《The World at Night》 Septette For Death Still Born It was on that evening that Alice was invited to a concert by an old acquaintance of his. Since they had studied music together at their University, he and Mamma had retained contact with eachother, through years of their lives and past the lives of others. Mamma was the leader of a string septette which would be the performers at the night¡¯s show; it was this shared interest in string music that had first drawn them together, and they had played several times before together. In many ways, Alice saw himself reflected in Mamma, despite the fact that the other man seldom spoke of his past, he always got the impression that their upbringings couldn¡¯t have been very different. They were both from New England, both spoke Portuguese, and, of course, both played the violin. Before the show, Mamma had invited him to a dinner with the rest of the septette. Alice had woken from a nap before throwing his dress clothes on, and by that time it was already dark outside. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s getting to be about Winter,¡± he thought, reasoning as to why the sun had descended so quickly. He exited his cab and strolled down the rain-slicked streets to the restaurant, mulling over memories, not minding the fact that he was walking alone. The light of the restaurant¡¯s sign burned through the drizzle: ¡°A TRA?A.¡± a warm reception room welcomed him through its doors, yet he didn¡¯t find himself any more at ease, despite coming straight from the elements. It was a smothering, almost suffocating warmth. ¡°Alice!¡± Mamma leapt from a seat in the corner, throwing his arms up in a friendly gesture. Alice was caught off guard and nearly jumped out of his skin, but soon regained himself and embraced him in kind. ¡°Great to see you!¡± he said, pulling back and gripping Mamma¡¯s arm. ¡°This way,¡± his friend directed him through a tall open doorway, past the silent host at the desk, and into the restaurant proper. ¡°We¡¯ve already got a table.¡± A circular table awaited them, six of its eight seats filled by the musicians. Alice couldn¡¯t help but notice that it was a slow night for business, as they were the only customers in the entire restaurant. He took a seat next to Mamma and introduced himself to the table. ¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± a woman named Lucy extended her hand out to greet him, displaying ten rings worn around each of her fingers. He took it and then felt obligated to do the same to each of the others. ¡°Bill, nice to meet ya¡¯,¡± a rotund man with a bad combover was the next at the table. After him was Satir, a stoney man with olive skin, who introduced himself with little more than his name. Levi, a thin, serpentine young man flashed a glance at an expensive watch around Alice¡¯s wrist as they shook. A woman named Bel, who had failed to make sure each of her nails was painted before arriving, came next. Lastly, a petite young woman named Lily took his hand and flashed him a smile that lasted longer than he would have liked. After the waiter had taken their orders for drinks, they gradually settled into conversation. ¡°So, Alice,¡± Lucy began. ¡°You and Mamma met at University?¡± ¡°Yes, we were both violinists,¡± he informed her, flipping through the menu. ¡°He¡¯s told us all about you,¡± she replied, tracing her finger on the table cloth. An awkward silence fell upon them, a hole in the air which was finally filled when Bel spoke up. ¡°Alice is such a wonderful name, where is it from?¡± ¡°Alice?¡± he repeated, as if confused by the sound of his own name. ¡°It¡¯s nothing specific, really, it¡¯s a family name.¡± ¡°But for a boy, it¡¯s quite unusual,¡± Bill added. ¡°I agree,¡± Lucy spoke up. ¡°It¡¯s very fair, like a doll¡¯s name.¡± ¡°You said it was a family name?¡± Mamma asked as the waiter arrived with their drinks. ¡°Yes, it was¡­¡± Alice hesitated for a moment, looking into his drink. ¡°My mother¡¯s name.¡± ¡°Your mother?¡± Levi asked in a hoarse, restrained voice. ¡°What was your mother like?¡± ¡°She-¡± Again, Alice paused. Satir, from the other end of the table, saw fear flicker behind his eyes. ¡°I never knew her very well,¡± he explained after some deliberation. ¡°I think she always wanted a girl; my older brother told me that when I was born, she tried to drown me.¡± They were silent. Instinctively, he carried on. ¡°My father convinced her to name me after herself, so that she couldn¡¯t bear to kill me.¡± Feeling awkwardness creep across the table, he quickly annexed his story. ¡°I love them, still, I really do. My parents died when I was very young.¡± ¡°Oh, dreadful!¡± Lucy brought a hand to her cheek. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he said softly. ¡°Death runs in my family, you see.¡± Alice began to rub his thumbs together as he spoke, staring off to somewhere else. ¡°My parents were both diagnosed with a disease after their death, they both died in their sleep.¡± ¡°Would you hate me if I asked what the disease was?¡± questioned Bel. Alice took his eyes off of wherever he was staring into, and refocused on her. ¡°It¡¯s no issue. It was an unknown condition the doctors said resulted in their hearts stopping during sleep. They never discovered any cause or symptoms beyond death, although it was later noted to be hereditary.¡± ¡°Hereditary?¡± ¡°Yes it¡­ It was only concluded after my older brother and sister died of the same condition.¡± ¡°Your-- how awful!¡± Lucy¡¯s grip around her glass tightened. The men had stayed oddly quiet for the explanation, but Satir found himself speaking up. ¡°Are you worried it will claim you as well?¡± ¡°Satir--!¡± Lily whispered forcefully, brushing his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s inevitable,¡± Alice stated quite calmly.¡±Both my aunt and uncle fell to it as well, so it seems that it did not begin with my parents, it was a condition that¡¯s lingered in our family for a long time.¡± ¡°Are you ready to order?¡± Alice¡¯s soul nearly left his body in surprise, laughing off his nervousness when he realized it was just the waiter come by. For some reason he couldn¡¯t shake, there was something unsettling about the restaurant, the way that the dim yellow lights painted the rouge walls with an eerie spirit. After ordering, they all sat quietly and patiently in their chairs. Alice took note of the lack of conversation, because he realized that he was the only one made uncomfortable by it. Every other person seated there was content to remain quiet; there was no conversation, nothing between them. They were, it seemed, only interested in knowing about him.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Maybe they know everything about each other already,¡± he reasoned. Yet still, the silence prevented him from ever feeling truly at ease. Chaos was not to be feared, he thought, because silence was how one met his end. It was silence that swallowed one up like the sea, that was the death knell which called the reaper to you. When it was silent, you had no proof of your existence, your life. It was for this reason that he took up music. His solo play was noted for being brisk and furious; a professor once noted that, ¡°When given free reign to do as he pleases, Alice will attempt to fill the air with as many notes as he possibly can. Whether or not those are good notes is entirely up to chance, but he has committed so stubbornly to this style of playing that I cannot steer him in a different direction. No space can be wasted, there is not a moment of silence.¡± These recollections flickered through his mind as he cut into his steak. The clinking of silverware and the chewing of meat did much to calm his heart. ¡°How wonderful,¡± he ruminated, staring into his food. ¡°That this animal was killed so that I may prove that I am alive once more; and its children, and children¡¯s children will die for me as well. I will live, however, and live as long as I can to escape the silence. Thank you, animal, your screams have broken the silence for me.¡± When they were done eating, the eight of them leaned back in their chairs and reflected on the meal. ¡°Wonderful, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Mamma said, clasping his hands together. ¡°I think I¡¯ll have some dessert,¡± Bill announced, rubbing his stomach. ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± Lily asked, checking the time on her watch. ¡°We¡¯re almost due for the performance.