯d say you have some major problems. Something¡¯s been bothering you and you need to sort it out. You also probably want something more in your life. You say the dreams make you wake up happy. What¡¯d you say the individual looked like again?¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s white but when I try to remember them, they take on two different faces. They¡¯re two different individuals but at the same time, they¡¯re the same.¡± ¡°Like?¡± ¡°Like they are one person but they can be many. It¡¯s like an abstraction.¡± Christian raised his eyebrows. ¡°You know any of their faces?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t exactly remember the faces.¡± ¡°Bro, how can you remember everything else that happened but not the faces?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t remember everything I talked about with them either though. I just kind of have a feeling it was always something important.¡± Christian slid two plates on each side of the barbell. ¡°Can you spot me?¡± Theodore continued as he walked over to Christian at the bench press, ¡°The dreams feel too real. Like I¡¯ve known them. Apparently they know me, too.¡± Christian completed a set. ¡°The individuals?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Christian ruminated for a while. ¡°They¡¯re probably a part of you.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You got some important people in your life? It¡¯s like that. They¡¯re a part of you. If they¡¯re happy, you become happy.¡± ¡°You think they represent people I¡¯ve met in my life?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± Theodore hummed. ¡°You wanna grab lunch after this?¡± Christian suggested. ¡°If it¡¯s not a bother--¡± ¡°No, no. Not a bother.¡± Unable to contain himself, Theodore grinned. That afternoon, he called in sick for work. After the enlightening discussion he had with Christian at Bing¡¯s Big Dingus Dumplings, he needed time to sort things out. ¡°They probably are a part of me.¡± Lying on his bed, free from distractions, he asked himself, this time in a calmer state of mind, ¡°What was the problem?¡± He breathed in. A stream of consciousness innately flowed like a river cascading through the forest. Dandelion pappi fluttered over the blossoming glades. Free to roam and soar like a falcon, ascending higher and higher than the Mountain of a Thousand Dreams, the clouds overhead accumulated into one gray undulating mass, rumbling, threatening to strike him down with lightning. Thunder. Humid air muffled the deathly quiet. Mourning in black, a handful of people gathered around an open casket in the middle of a field. The sky did not rain nor did Theodore cry. He stood there like a soldier, both of his arms straightened and flattened out on his sides. A bald man at the front recited a eulogy, a dainty woman beside him. The man and woman happened to be the girl¡¯s parents, the girl who now eternally slept, who would never complain to Theodore or write another story for him ever again. Each attendee came to her dressed corpse with silent prayers. There were flowers, tears, and bitterness. Especially an old couple, Theodore believed that must have been her grandmother who contained the seething rage and incurable despair in her grievous gaze. Her world had come to an end and he couldn¡¯t blame her for the injustice she must have felt. He stepped forward after them. The girl must have slept soundly. Theodore spoke to her, ¡°You know, it¡¯s winter but it¡¯s neither chilly nor glistening with snow. The skies are leaden with no Christmas in sight. Everything seems upset and gloomy now that you¡¯re gone.¡± The silence continued even as he berated her parents thereafter. ¡°If you guys just made up and listened to her for once. You think she can just choose? She loved both of you. And her smile. She had a smile that made you feel like only you mattered in the whole entire world. But you fucking threw it away like trash, you selfish piles of shit!¡± was what rampaged within. These were the words he never said. Instead, as he approached her parents, he ceremoniously expressed, ¡°My deepest condolences,¡± before leaving the funeral without batting an eye. The following day, he and his girlfriend, Bethany, drove down to Disneyland for their winter vacation, a three-day retreat they had planned together for over half a year. Theodore kept to himself. He stared straight ahead with unrelenting force, his hands alabaster white from gripping the steering wheel. Endless fields of greens, stretches of mountainous terrain, and billboards recommending you needed Jesus in your life zoomed by. When they parked and rolled their luggage into the hotel, Bethany came over to tickle Theodore, hoping to cheer him up. Giddy, a walking ray of sunshine, she exited their suite, ready for a day full of adventure. Theodore followed her across the amusement park, past Tarzan¡¯s