¡± ¡°Really? Is that so?¡± he looked downward in disappointment. ¡°Hm.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Mamma stood up first. ¡°Let¡¯s leave for the hall, then.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± Satir broke his tacit stoicism and rose to join him. One by one, the musicians rose, Alice being the last. When he turned for the door, Mamma touched his shoulder. ¡°No, Alice, that¡¯s not the way out.¡± ¡°P-pardon?¡± Alice looked back to where the others were heading, for a set of double-doors which had not been there when he entered. ¡°See?¡± Mamma was still holding his shoulder, smiling at him. ¡°When did--?¡± ¡°It¡¯s always been there, Alice,¡± his voice was oddly soothing. ¡°Now, let¡¯s go.¡± Without arguing, Alice followed Mamma to the doors. As they parted, it was as if the air in the room was released. He took one step beyond the threshold and couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. Before him was a sprawling concert hall; hundreds of red seats lined rows and rows of aisles. Glowing lights dotted the steps, and illuminated the stage. ¡°Has this¡­ always¡­?¡± ¡°Yes, Alice,¡± Mamma traced his finger along Alice¡¯s back. ¡°Just enjoy the performance.¡± With that, he left him and walked behind the stage. Alice glanced around at the rest of the theater; it was nearly empty, only six other people were seated. Taking a seat, he waited patiently for the show to begin. He could not shake the nerve-racking sensation of the auditorium; the immense, oppressive quiet quickened his pulse, he felt as if he would drown in it. Finally, after his excruciating wait, the curtains opened to reveal the string septette. Relaxed, Alice was able to lean back, breathe deeply, and forget about his fear. With no introduction, the show began. Three of the four struck their instruments, letting out a resounding chord to open the song. The instant the noise reached him, Alice felt a strong sickness in his stomach. He gripped at it, tried to steady his breathing, shifted around uncomfortably, but it remained. ¡°Oh God,¡± he thought. ¡°This is unbearable, was it the food?¡± He struggled to concentrate as the putrid, sulfuric sensation polluted his body. ¡°I can¡¯t stay here,¡± he thought. ¡°I need to use the bathroom to vomit-- or something, maybe some medicine will help, but I can¡¯t stay here for much longer!¡± Alice gripped the arm of his seat. ¡°But I can¡¯t leave, I¡¯m the guest of the performers, after all. They treated me to dinner, it would be too rude to leave before they were even done with their first piece!¡± Painfully, he resolved to stay for the remainder of the first song. Agonizingly, he held himself while listening to the aggressive, grand melodies of the septette. The screeching sounds of the strings resonated throughout the hall, enveloping him in its noise. ¡°Oh God¡­ Oh God¡­ What is this sickness? What happened? I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± He writhed for much longer, waiting for the piece to conclude, but it kept going, and going, and going. Melodies and harmonies stacked one after the other, leitmotifs and rhythms introduced and iterated upon, it was a gargantuan work, and one that threatened to crush him. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t do it anymore!¡± Alice felt the stress creep into his shoulders and head, encompassing his whole body in sulphuric gas and tight knots. ¡°It has to have been fifteen minutes at this point! I need to leave!¡± The sound was torture, he just needed it to stop, stop at once, and then he could deal with this sickness. Alice rose from his seat and hurried out of the aisle. Without warning, he felt a hand at his shoulder. ¡°Sorry, I--¡± ¡°You must stay,¡± the audience member, a woman, commanded him. ¡°What? What are you--?¡± ¡°You cannot leave this place, not anymore.¡± ¡°Hey!¡± he tried to remove her hand from his shoulder. ¡°Get off of me! Get off of me!¡± Her grip was vice-like; no matter how fervently he shook her, she would not let go of him. ¡°Get off! Get off!¡± he yelled over the music. ¡°Why won¡¯t you just--!¡± Anger piqued within him, and he finally threw her away with a strong shove. ¡°Now let me--¡± he couldn¡¯t finish off his words of anger, because he had finally gazed upon the woman. Alice¡¯s face was drained of color, he staggered backwards, nearly falling over the next row of seats. ¡°What--? You¡­?¡± He stared into his mother¡¯s face. ¡°No!¡± he cried. ¡°Who are you?! Why do you have-- No! You¡­ You are¡­!¡± Alice whipped himself around wildly, looking at every other member of the audience, who now all rose and began to walk toward him. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± he yelled louder this time, trying to be heard over the music. ¡°Who are you?!¡± The other audience members now surrounded him, all of them, familiar. His brother, his sister, his father, his aunt, his uncle. Each of them stood as if flesh and blood before him. ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± he howled. ¡°You aren¡¯t alive! You aren¡¯t alive!!!¡± His voice descended into sobbing, and still, the music played, becoming faster and faster, louder and louder. He shut his eyes and tried to block out their faces from appearing to him. ¡°Stop! Stop playing!¡± Alice screamed. ¡°Stop it!!! I told you to stop, Goddammit!! God damn you!! Stop!! Stop!!!¡± Madness, madness, mania, its curved blade reaped his mind. He watched his brains spill out onto the carpet until there was nothing at all, nothing at all in his mind. And suddenly, It stopped. Slowly, shaking like a newborn animal, Alice opened his eyes. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ There¡¯s no music at all¡­¡± The auditorium was dead silent. Looking around cautiously, he realized that there was no one on the stage. Each of the chairs were empty, though the instruments were set on them. One by one, his brother, sister, father, uncle, and aunt left him and walked to the stage, ascending its staircase. ¡°What is¡­¡± the words died in his mouth. ¡°What is happening?¡± Only his mother was left by his side. Slowly, he forced his voice out once more. ¡°Mother¡­?¡± Her hand was wrapped around his, a smile was etched across her face, warm and kind. ¡°I love you, Alice, I want you to join us.¡± ¡°Join¡­ you?¡± Her smile only deepened. ¡°Of course, you are the last member of the septette.¡± He gazed into her eyes. There was no life in them, her hands were cold. Yet still, he found himself enraptured by her silence. She took one step toward the stage, still clinging to his hand. He took a step after her, then another. Steadily, they returned to the stage, where he always was. His mother took her seat with the rest of the family. They looked to him, and then to the empty chair on which a violin rested. Alice knew what he would always do. Dreamily, he walked towards them, feeling every step move the world beneath his feet, until he came to the chair. His hand reached out and took the violin in one hand, the bow in the other. He turned around and sat down, taking one last look at his family. The violin met his chin, the bow hovered just above the strings. The others readied their instruments, and on his cue, commenced the song. Insomniac and Bitter Chocolate Adrian stumbled sleepily down the paved sidewalk, counting the number of steps each tile took to cross. ¡°Two and a quarter feet¡­¡± he thought. ¡°Every tile of the sidewalk in this city is two and a quarter feet, by city regulation¡­¡± Adrian was a chronic sufferer of insomnia, a genetic predisposition he¡¯d inherited from his mother. Often, when he was a teenager, he would travel to the kitchen in the middle of the night when he took a break from a study session, only to find her sitting in the dark with only a small overhead lamp to illuminate her as she made a cup of tea. As he advanced through school, these meetings became less frequent; he found that the more he became acquainted with people, the less he liked being around them. Even the presence of his mother, with whom he shared a good relationship, was dreadful if he was in the wrong state of mind. He was unsure if his misanthropic attitude had made him into an introvert, or if it was the other way around. He was unsure when and where most things began or ended. People slowly began to drop out of his life. Regardless, he spent less and less time outside; when the suburb he lived in was bustling with the activity of little ants, marching to and from the anthill to their deaths. In that respect, his insomnia could have been considered a blessing, because it inspired him to leave the house and walk the streets at night, when it was near empty. ¡°The world at night¡­¡± he ruminated, ¡°is such a strange place¡­¡± On this particular evening, a Wednesday, the street was dead quiet. Every three minutes or so, a car would pass by. The orange glow of the streetlights cast what little was visible in an uncanny hue. ¡°The world at night¡­¡± His footsteps quietly echoed through the streets with a rhythmic pace. He took a left and Veissiere Park swung into his view. He hadn¡¯t explored the park very much before, despite having lived in the area for around three years. ¡°I¡¯d like to see what it feels like without so many people,¡± he thought. ¡°When there¡¯s only me¡­¡± He crossed the street without feeling the need to look both ways, and proceeded up the hard concrete steps that connected the sidewalk to the paved paths of the park. The park was quiet, dark, and utterly refreshing. There were rarely times when he bothered to go out into nature; the last time he tried, he ran into far too many people to be comfortable. ¡°Even when I¡¯m in the middle of nature,¡± he stewed, ¡°I can¡¯t get away from people.¡± There was one hiker or tourist for each ant on the ground. The moonlight illuminated his path, casting the foliage of the park in a cold light. All about him, large oak trees extended upwards, bushes proliferated the grass, every now and again a squirrel would run past him. Veissiere Park was truly a sanction, surrounded on all sides by the street, by noise. Here, it was like the internal world he¡¯d locked himself in and the external one he hid from were slowly able to meet. Again and again, his feet hit the ground, the night air was cold and invigorating. ¡­¡­... A sound- A presence- To his right. Adrian planted his right foot in the ground and pivoted his body, snapping into the direction of the presence. Less than five feet away, there was a girl sitting on a bench, sitting up on her side, her legs curled up so that her feet just hung off the seat. She looked up at him with a strange expression, like she had been waiting to see if he would notice her. For a moment, they stared into each other''s eyes, dead space filled the air between them. If he hadn¡¯t been so enraptured in the moment, Adrian may have noticed that for the first time, perhaps in his life, he felt that not speaking to someone was unbearable. But what to say? What could he possibly say to this girl? After all, they had just met, but not really met, they had just made eye-contact, and in any other situation in daily life, they would just look away from each other, but here- ¡°Hello?¡± She had a small voice, but it seemed to float across the air with ease to his ears. If there was any amount of crowd buzz and chatter, she would never be heard, so it was ironic that her voice was best used in a time and place where nobody was around to hear it. ¡°Hello?¡± Adrian asked apprehensively. ¡°Would you¡­ like to sit with me?¡± she responded. The question had a kind of magnetic quality to it. Whatever he felt he needed to do, this was it, he was on a track. Adrian knew this for sure. He walked over to the bench and took a seat across from her. Up close, he could make her out a little clearer. Something was odd about the way she dressed; in a long checkered coat that hung off the bench, a white dress shirt that fit too loosely, an equally loose red tie, and a short skirt that, by contrast clung tightly to her body. Her hair was unkempt and hung down to her waist, messily spilling over her face. She looked as if she hadn¡¯t bought her own clothes or groomed herself in a long time. Her bangs refused to cover her eyes, though, the color of which was quite absorbing, in fact; so much so that he did not even notice that she didn¡¯t have any pupils, merely bright blue dishes reflected in the moonlight. Adrian noted her appearance, but was not put off by it at all. In her hand, she held a chocolate bar; a few small bites were taken out of it, less than a quarter. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± he asked. A stupid question, it was obvious to both of them, and it made much more sense to ask ¡°what are you doing here?¡± or ¡°what¡¯s your name?¡± but at this moment, that was the only question that mattered.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°A chocolate bar,¡± she said in the same small voice. ¡°What are you doing eating that here?¡± he followed up. She looked away from him and sullenly gazed at her sleeves. ¡°I¡¯m going to be dying soon.¡± ¡°W-what?¡± his shock was barely masked by a layer of etiquette. She sighed and closed her eyes, her mouth wavered, as if she was about to cry. No tears came out. She suddenly opened her eyes again and looked up into the sky. ¡°It¡¯s really quite nice out here, don¡¯t you think?¡± she said softly. ¡°Yeah, I agree,¡± Adrian replied slowly. ¡°That¡¯s why I came out here, the world is a lot quieter at night.¡± A moment of silence passed between them. ¡°Excuse me?¡± he asked, pensively. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You said- and¡­ I¡¯m sorry if this is too much- but you said that you would be¡­ dying soon¡­¡± he began, her eyes stayed on him, though he couldn¡¯t look at her. ¡°And, well, I just wanted to know what was going on¡­?¡± She sighed once more and looked down at her feet. ¡°I wasn¡¯t born to live much longer than this,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Is it a disease?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s just death,¡± came the reply. ¡°I mean, you don¡¯t know how long you¡¯re going to live, right? When your parent tells you that you¡¯ll live into your nineties, you might get hit by a car that day. If a doctor tells you you have six months to live, you might live another twenty years, you might get hit by a car that day. I figured that I might as well enjoy myself here a bit. I don¡¯t go out very much, you know.¡± By this time, her eyes had drifted from him upwards to the sky. ¡°I said earlier that the sky is really pretty, but the light pollution is blocking out most of the stars.¡± Adrian thought about this for a moment. ¡°Well, most of those stars are dead anyway. It takes a really long time for the light to get here... Maybe when we can¡¯t see the stars, it isn¡¯t that they¡¯re being blocked out, we¡¯re just seeing what¡¯s really there. You know, eventually, all the galaxies are gonna spin away from ours, and the Earth is gonna be pretty lonely. If we wait long enough, that¡¯s what the sky is gonna look like forever, everyone spins away from us¡­¡± She laughed quietly, more like a chuckle that was kept inside her, to herself. ¡°I guess that¡¯s one way to look at it,¡± she replied. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s an optimist or a pessimist way.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a realist way,¡± he retorted. ¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s no realist way to look at the future. Maybe the galaxies will spin out form us, or maybe the whole universe will blink out of existence. Maybe there¡¯s a whole reality that¡¯s in this chocolate bar,¡± she said, holding it up in her hand before taking a bite of it. ¡°There, I just killed the whole reality- gone!¡± Her mood had significantly picked up since they had begun talking, her eyes sparkled a little more. ¡°What¡¯s with the chocolate?¡± he asked again, remembering that his question hadn¡¯t been answered the first time. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m dying soon,¡± she hummed. ¡°I figured that as long as I¡¯m dying soon, I might as well enjoy something.¡± ¡°Is it good?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± she answered. ¡°It¡¯s bitter chocolate, I don¡¯t much care for it. I think most people would prefer milk chocolate, even if it¡¯s further away from the actual thing.¡± She paused. ¡°I can¡¯t blame them, though, because I prefer milk chocolate too.¡± ¡°When do you think it¡¯ll come?¡± he asked suddenly. ¡°Death?¡± she asked, rhetorically. ¡°Oh, that should be as soon as I finish this chocolate.¡± ¡°What?!¡± his voice, though hushed in the night, rang with alarm. ¡°Yeah,¡± she affirmed. ¡°There¡¯s not much to enjoy after this is done.