Treehouse, Mickey Mouse and his clubhouse, and crowds of tourists. They arrived at the Pirates of the Caribbean-- the first ride she wanted to go on from her childhood-- where the two of them boarded a ferry. The amber glow from lanterns lit up buccaneers and villagers in their homes and up the cobblestone steps. Stacked barrels of wines found safeguard behind some miserly hoarders. Skeletons plagued islands of abundant treasure and riches. And silly sea shanties clashed with the hullabaloo of adults and children. Circumnavigating the pirates¡¯ grotto, they moved onto Splash Mountain and the Tower of Terror, building their way up to the big rides. Theodore¡¯s stomach churned in distress when he stumbled out of their last stop. ¡°Should we take a break?¡± Bethany proposed. Theodore nodded, his eyes closed. A wicked migraine pulsed through his left temple down his neck. Bethany brought him a mug of hot chocolate and one for herself. ¡°Everything is so happy, so happy. Ahaha.¡± Theodore lost it. An unbearable tension strained his mind. He looked daggers at Bethany. ¡°You¡¯re so happy, too.¡± ¡°I told you we didn¡¯t have to come.¡± ¡°And the way you told me told me if we didn¡¯t come, you would be very sad.¡± ¡°Then, what am I supposed to do?¡± ¡°Do you not care?¡± ¡°Care about what?¡± Theodore fumed. ¡°I do care! What do you want me to do?¡± ¡°She¡¯s dead!¡± He sipped on the hot chocolate in disgust, hoping it would scald off his tongue so he would never have to talk again. He ended up burning his own mouth. Bethany kept staring at him, expecting an answer. ¡°I don¡¯t care anymore.¡± The lavish dishes of seafood and delectable desserts, the fireworks, and the magic of Disney seemed to be filled with false promises. No matter how Bethany smiled and interacted with those around them, a miasma of sorrow and regret now loomed over the two. On the drive home, they had nothing to say to each other. There was no thrill or excitement, of recollecting the rush of Space Mountain or the festive Christmas lights embellishing the picturesque main street. There was only the bleak outlook of the sunless gray horizon up ahead. Theodore felt hollow and withered like an old oak afflicted with fungal rot. A week later, he quit teaching at Gillette despite the pleas and encouragement from his colleagues. ¡°All of you in shambles over some student you had. How old are you?¡± Bethany reminded Theodore. ¡°Twenty-eight.¡± ¡°Twenty-eight!¡± His head down, he soullessly stared down onto the carpet, his eyes glazed. ¡°She saved me,¡± his voice cracked. ¡°She saved you?¡± ¡°Sometimes I wanted to let go. But I thought, if I let go, I wouldn¡¯t be all there the next day. I wouldn¡¯t be fully present. I wouldn¡¯t be able to read the stories she wrote for me. I wouldn¡¯t be able to teach everything with my very best.¡± ¡°Well, at some point you gotta move on. Like you said, she¡¯s gone now.¡± Theodore didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Hey. We can work things out together.¡± Theodore harshly rejected, ¡°This is my problem.¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The only remnant he kept of Bethany was one photo of her smiling in Disneyland before he hurt her. This was his own retribution. Alone and reclusive, he deleted all his old contacts. He moved into a single bedroom apartment, somewhere far but not too far. To survive, he found employment at a local sandwich shop. With work, bed, and sleep on repeat, there was nothing to look forward to. He subconsciously tried to forget everything. He habituated to staying up late at night, bombarding himself with endless garbage from the internet, a vast quantity of content where he couldn¡¯t even retain five percent of what he consumed. He seldom left his house other than for his work or to buy household items. He subsisted on sandwiches and subpar snacks whenever he had to eat. He must have grown roots sitting in front of his computer all the time whenever he was off work. As the colors of that distant era in the halcyon days faded away like the fabric on an old sweater, so too did he and his body, shriveling away into a perpetual grayness with nothing in sight for miles and miles on end. Loneliness rattled like a restless humdrum too unbearable to withstand. Even though he chose to isolate himself, no human can go for long without the company of others. Yet through the countless profile pictures he texted or called through the white screens of his electronics, this void for human affection could never be fulfilled. He never knew and never would know what these people looked like on Discord or Facebook, only imagining that behind the veil of anonymity were a sea of white faces where he floated aimlessly on a dilapidated raft, their inseparable voices threatening to drown him. Before long, a crippling anxiety would often seize him throughout the day. Some days, this anxiety