¡± He could only think of how sad it was, that her life would end after eating a bar of bitter chocolate. ¡°Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s depressing? Are you sad about that, are you pretending to be unaffected?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a real direct question.¡± ¡°Of course it is.¡± She thought for a moment. ¡°Yeah, I do think it¡¯s a little sad,¡± she started. ¡°But, I mean, chocolate is made to be eaten, right? When you buy one, you pay people to make more. No matter how bitter some of them are, a lot of milk chocolate ones are made too, and people like those.¡± ¡°What about chocolate with nuts in it?¡± ¡°Nuts?!¡± It was her turn to be shocked. ¡°Do you like chocolate with nuts in it??¡± she demanded to know. ¡°No, actually,¡± he clarified. ¡°I actually have an aversion to them.¡± ¡°An allergy?¡± ¡°No, just a general distaste.¡± She chuckled at his response. ¡°Maybe when you finish a bar of nut chocolate, you¡¯ll die too.¡± ¡°I¡¯d probably dislike that more than a bar of bitter chocolate,¡± he replied, laughing along. As they spoke, she slowly nibbled away at her candy, until there were only four squares left. ¡°Hey,¡± she said, with the same quiet voice she had called out to him with. ¡°It looks like I¡¯m gonna be going soon¡­¡± she stared down at her hands. ¡°So¡­ I just wanted to say, thanks for talking to me. I think it made it go a lot faster.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± he began, a terrible guilt descending upon his heart. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to-¡± ¡°No,¡± she cut him off. ¡°I¡¯d prefer it more than if I had to eat it alone¡­¡± her face cast a dreamy look at nowhere in particular. ¡°I think I¡¯d like this even more than if it had been milk chocolate.¡± He didn¡¯t know why, but he felt like throwing up. She took a bite. ¡°Hey¡­¡± he thought, something strange occurring to him. Another bite, one more square left. She looked at him sweetly, holding the last of the candy between her slender fingers. ¡°Does she have any pupils?¡± *Bite* Adrian felt a wave of queasiness come over him; his eyes closed as he lost consciousness. He couldn¡¯t see her last moments, but that sweet expression, her messy hair, the shimmer reflected in her eyes¡­ He didn¡¯t know her name, but he didn¡¯t need to. She would be a fragment of a halcyon night. --- Adrian awoke to the early morning light cascading over his face. He slowly sat up, straightening his back against the park bench, yawning. ¡°Did I spend all night here?¡± he wondered. Any other time before this, he would have been alarmed at the idea of sleeping in a city park, but today he was unbothered by it. As he looked around, a handful of people were walking about him. He was almost set off by their presence, but something in his hand caught his attention, something he hadn¡¯t noticed before. ¡°A- a chocolate bar wrapper? Why is this in my hand? This was that-¡± He cut himself off before he could finish the thought. It was better that way. He stood to his feet and began on the pathway leading back to his home. He passed many different people, but he found that he was not so hostile towards their presence. As he left the park, stepping foot onto the sidewalk, a thought drifted into his mind. ¡°There was truly nothing in that park that wasn¡¯t me.¡± The world he stepped into was nothing but light. In Swaddling Clothes ¡°Where do you want to die?¡± Verso blinked a few times in surprise before looking at Alysm. ¡°What?¡± The two friends were perched atop the roof of Aly¡¯s house, a small, rustic thing that was more like a shack than anything else, and in dire need of renovations. Their seat was the uncomfortable, ridged tin roof that sheltered the interior from rain, albeit with spotty reliability. The sun was setting in the distance, sinking into the black mountains way past the marshy grasslands adjacent to her house. The light of the sunset cast everything behind cover in a deep, impenetrable shadow. ¡°I mean, I was just thinking about how a lot of people imagine how they¡¯re going to die, or when, but I¡¯ve never thought about where I¡¯ll die.¡± Aly twirled her hair, which had grown long and unkempt over the summer. Verso, still thrown by the suddenness of the question, found herself hugging her knees closer to her chest. ¡°Why does it matter?¡± she asked. ¡°I think it means more if you know how you¡¯ll die, if you do it well or poorly.¡± Aly furrowed her brow. ¡°No,¡± she argued back. ¡°It¡¯s important to know where you¡¯ll die, that informs how you¡¯ll die. Think about it, do you want to go surrounded by family and friends, or alone? That¡¯s location.¡± Verso dug her shorts out of the uncomfortably tight space they¡¯d hiked up to, still unconvinced. ¡°And if you don¡¯t have any family or friends?¡± Aly sighed. ¡°Maybe it was a bad question.¡± ¡°Where do you want to die?¡± Suddenly, Aly perked up a bit. ¡°I want to die somewhere out there,¡± she pointed to the marshlands, swept by tallgrass and mud. ¡°Don¡¯t you think that would be the most romantic place to go?¡± Verso let out a laugh with boyish gusto. ¡°Romantic? What are you talking about?¡± Aly blushed, embarrassed by her own words. ¡°Not romantic, maybe that¡¯s just how I feel about it,¡± she muttered. ¡°I guess I meant that- it¡¯s so close to the Earth; going back to the Earth, isn¡¯t that what we¡¯re supposed to do?¡± It was quiet for a moment between them. They noticed that the silence wasn¡¯t really silence, because the cicadas had been chirping the entire time they¡¯d been speaking. ¡°Whatever,¡± Aly dismissed the idea altogether. ¡°It¡¯s the cicadas, they kind of put my thoughts into order like that.¡± From below, a voice called to them, a gravelly, ugly tone, a familiar one. ¡°Vers! Your motha¡¯ wants you home!¡± Aly cupped her hands and shouted at the ground, ¡°We¡¯ll be down in a second!¡± Verso looked back at the sunset. ¡°Jesus, it really is late¡­¡± They shimmied their way back through the upper-story window and into Aly¡¯s room; Verso nearly tripped over a box at the base of the windowsill, knocking over an album of butterfly photos. ¡°Agh, the butterfly thing again?¡± Verso gave her friend a ribbing. After returning the album to its place in the box, they hopped downstairs and exchanged a hug in front of Alysm¡¯s mother. She was a stout woman, wearing a pink tank top that barely held her body inside; one could tell her approximate age just from glancing at her face, but she paradoxically looked much older than she really was. While they embraced, Verso whispered quietly into Aly¡¯s ear. ¡°See you at school tomorrow.¡± This manner of speaking about school in hushed tones was something neither of them knew the beginning of. On her way out of the property and into the warm evening colors that painted the street, Verso passed under a tree and noticed something. ¡°The cicadas stopped.¡± It was a behavior she was accustomed to, but checked every now and again to make sure it was still real. When one stopped under a tree nested by cicadas, the insects would cease their whining in a heartbeat. Like school, it was something that hushed as soon as you approached it. Verso continued down the street, never quite alone. --- The air in the classroom was so frigid, Verso felt as if any sudden movement would shatter it like a brittle sheet of ice. The seats took about five minutes to be warmed by her body¡¯s heat, and the flat, gray desk was so ubiquitously cold she thought she could chill a drink on it. It was forbidden to put up one¡¯s hood or close their jacket, so she found herself pulling its folds closer and tighter together without actually fastening it. The light was low and this drab, soulless feeling penetrated every corner of the room; at times, Verso forgot she could see color. Mr Frasier finished what he was doing at his desk and stood up to the front of the class, wearing a muted plaid shirt and brown slacks, his hair receding but well combed, his glasses large-lensed and straight. ¡°Alright, everyone,¡± he began in a matter of fact tone of voice. ¡°We¡¯re looking at root quadratics today,¡± he paused for a second, looking around the room to check if he had the class¡¯s attention; ¡°60% is enough,¡± he thought. ¡°Everyone did the homework, I¡¯m assuming?¡± There was a low din as the couple of students who hadn¡¯t completed their work turned to their friends to remark about how funny it was. Verso handed her paper to the student in front of her, unimpressed by the coolness of forgetting to do homework. Not that she was above it, but if one was going to be a troublemaker, this was a lame way of doing it. There were close to 100 security cameras around the school, so any actual act of dissidence was practically untenable, unless the offender was trying to make some kind of protest statement. They often joked that there were probably even cameras in the bathrooms. Mr Frasier walked past the columns of desks, collecting work. Each column was arranged into a hierarchy; students were assigned to a column and would take a desk corresponding to their grade in the class, the students in the front row were named the ¡°Captains¡± of their column, and were responsible for doing menial tasks like collecting work and attendance for every columnmate beneath them. Verso found the idea obnoxious, especially the tedious process of rearranging the seating after every test was graded, but there was nothing she could really say about it; she usually ended up in third or second place most times, so it wasn¡¯t like it hurt her any. Mr Frasier stopped in front of Alysm¡¯s desk, prompting Verso¡¯s attention, if for no other reason than that it was her friend. ¡°Congratulations on a strong semester,¡± he noted to her offhandedly. ¡°Thank you,¡± she replied softly, clasping her hands over her desk. ¡°Aly must be cold,¡± Verso mused, noting that she hadn¡¯t worn anything that covered her arms. Her hair was drawn up into a ponytail, probably until she had a chance to get a haircut. School had only been in session for a month and a half, so the dress code had relaxed a little bit, although it wasn¡¯t a good idea to push it for too long. Verso, for her part, made sure that her hair never exceeded further than shoulder-length, partially because she preferred it that way, and partially to appease the disciplinary committee. Hair wasn¡¯t allowed to be grown out further than an inch below one¡¯s collarbone, except for religious reasons. ¡°Okay,¡± Mr Frasier sounded exhausted; it was only ten o¡¯clock. ¡°Take out your books and turn to 418.¡± Verso opened her backpack and lifted out the Algebraic tome she hated so much. It was ungodly heavy for something that could easily be compacted into a PDF, but the school demanded that she lug it around along with a series of other books supplied to them through the government¡¯s partnership with Jameson Education Solutions(?). Behind her, some of the same students snickered about forgetting their textbooks ¡°at home¡± or ¡°in their lockers.¡± She rolled her eyes again. ¡°Everyone can see that, dumbass; our backpacks are clear.¡± Mr Fraiser knew this as well, but hadn¡¯t said anything until now. ¡°Alexander, Alvarez, Davis,¡± he rattled off the usual names. ¡°Sign a behavioral violation before you leave today.¡± Knowing that they wouldn¡¯t and never would, he returned to the lesson. ¡°Okay,¡± he read off the page. ¡°So, you know how to factor a quadratic is, so you¡¯re going to see this on a test, where the prime coefficient is a square root. Did anyone read ahead?¡± He looked up at the class again, a room full of blank faces filtered through his big glasses. ¡°So¡­¡± he turned to the board and uncapped a dry-erase marker, demonstrating the process for the class. ¡°You¡¯re going to multiply the prime coefficient by the tertiary coefficient-- you might remember that that¡¯s called ¡®C¡¯-- then take the product of that and divide it by the¡­ Wait¡­¡± he glanced back at the book. ¡°Before you do anything with that, you¡¯re going to take the bilateral coefficient-- that¡¯s ¡®B¡¯-- and factor it by the exponent of the prime coefficient, and that¡¯s what you divide C by. Any questions?¡± Another sea of blank faces. ¡°Great, that¡¯s step one. Next, you¡¯re going to take the first denomination of the quotient you got from step one and plug it into your X-Y diamadam, then put it into a four-way graph¡­¡± The lecture continued, underscored by the sounds of scribbling pencils as the class took furious notes for the test. The door was thrown open, slamming into the opposite wall with a heart-rending BANG. A man, six feet seven inches tall and broad-shouldered, rushed into the classroom before the air could even escape the students¡¯ lungs. He brandished a semi-automatic gun and aimed its sights at the desks. The first screams came from the girls in the class, their high-pitched shrieks pierced the air over the sound of the gunman unloading, each round letting out an explosive CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK. After ten seconds, the gunfire stopped, and the gunman lowered his weapon. Every student lowered their hands and arms from in front of their eyes. The gunman pulled out a sheet of paper from his back pocket and began making notes. ¡°Not a very well-prepared class, today¡­¡± he commented to Mr Frasier without looking up from his notes. ¡°No, Bill¡­¡± Mr Frasier agreed awkwardly with the gunman actor, discipline committee chairperson Bill Gavel. Mr Gavel left the room, closing the door behind him. It took Mr Frasier a moment to return to the lesson, he wanted to let some of the girls finish crying. The cold, brittle air had been shattered to pieces.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Verso sighed painfully, she was just glad that they hadn¡¯t gotten the same lecture as every few months when these drills happened; ¡°That red line of tape on the floor is the border between safety and the line of fire, got it?¡± Yes, she understood that she was liable to death at any moment, it was getting to the point that she wished someone would actually fulfill the threat to make all of this worthwhile. She felt stupid for a moment for not anticipating the test, but had to remind herself that the doors were not only bullet-proof for their safety, but also sound-proofed so that they wouldn¡¯t be able to hear drills occurring in other rooms. There was no way to communicate a warning to someone in another class, either, as phones were confiscated by security at the metal-detectors that framed the school¡¯s entrances. This, also, was done for their sake. --- The back door of Verso¡¯s house led her into the kitchen, the screen rattled as it shut behind the heavier, wooden door. Without rhyme or reason, the drill popped back into her head. It had been a few days since the incident, and she had mostly blocked it out of her mind. Today, however, at this very moment, she stopped to think about it. She didn¡¯t much with it, though, just turned it over in her thoughts like a peculiar antique that one wasn¡¯t really interested in buying, and was soon placed back on the shelf. There was something about it that bothered her, something she couldn¡¯t place, and eventually decided to drop altogether. As she walked through the kitchen, she heard the sound of the television in the living room. ¡°Did I leave it on this morning?¡± Stepping through the threshold to the hallway that led to the living room, she turned the corner and saw her mother sitting on the couch. ¡°Hi!¡± she turned around to see her daughter with a cheery grin. ¡°Did you get off work early?¡± Verso set her things down on the table. ¡°There was a surprise drill today, and they decided to let us off,¡± she explained, grabbing a glass of tea from the coffee table. ¡°Oh, nice.¡± ¡°How was school?¡± Verso thought for a moment about the question. ¡°It was alright,¡± she finally answered. ¡°Did you learn anything?¡± ¡°Yeah, some stuff about how to calculate tension.¡± ¡°Good!¡± Verso¡¯s mom held down a job as a dental assistant, and made enough to support the both of them, with a few checks from the military, of course. Her father had died when she was only four, killed in action during a raid on some terrorist hideout in the Middle East; she thought it was Syria, she thought it was terrorists. The war, as she recalled, was started over something to do with oil and was resolved shortly after the raid occurred. It wasn¡¯t even the right building. ¡°Hey, we need toothpaste,¡± Verso noted. ¡°Toothpaste?¡± ¡°Yeah, we just ran out, I couldn¡¯t brush my teeth last night.