became especially pronounced in the mornings where he would wake up hyperventilating, feeling like he was about to have a heart attack. He would scramble to go on his phone or computer thereafter, the white screens numbing him as if he were laying in the bright operating room undergoing general anesthesia, falling deeper and deeper into a state of oblivion. Today was tomorrow and tomorrow became yesterday. Mixing and something kooky, I don¡¯t know, he woke up lost oftentimes, not knowing what time it was. One, two, three¡­ nearly six years passed. He gave up on those he had met in his life. He had given up on humanity. He had let himself go, collecting dust with his bedroom like a box of broken childhood toys stashed away in the closet. If not for a happenstance on a particular day, he felt like he, at death¡¯s door, would have joined her. Twirling gusts of leaves scratched the empty sidewalks and quiet houses. Dawn emerged from the hillside after a spooky night of trick-or-treating. Theodore, with his knees to his chest, mindlessly viewed clips on his phone in the early gray, feeling his insomnia wouldn¡¯t last. He blinked. His eyelids drooped. The next video autoplayed. ¡°You¡¯re reading, writing, hitting the gym, getting work done, being productive, and things couldn¡¯t be any better. You feel motivated, you¡¯re in the groove, and there is this mental clarity in everything that you do. Everything seems to be going your way and you decide to take a break. Maybe you decide to have some chips on the couch while watching some TV. Maybe you decide to sleep in. When the morning comes, you find yourself tired, confused, having trouble getting out of bed. You don¡¯t know why. The motivation you once had seems to have vanished and you¡¯re wondering why you were so productive the day before. You end up missing the gym. You start playing lots of video games and eating junk food. You end up overdue on the deadlines your boss assigned you. This goes on for hours, into days, into weeks. Things couldn¡¯t be any worse.¡± Theodore closed his eyes as he listened. ¡°Many of us have been there. Today, I¡¯m going to tell you some quick methods to get out of a rut. Of course, this video isn¡¯t meant to be medical advice for mental illnesses such as clinical depression. If you¡¯re seeking help for those reasons, I¡¯ve linked some resources down in the description below. Now, to understand the tips I¡¯m about to show you, it¡¯s important to first understand how our brains work. The brain is generally categorized into two parts: a logical part and an impulsive part. The logical part of our brain¡­ ¡± Theodore drifted in and out of consciousness. He only remembered at some point in the video, the man recommended, ¡°Lastly, as a preventative measure, set yourself at least one goal, routine or long-term. It could be trying to sleep and wake up at a certain time. It could be going out and talking to people you know or making new friends. Or it could be working towards enough money for a sweet new PC you¡¯ve always wanted.¡± Theodore believed that since his life revolved around his computer when he didn¡¯t work, the last goal sounded quite reasonable. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll get a new PC,¡± he vaguely considered. He fell asleep at the headboard of his bed in a sitting position, waking up with his legs sore a few hours later as he drove to work. ¡°The CHAOS b9300 Gaming PC i9-14000 KS, RTX 4090, 4 TB, 64 GB, DDR5-6000. $5500.¡± A few days had rolled by with the desiccating gales and chilling evenings. Theodore wore the faintest of smiles. He calculated, ¡°If I save $500 each month, accounting for tax and shipment, then theoretically, I should be able to purchase this computer by the following Christmas. A Christmas present for myself.¡± Theodore had set himself a goal. Consequently, he started paying much more attention to both his income and his living costs. He put more deliberation into his food purchases and how he utilized his utilities. ¡°I don¡¯t take showers often anyhow so every three days should be good. But I should remember to turn off all the lights before I fall asleep. For food, I should stop throwing out leftovers all the time. I should buy foods that can be refrigerated and still taste good. I can save quite a bit there.¡± As he put more and more purpose into his actions, he began to question the unhealthy habits he had built up over the last six years. ¡°Out of all my problems, I have way too much screen time.