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to lay down for a bit,¡± Verso climbed the stairs to her bedroom and threw herself under the sheets. After a moment of letting her body relax and soak up the silence, she took a deep breath and grabbed her laptop. Her homework for the day was light, so she figured she might as well start it now. ¡°Okay¡­¡± she muttered to herself, booting up a search engine and navigating to her assignment, a worksheet for her Honors History class, something about the American Revolution. She worked diligently for about an hour, when her focus was interrupted by a tremorous knocking at her bedroom door. ¡°Yeah?¡± she paused her music and looked up from her assignment. Her mother opened the door and stood before the threshold awkwardly. ¡°Mom?¡± Her mother closed the door and looked at the ground for a second, her face had an indecipherable emotion plastered on it, but it was clear that something was wrong; the muscles tensed in her face, something buried in her eyes. She walked to Verso¡¯s bed side, prompting her to sit up and move her laptop to the side. ¡°Vers¡­¡± she spoke quietly, anxiously. ¡°Mom, what is it?¡± Verso was getting frustrated. ¡°Just say it.¡± With great difficulty, her mother wetted her dried lips and explained. ¡°Aly¡¯s in the hospital right now¡­¡± At once, Verso¡¯s heart sank. She didn¡¯t know what was happening, but the way her mother was breaking this to her caused the atmospheric dread to seep inside of her. ¡°W-what?¡± Once the first words were out, it was easier to say the next. ¡°She tried to kill herself.¡± Verso took a deep breath through her nostrils that filled her lungs deep down to her core, an unthinking response to the words. --- The hospital was always an unsettling place for Verso. At around the same time that her father had been killed, she came down with an intense case of pneumonia and was rushed to this same hospital for emergency treatment. The doctors believed that she couldn''t hear them talking, but she distinctly remembered a discussion that occurred just outside of her room, in the hall. ¡°What¡¯s the likelihood she doesn¡¯t make it?¡± ¡°Maybe thirty percent.¡± She had never thought about her death before that moment, and despite her eventual recovery, she was hounded by anxiety over the end of her life ever since that day. She would go through periods of intense fearfulness, falling victim to panic attacks that came at night, always at night, until forcing herself to drop the issue. All it took, however, was a single mention of mortality to send her back into the spiral. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m here to visit a patient,¡± Verso noticed after saying it that her voice was more timid than usual. ¡°Name?¡± the nurse at the front desk looked up from her computer. ¡°Mine? Or-¡± ¡°The patient¡¯s. You write yours in the guestbook,¡± she pushed a clipboard towards Verso. After filling out all of the visitor information, she was directed to the right, towards a beige hall to the elevator. Before the hall was a tall man in a black shirt and slacks, the word ¡°SECURITY¡± printed in bold, yellow letters across his breast. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he stopped her before she could leave the hall. ¡°I¡¯m going to need to see that.¡± He pointed to the wrapped package she had in her hand. ¡°T-this?¡± ¡°Yes, that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a gift-¡± ¡°I need to see it.¡± Regretfully, she handed over the small package to the guard, who placed it on a table at the corner. The process of unwrapping it safely took approximately five minutes, as he couldn¡¯t take any chances in the case that it was a dangerous object. Once the paper wrapping was systematically removed, he inspected the gift for a moment. It was a small cardboard box which, once opened, revealed a handcrafted origami butterfly. The moment the guard picked it up, Verso felt something touch her heart, like brushing a sensitive nerve. He turned the butterfly over on his hands and checked the box once more to ensure that there was nothing dangerous afoot. ¡°Okay, you¡¯re good to go.¡± He placed the butterfly back on the table, leaving her to return it to the box and try and awkwardly repackage it. Every sound in the hall seemed magnified; when she swallowed, she felt as if she were going to trip some kind of alarm system. After waiting for the elevator for a moment, the cold, steel doors parted and she stepped into the empty car. ¡°What floor was it again?¡± the instructions given to her by the nurse at the desk seemed jumbled now. ¡°Four, it was four.¡± She hit the button and watched the doors close, sealing her off from that hallway. There was a camera in the elevator, of course, so it wasn¡¯t like she wasn¡¯t being watched, but the prospect of someone in a room far away staring at her was much less unsettling than the eyes of a security guard focused on her. ¡°Be grateful,¡± she thought. ¡°At least he didn¡¯t search me.¡± It had happened several times before, especially at school, when after passing through a metal detector, she alerted the system and prompted a pat-down search. Whether it was a male or female guard performing it, she always felt uncomfortable with the process. An adult¡¯s hands running over her arms, her thighs, her stomach, in front of her classmates no less, left her with a slimy, unpleasant sensation, the kind one gets when touching a greasy surface. It was supposedly necessary for safety, but couldn¡¯t they make it any less violating of a procedure? The sound of the doors opening ripped her from her thought. Another long, beige hallway greeted her. ¡°Room 325¡­¡± Verso scanned the room numbers to her left and right until she finally came upon the right one. She lifted her hand to grab the handle of the door, but hesitated before grasping it. It felt momentous, to turn the handle, it meant that she was committing. Say Alysm was awake, the sound of the handle rattling on the other end couldn¡¯t just be left alone. But still¡­ From the moment she¡¯d heard the news, Verso couldn¡¯t accept it. She believed it, but it was so much easier to believe something that only existed in an idea. Someone could tell her what had happened, but seeing it for herself was entirely different. This would make it real. After standing in front of the door for a solid fifteen seconds, she let out a quick huff, laughing at herself in way. ¡°What am I talking about?¡± she thought. ¡°Of course I have to go in.¡± The handle turned, the mechanism within clicking, and she pushed the door open. The room was dark, the curtains were drawn and the lights turned off. There was a television at the foot of the bed, but that too was dark. The instant they made eye contact, Aly burst into tears. Verso closed the door behind her and rushed to her friend¡¯s side. ¡°Aly¡­¡± she wanted to comfort her, but was lost on what to say. When she had collected herself, Aly gripped the sheets of her bed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± her voice was dim and her eyes cast downwards. Verso place her hand on the bedside. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be sorry for-¡± ¡°No,¡± Aly shook her head and wiped the residual tears from her eyes. ¡°I want you to know why I did it.¡± Her voice was pained, like there were cracks in her words. ¡°Aly¡­¡± Verso felt her heart in her throat. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me anything, if you don¡¯t want to-¡± ¡°No,¡± she insisted. ¡°I need to,¡± she looked at her friend with anguish. ¡°There¡¯s no one else who would understand.¡± Verso said nothing, and in her silence, she agreed to listen. ¡°Vers¡­¡± Aly began. ¡°Everything is getting worse¡­ I don¡¯t know when it started or how, but it feels like it¡¯s only getting worse, and I don¡¯t know what I could do to stop it or slow it down¡­ And¡­¡± She paused, unsure of how to express what she meant. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m going to live and die here.¡± Verso looked into her friend¡¯s eyes and tried to understand what she was saying; she forgot about the feeling in her body as everything focused on Alysm. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± she finally responded. Aly looked around the room silently and leaned closer, speaking in hushed tones. ¡°There¡¯s a camera in this room,¡± she whispered. ¡°Yeah?¡± Verso¡¯s eyes tightened slightly in confusion. ¡°Do you think that¡¯s strange?¡± ¡°The camera?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Aly wanted desperately to be understood. ¡°No, it¡¯s for safety.