¡± He initiated a dopamine detox. He would actively hide his phone away in a drawer before going to bed. He would also unplug the wifi. Thus, if he felt the urge to go on his devices, he would have time to reevaluate. The months flew by. Theodore had, at least, something to look forward to everyday while he noticed the trees vegetating tender new leaves late into spring and his room growing warmer each day. The blueness of summer soon washed over like a tidal wave. Kids were out and about in the neighborhood, meeting at plazas, with seemingly endless free time at their disposal. Theodore saw no shortage of customers two-thirds his height ordering in the sandwich shop. For the past six years, he had forgotten. Were kids always this dramatic, brimming with emotions, jubilant and zany on laughter or gloomy and dark at the next, as if they were the final arbiter of an impending Armageddon? ¡°Mr. Granit?¡± A chiseled jawline contrasting the chubby face he once bore but with the same formalism and curiosity Theodore remembered from his class, his old student now stood before him. ¡°Hi Jerry, what can I get for you today?¡± Theodore welcomed. ¡°Joe¡¯s Special.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Seeing there was no one else waiting in line, Jerry acknowledged, ¡°Long time.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in college?¡± ¡°Yeah. One more year to go.¡± ¡°What are you studying?¡± ¡°Double majoring in physics and chemistry.¡± Theodore smiled, asking, ¡°And how¡¯s that going?¡± ¡°It¡¯s really coming together now that we¡¯re taking modern thermodynamics and quantum mechanics. There¡¯s some overlap between that and inorganic chem. What have you been up to?¡± ¡°I have been saving up to get a new computer.¡± Theodore felt his body tense up after sharing his goal. He hadn¡¯t opened up to someone like that since her passing. ¡°Oh nice. Like just a new one because?¡± ¡°That, and gaming. Just an upgrade.¡± ¡°Are you getting a monitor, too?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about a curved Dell monitor, but that¡¯s after I get the computer.¡± ¡°Are you still trying to teach? Or have you been teaching?¡± Jerry shyly questioned. ¡°No.¡± The younger ones always had keener intuitions, especially Jerry. They had no problem reading Theodore like an open book. Jerry kindly suggested, ¡°I heard they¡¯re trying something new back at Gillette. It¡¯s a teaching position that¡¯s kind of like a tutor but you teach almost all subjects from ninth through twelfth. I think you would be the best person for the job. I mean, you taught me lots of other stuff back then even though you were my English teacher. It¡¯s the reason I¡¯m majoring in physics and chemistry in the first place. I heard it pays really well, too.¡± Theodore sighed. Did he really want to? Wrapping up Jerry¡¯s Joe¡¯s Special, he handed him his order, carefully stating, ¡°Maybe.¡± Theodore really didn¡¯t want to. It was Jerry¡¯s turn to smile. ¡°What are you so happy about?¡± Theodore asked. ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°What? Stop that.¡± Jerry laughed. ¡°How much is the sandwich?¡± Seeing there were still no customers, Theodore declared, ¡°On the house.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Yes. Farewell, my Jere-Bear.¡± Jerry¡¯s face scrunched up in discomfort. He ran out the door. ¡°Thanks, Mr. Granit!¡± ¡°Bye-bye.¡± Theodore waved. At home, sitting alone in the dark, he clutched his phone in his right, reading the job description for Gillette High School: ¡°Multiple Subject Teacher. Tutor students who need additional help for multiple subject areas, up to a maximum of thirty students at once. Requirements: Starting Rate: $50/hr **Applicants may be required to take onsite tests concerning the subject areas listed above in order to verify their qualifications if needed.** ¡± Dominating over all other emotions panged an insurmountable profusion of guilt. Replaying the momentary joy of seeing his old student evoked a heart wrenching anxiety so intense that Theodore involuntarily gagged. Was she watching? Tormented, he didn¡¯t know what to do. He felt like he was suffocating, his heart beating faster and faster out of his chest. He couldn¡¯t breathe. His anxiety took over. Perhaps he would die from a heart attack this time. But he didn¡¯t. Enveloped in the darkness, time continued to flow. Amidst the death of one, look at how much the other had grown. Jere-bear had surpassed Theodore. There was nothing more to be proud of. Theodore phoned the high school early the next morning. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m calling to ask about the multiple subject teacher position. I applied last night and was wondering when I should expect to receive a potential offer or rejection for an interview.¡± ¡°What¡¯s your full name?¡± ¡°Theodore Granit.¡± ¡°One moment. Okay. Yes, we have your application. We will likely get back to you in a week or so.¡± Theodore toiled away more hours at the sandwich shop while he waited. Ten grueling days inched by. A melodic chime jingled. Theodore picked up mid-poo. ¡°Hi, is this Theodore?¡± ¡°Yes, this is him speaking.