¡± Aly rubbed her thumbs together, thinking. ¡°Nevermind.¡± There was a removal in heer voice that Verso couldn¡¯t quite grasp the reason for. What was so significant about a camera in a hospital room? The whole line of thought eluded her, but she knew that it must have been incredibly important to Aly to have brought her here. One of Verso¡¯s legs sank into thought as another silence hung between them. Abruptly, Verso pulled herself out of her empty contemplation; she¡¯d been holding the paper-wrapped gift the whole time, and just now remembered it. ¡°I almost forgot,¡± she laughed. ¡°Here you go.¡± She held the gift up, offering it to her friend. Aly gently took it from her palm and carefully unwrapped it. In the back of her mind, Verso knew that it was not the first time it had been unwrapped. From the chrysalis of the box, the butterfly emerged; Aly¡¯s eyes became at once soft and excited. A pure, joyous grin spread across her face. ¡°Thank you, oh¡­ Thank you, Vers¡­¡± Verso left an hour later, returning down the elevator and past the guard, out into the lobby. Beyond the front doors was a black wall, an inky world. ¡°Is it already dark?¡± She hurried home, cut into by sheets of icy wind. The moment she stepped into her home, she was enveloped in a blanket of warmth. As she returned to her room, her whole body felt thawed out, her troubled thoughts steaming off of her as well. Settling into bed, Verso decided to browse the internet before falling asleep. She opened the screen and began poking around, looking up one of her favorite actors. Amused at learning a few details of his life, she found herself clicking on a video of an interview he¡¯d given a few weeks ago. Before the video had loaded up, an advertisement played for toothpaste. ¡°That¡¯s funny,¡± Verso thought. ¡°We were just talking about that the other day.¡± Before the ad was done playing, her brow furrowed. ¡°Why is that strange to me?¡± She paused the video and sat in her bed for a moment. How could something so innocuous cause her a feeling of unease? It was stupid, but she couldn¡¯t deny the uncomfortable sensation brewing in her chest. ¡°Is that normal?¡± she thought. ¡°Is that¡­?¡± Verso¡¯s mother was sitting on the couch, watching the television when she heard her daughter coming down the stairs. ¡°Hi!¡± she turned and smiled at her before noticing that she was dressed up to go outside. ¡°Are you going out again?¡± Verso had a strange look on her face, something she couldn¡¯t quite place. In a way, she seemed distant, like she wasn¡¯t really in the room; some other part of her was far beyond what the eye could see. ¡°I¡¯m just going to get some toothpaste,¡± she said, walking to the front door. ¡°Okay, stay safe, sweety,¡± her mother turned back to the television, not registering Verso¡¯s failure to look her in the eye. The closest store was just down the street going right; her mother would be able to see which way she turned from the living room window, but she knew she wouldn¡¯t notice. Verso turned left, away from the store and the downtown, and into the black of night. She walked in the direction of Aly¡¯s house, towards the marsh. Mascara Burn Dirt piled up on the dew-covered grass, the constant crunching of the shovel into the Earth harmonized with the tones of crickets. Dinh poked his head up from the hole, the darkness within which had now become impenetrable by moonlight, and grasped around blindly over the ground for his lantern. Climbing up out of the small crater and into the cool night air, he observed his surroundings for a moment, resting his muscles. He was dressed in a black tank-top and grey pants, both of which were smattered with dirt and betrayed his bizarrely skinny frame. His dark hair was speckled with streaks of white, and grew down to cover his eyes, which seemed to be weighed down by perpetual dark circles. He had left a gas lantern next to the hole, believing it would ward off evil spirits while he worked, a superstition he¡¯d inherited from his father, who had trained him in the family business. After making sure he was alone, he grabbed the handle of the lantern and pointed it downwards into his small tunnel. The light pierced the shadows to reveal a sealed coffin buried beneath the Earth. ¡°Finally,¡± he gasped, relieved. The first half of his work was done, now all that was left to do was pop open the case and make off. He laid his shovel upwards in the hole and reached back up to its edge, where a black leather belt was laid out containing a myriad of tools: a skeleton key, a crank, a screwdriver, a hammer, a rubber ducky. His hand met the small crank which, after being wrestled from its loop, fit splendidly into a circular opening in the bottom right corner of the box, the lock for the coffin. After a minute of turning, he felt a release in the lid, prompting a satisfied ¡°hm!¡± from him. Prior research had led him to this particular grave in the hopes of it containing a newer casket, one which was not fastened by nails but instead a rotating lock system which was considerably less noisy to open up. Dinh opened up the death-box to find a well-preserved corpse, one which could not have been more than a year old, by his estimate. Opening up the rest of the casket revealed a feast of valuable heirlooms left lying carelessly at the deceased man¡¯s side. The young grave-collector meticulously searched through his possessions: a gold pocket watch which had ceased functioning, a silver rosary, and a suspiciously long box laid out on top of the corpse. All the while he made certain not to disturb the body, after all, his father taught him it was disrespectful to meddle with the dead; their possessions, on the other hand, were worthless to both the afterlife and the worms. The business of grave ¡°collecting¡± was held in high esteem by the close and limited members of his family, though it was a profession kept in the dark to protect them from the more prejudiced people of society. After placing the watch and rosary next to the mouth of the grave, Dinh curiously grabbed the long box and hopped out to examine the contents within. Placing it on the ground as he knelt in the soft grass, he studied it by moon-and-lamp-light. The case itself was made from an expensive black wood, and locked by two latches, each with a seemingly different keyhole. This was no matter for him, and after reaching for his belt he produced a skeleton key, aptly named. He slid the key into the locks, turning each with a small clicking sound. Unlatching the case, he opened it to reveal a wooden scepter, its top crowned with a solid gold head sculpted into the shape of a cow¡¯s skull. ¡°Is this real gold?¡± he wondered aloud, tossing the scepter from one hand to the other. It hit his palms with a considerably lighter weight than one would expect from looking at the object. After scratching at it, sniffing it, spitting on it, and tossing it up into the air a few more times, Dinh came to the conclusion that it was, in fact, real gold. ¡°This¡¯ll go for a lot,¡± he muttered to himself, as a pure and innocent smile crossed his face. ¡°How much?¡± Fear pierced the small bubble of happiness around Dinh¡¯s heart; never in his three previous years of grave-collecting had he been caught so red-handed. ¡°S-sorry?¡± he replied, slowly turning around to face the owner of the confrontational voice. To his surprise, he saw no one standing before him. ¡°I asked how much you think it would go for?¡± the voice had a sharp coldness which did not help Dinh¡¯s already trembling state. Strangely, however, he could not place the direction the words came from, until the realization hit him. Dinh peered down into the grave; his eyes gazed upon the corpse, sitting upright, with one knee pulled to his chest casually, his eyes bright and awake, returning his gaze. Its face, yellowed with death, was distressingly relaxed, with a faint, knowing grin across its dark lips. ¡°Gah!¡± Dinh shouted fearfully, grabbing his shovel and slamming it wildly down into the hole with the flat of the tool. The corpse simply raised his arm and deflected the blow with ease. Dinh fell back onto the ground, only to watch as the dead man rose from the crater, propelled upwards as if by an unknown force. ¡°L-l-look, mister, I didn¡¯t mean anything by taking that, I-I mean, what were you gonna do with it anyway?¡± Dinh sputtered out, holding up his hands in a frantic defense. ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered my question, kid.¡± The living corpse was dressed in an ornate black suit, with white rose patterns sewn into the fabric. He stance was one that imposed upon Dinh, the dead man¡¯s confidence was unbearably persuasive. His question seemed to be one posed out of sheer curiosity, such that Dinh found himself wanting to comply. ¡°W-well, I think- and I would have to take it to an appraiser and all- but I think I could get about six grand for this-¡± ¡°Wow, that much huh?¡± came the reply, swiftly cutting him off. ¡°Yeah, I figure this is maybe five-and-a-half ounces, which I could spin into roughly that much if I find the price of the wood.¡± ¡°Do you do this often?¡± ¡°Yeah this about my third run this month here, the people here have a lot of good stuff they took with them.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°Impressive, how much you make from this business?¡± ¡°Oh, maybe nine or ten grand on a really good month.¡± ¡°Wow, what a gig.¡± ¡°Yeah, you know, it pays the-¡± Dinh paused for a moment. ¡°Hey, wait!¡± he cried. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna sit here and have a conversation with a corpse! I need to get back home and pawn this stuff off!¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got some bad news for you, kid,¡± the living dead crooned. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± the grave-collector spat back. The corpse tilted its head and pointed at the scepter with a pale finger. ¡°I can¡¯t go back to sleep as long as you have those things.¡± ¡°What? Why not?¡± Dinh asked incredulously. ¡°You see,¡± the corpse began quite formally. ¡°My spirit is an exceptionally vengeful one, and as it goes I can¡¯t rest as long as I have a lasting grudge, such as somebody, you know, looting my grave.¡± Dinh was visibly upset, leaning forward aggressively with a crossed brow. ¡°Hey! This isn¡¯t looting, it¡¯s collecting! What are you even going to use these for? Worms aren¡¯t impressed by this stuff!¡± ¡°Do you know who I am, kid?¡± the zombie posed. He pointed to the head of the grave, where an ornately carved tombstone read ¡°SIDIAN STONEWALL.¡± ¡°Sidian Stonewall?¡± Dinh asked. ¡°Sidian Stonewall!!¡± the cadaver yelled to high heaven. ¡°Founder of Stonewall Law Firm and Associates! In life, I made more money in one week than your mother made in her whole life!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a mother,¡± replied Dinh innocently, as if to correct him softly. ¡°Shut up!¡± cried Sidian, with a tone of ramping madness. Suddenly, he cut his rant short, and his face returned to its previous charismatic mold. ¡°Say,¡± he began again. ¡°There is one way to get me to go away.¡± ¡°Ok, what then?¡± Dinh begged. Not only did he want to rid himself of this man, but he wanted to make a profit off of the night; after all, the bus fare to this side of town was not cheap. ¡°If another one of my grudges is taken care of, then I should be satisfied enough to go back to sleep while you hop off with those things,¡± Sidian explained. ¡°Great, so what do you need me to do?¡± the grave-collector asked. ¡°There¡¯s another man in this cemetery, his name is Ellen Gardet. In life, he was my sworn rival in the law business. Personally, I think he¡¯s the one who poisoned my cup, but by the same token I poisoned his too.¡± ¡°You two poisoned each other?¡± Dinh beseeched, concerned. ¡°Yeah, so I guess we¡¯re even. I need you to break that, I want to win. Go retrieve that damn jewel I know he¡¯s been buried with.¡± Thus, the mission was given. Located across the way from Sidian¡¯s grave was a great stone mausoleum. Dinh wondered why such a big-shot like Mr Stonewall had such a comparatively small resting place. The Gardet mausoleum was seemingly impregnable, great stone barriers erected on all four sides barred all entrance, save for a separate slab of rock placed in the opening of a single wall. Only a machine could remove the intimidating obelisk and clear the way to the entrance. Dinh, in response to this obstacle, held out his shovel, pulled it back over his shoulder as if a javelin thrower, aimed near the top of the slab, and launched it with incredible force at the wall. The shovel smashed into it with such power that it was toppled over with seemingly no effort. Impressed at his own strength, the young scrawny man hopped over to the entrance, picked his shovel back up, and proceeded into the tomb. Inside, the darkness of the crypt pressed down upon him so heavily it threatened to crush him had he not had his little lantern. Dinh looked about, spotting a descending staircase to the underground. He plunged into the Earth, down about twenty steps, until he reached a small room in which a single coffin was laid. He unscrewed the seal, produced his crank once more, and turned the lock. Popping open the coffin greeted him with a body that looked much worse for wear. Atop the chest of Mr Gardet lay a small box, which Dinh promptly snatched, checking for any other valuables. After confirming that all he was buried with was the singular box, Dinh set to work sealing the casket up once more. When that was done, he produced his skeleton key and opened the little crate to find a spectacular red jewel, one which glimmered even in the limited light of his lantern. His eyes widened in wonder at the little treasure. He closed the box up, locked it, and waltzed out of the tomb, not bothering to re-erect the entrance slab. In the moonlight, Sidian remained sitting atop his headstone, waiting patiently for Dinh to return. He came skipping back to the grave, holding the locked box in his hand. ¡°Oh, fantastic, my friend,¡± the cadaver called as the grave-collector approached.. ¡°Yep, here you go!¡± Dinh remarked, holding out the box. Sidian took it out of his hand and attempted to open it. ¡°It¡¯s locked,¡± he said, suspiciously. ¡°Oh, sorry about that,¡± Dinh said, taking the box back and pulling out his key. ¡°I just need to make sure you aren¡¯t trying to trick me, kid.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡­¡± he assured him, turning the key in the lock and pulling it back out. Sidian reached for the container, his eyes glimmering with anticipation and hunger. His facade of cool confidence began melting away, revealing an animalistic greed most people have the etiquette to hide. His cold, dead hands slowly lifted the top jaw of the box upwards, his eyes soaked in the sight of his achievement. In life, Ellen Gardet had been his fierce rival in business. Their families extended back for generations into the local history; it was a common belief in both clans that their respective great-great-great-great grandfathers had stolen precious objects from the other. From the Gardets, a gold-headed scepter; from the Stonewalls, a radiant crimson jewel. His whole life, Sidian had been unable to reclaim the gemstone, and settled for taking the Gardet treasure to the grave. Now, in death, he had finally obtained what he so desired. The box opened. A yellow rubber ducky sat in its velvet folds. ¡°W-what-?¡± choked Sidian, what little soul he had left slowly dropping away. All his life, all his ambitions, squandered in this one moment. He was paralyzed with a falling heart. Taking the opportunity, Dinh whipped around and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to the corpse¡¯s chest, knocking him back into the grave. ¡°You-¡± the undead man shrieked, his words tipped with a stinging venom as he hit the padded bed of the casket below. Dinh jumped down in pursuit, using his foot to kick the door of the coffin shut as he fell, trapping Sidian. Swiftly, he used the hand crank to seal the casket once again. He leaped back out and grabbed his shovel, piling dirt back on top of the coffin. From inside, the corpse banged furiously on the door, his fury not comparable by any man who has not yet been so close to the edge of life. Within a few minutes¡¯ time, the grave was covered up as it had been at the night¡¯s birth, and the young grave-collector patted down the Earth into an even plane. Sighing and wiping his brow, Dinh looked over at his newfound profits, the watch, rosary, scepter, and most of all the jewel. ¡°What a strange man,¡± he thought. ¡°I wonder what could make someone like that¡­¡± He turned back into the night and began his trek back to the world of the living.