¡± ¡°Hi, so, we reviewed your application and are really interested to do a full interview with you sometime in the future. The only issue is we already have someone hired for this semester. Since this position is still relatively new, we¡¯re trying it out with only one teacher. Good news is that for next semester, we might be opening up another position depending on how things go or if our current hire decides to leave.¡± ¡°So, does that mean there¡¯s nothing right now?¡± ¡°Yes. Unfortunately.¡± Theodore grunted on the toilet. The person on the phone respectfully informed him, ¡°We will try calling you back at some other time near November if we have anything.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Theodore briskly hung up. What was the point of everything? He felt like someone had shoved him back down into a hole. By the time the blue summer had decayed into a monotony of white and gray, Theodore realized he wouldn¡¯t make his goal in time. A variety of factors such as inflation and unforeseen expenditures postponed his big PC purchase by a minimum of two weeks. For the seventh year, there was no Christmas. For the seventh year, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Sleeping in, wrapped under his blankets, he felt his mind freezing over, crawling to a frightening slow. This is my cryopreservation, he hazily remembered thinking. Would I ever wake up again? Without hearing back from Gillette nor finding any remaining willpower left to apply for other teaching positions, he regressed to his bad habits once more. Screens, nocturnal, and filth, the nightmare ensued. Then, the miracle occurred. On the night of Christmas Eve (or technically the morning of Christmas Day considering how late Theodore slept), in his depressed slumber, the dream of the individual stepping into the white room manifested. ?????? Theodore came to. Lying on his bed in the exact same position, the room had painted itself in shadows. The cool evening air blew through the blinds. He quivered. A mental clarity infused both his body and spirit. He spoke to the ceiling with relief in his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s finally over.¡± He grabbed his phone. On his list of contacts, he called his boss. ¡°Hi Joe.¡± ¡°Hi Theodore, I know you called in sick today. How are you doing? Are you feeling better?¡± ¡°Yes. I, uh, I have some news. I applied and got hired for a new job as a teacher.¡± ¡°Oh, that sounds terrific. Where are you teaching?¡± ¡°Gillette, along Salvador.¡± ¡°Wow, my son goes there. He¡¯s a junior. What subjects are you teaching?¡± ¡°All of them.¡± ¡°Like math and English and science and everything?¡± ¡°Mostly. Yes.¡± ¡°Wow. Okay. Then, I assume you are leaving us?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°No problem. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.¡± ¡°Thank you, Joe.¡± ¡°Take care. Oh! I¡¯ll make sure to have your last check paid by this Friday.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Alright. Bye-bye.¡± What now? A candid contentment entranced Theodore. He looked around his tidy bedroom. A box of books lay underneath his desk. He walked over and squatted down. On the top of his old collection, he found Tuesdays with Morrie, a paperback copy with the binding falling apart. It was one of the books he used for his English class. A book about life and how to live a meaningful life. It follows the progression of an old man succumbing to a terminal illness through the perspective of his former student. Theodore believed, young or old, everyone should at least try to read it once. The evening condensed into midnight. Theodore wiped away his tears, remembering the last days of summer where he hugged his grandfather before they permanently parted. He remembered a precise calmness and understanding wherever his grandpa went. His grandpa understood the impatience of the younger generation and how some despised old people like him, perceiving the elderly as a nuisance and hindrance. He understood the grins of the fishmongers and grocers in the supermarket whenever he talked to them about their day. He understood happiness in the walks he took with his precious grandson while they passed by the hundreds of grannies doing taichi every morning, with the incessant buzz of cicadas in the background throughout the summer. Theodore closed the book and returned it to its original box. He then closed his eyes as well, letting sleep soothe any of the residual longing he might have missed. The individual stared at him wide-eyed. He stared back, making a weird face. ¡°Hi, Teddy.¡± ¡°Hello my friend.¡± ¡°Was I your favorite student?¡± Theodore pursed his lips. He always responded indirectly to questions like these. You are one of my favorite students. I like each and everyone one of my students for different reasons. Or he kept silent, continuing to purse his lips.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Just admit it. You can¡¯t lie.¡± The individual smugly grinned. Theodore didn¡¯t run away this time. ¡°Yes.¡± The individual blinked in confusion. Theodore laughed. He firmly reestablished, ¡°Yes. You are my favorite student. You are very special. There is no one I met quite like you.¡± The white room morphed into Theodore¡¯s old classroom. Rather than individual desks one would find in a typical classroom, long tables were spaced in different configurations, some flushed against each other and others apart. With chairs lined along these long tables, it allowed for students to more easily group up and communicate ideas with one another. At the front of the room, there were many novelties on display. A plasma ball, a ripple tank, a magnetically levitating spinning top, a tensegrity table, and more, enticed students to fidget around with them when they were bored or busy thinking. An oak bookshelf to the side contained over a hundred novels of literary distinction, some of which were used in the class curriculum. The individual and Theodore sat down at one of the tables, facing each other. ¡°Guess what?¡± the individual happily prompted. Their legs kicked up and down in excitement. Theodore waited. ¡°I finally finished this story I¡¯ve been working on!¡± ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡± ¡°Here.¡± The individual wiggled all their fingers with a little pizzazz. Pages and pages of text fluttered out, gently landing on Theodore¡¯s lap in one perfect stack. At the very top of the stack, in black bold-faced letters on white, the title read, The Snow Falls, the Sun Shines, the Rain Pours, and the Wind Blows. ¡°This title blows. Why is it so long?¡± ¡°Heyyyyy.¡± The individual pouted. Theodore flipped to the first page. Then, the second. Then, the third, the fourth, and the fifth. The story talked about a woman who became invisible and conquered the world. Through wits and ingenuity, she found ways to change the world into one big family where everyone cared about each other. She made it so people resolved their differences by talking it out, listening to what others had to say. The world became a place where families would never abandon each other. The world became a place filled with love and hope. Theodore rejoiced. There was no doubt that this was her story. He looked up, exclaiming, ¡°This is--¡± only to stop mid sentence. The individual had vanished. In their absence, a piece of binder paper rested on the table. He tenderly picked it up. In italics, it read: Good things never last! It¡¯s time to say goodbye. I know you will make an awesome and fun teacher and meet a lot of new, awesome and fun students. Because that¡¯s what we were. Awesome and fun! Goodbye, Teddy. A painter, a dancer, a sculptor, a writer, an artist, she was everything to him. Words could not describe how much he missed her. In his sadness, he managed to mouth, ¡°Goodbye,¡± before his departure. Seven days passed. Theodore spent that time studying and preparing for his job while sleet evaporated from the rooftops and snow melted away from the pavement. He now carried a box full of toys he had unearthed from his cramped closet, walking across Gillette¡¯s campus from the parking lot, navigating through an ocean of kids. Some gave him odd glances but most of them minded their own business, having more interesting things to attend to. After a couple of minutes of backbreaking labor, Theodore gladly set his heavy box down onto a table. The door to his classroom had been unlocked. Arranged before him were his requests from the day prior. He found his old classroom as it was with the long tables and all, although in a new room. He also found new installations of a microwave and a refrigerator in case his students wanted to bring food. Unpacking a Newton¡¯s cradle, a perpetual motion marble machine, a Klein bottle, a CMY cube, and more, he adequately spaced out each novelty on a counter for those who wanted to play. He proceeded to disinfect the surfaces with windex and clorox, making sure everything shined squeaky clean. After checking and checking some more, the classroom looked perfect, greeting all those who visited it in its simplistic modesty. Theodore exhaled. He took a seat, thinking about all the times he had taught from seven years ago. The most important thing is to have fun. He couldn¡¯t help but think of her again. The prison siren of a bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The minutes ticked by as the fifth period started. Theodore debated on what he should do. Should he go on his laptop while he waited? Should he try to anticipate his next student, guessing what they were like or what subject they might need help with? Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Theodore knew, as a tutor, that his students were on a come-and-go basis. Eventually, half an hour slipped by. Sitting there, wondering where exactly everyone was, and how quiet it had become, a knock came from the door.