The coffee shop was empty, not a gasp nor a bellow to be heard in the facility, only wintertime’s aches and moans against floorboard and window. Soft penetration of the stumbling wind raised my skin from neck to heel. I looked up at the Redhead

    “Thanks.”

On the table, a cup of tea:  Lapsang Souchong, pine-smoked Chinese wonder, straight from the mountains in Fujian. Redhead smiled at me as best she could, under the circumstances. I was the last sap in the whole city to still sit down and drink his tea without hurry. The last man to take his time and poke his head up. I watched the television above me.

    “…well over twenty years since any serious attack on the capital. But the government urges the citizens of Los Angeles to stay inside their homes while military forces eradicate any potential threats to our safety. Military officials will contain the situation. Make no attempt to leave your home. Make no attempt to be some sort of…hero. I will repeat that: make no attempt to be a hero.” 

The newscaster looked shaken, looking beyond the camera. I sipped my tea. Stuck my finger in the wonder and stirred the burning tide. It was missing something, the tea. Too bitter. Too smokey. Or maybe it was me…

   It was a silent morning. I watched the birds fly away outside the window, a massive departure, an unplanned migration, a black storm blotting out what little sunlight we had. I saw no man, no woman, no child outside. No thing. And I turned around to Redhead, who had vanished before me. And such was the thing, only my breath and the News.

    And then a deep rumbling. An earthquake? No. I knew its origin, but I denied it that morning. The News went off air. And soon the electricity. The rumbling subsided. I stood and set my tea down. Walking toward the window, I saw nothing but a lone bird, looking about, panicked and stunned. A small crow, nothing more than a child. Abandoned by its mother, too young to fly, helpless. I took one last sip of my tea and set it down carefully in the center of the table. The door chimed on my way out. And in absolute silence, I watched the bird squirm and wriggle about, shell-shocked by the rumbling and its forsakenness. A single rain drop fell onto my hand. And then another. And another. I bent down and picked up the little bird, who shivered in my hands and whose eyes darted around furiously, a nervous, black fairy. There we stood in the faint sunlight within the fog, waiting, wondering. We watched a rubber ball roll down the street, stopping only a few yards away. I held the crow with both hands and kicked the ball into the fog. Its bounce echoed into the wind.

    And again, the rumbling thrust itself upon us. I stared ahead, around me, no one. Empty streets. The baby bird made no cry, no peep as I stroked its feathers and told it to hold on. And that was when, from beyond the hill, I heard the droning. Slowly, at first….slowly it rose. Slowly, a horrible whining, a horrible, horrible cry rained down. And then it became clearer: tornado sirens, blanketing the city, exasperating our hearts. But the bird and I both knew, it was no act of nature that approached us. I looked down at him, and he at me, as if he were asking me, why this morning? Why today? Why us?

    The side of the coffee shop burst into flames and collapsed into the street, an explosive shell rocked the street. I could hardly walk straight. Cradling the little crow, I ran. I ran like the primate I was.

    Sirens wailed behind me as I left my quietness and entered the gunfire. My denial…I should have stayed inside. My mother—Gideon! Were they okay? This violence…this war…they said it had ended. They said the Endless war was finally over. I looked up at a building as it collapsed into a thick cloud of dust. The bird flew desperately in my hands, shrieking about as I rounded a corner, my feet slamming against the street. Hidden men, tucked away in the crevices of buildings, rifles against their hearts, leapt out into the street and shot into the fog, yelling and screaming at their patriots to fire, fire, fire and dodge hell. One of the soldiers grabbed me with his dirty hands, his helmet strapped loosely to his head, “What the hell are you doing down here! Get the hell out of here, god dammit! Move! Move! Move!” I shook off his death grip and stared past him. I’ll never forget the scene. It’s a shame the only memories…the only memories I can revisit are the darkest, the most somber, the most fearsome. His eyes, they stared into mine, so blue and bare, so human, so large. He breathed heavily, searching for some lost combination of words to excuse his participation in the atrocity. But nothing. And before he could give me another breath, I was covered in blood, staring at his once human face—now penetrated and disfigured—slammed onto the cold ground beneath my feet. From the fog, they poured in, their guns and explosives in hand. No outfits, no uniforms, no games. They dressed like you or I; they walked like you or I; perhaps they were you or I.

    I shook the blood off, and felt the bird smacking against my hand, peeping loudly. The gunshots echoed behind me as I rounded another corner. The men yelled and yelled, louder and further than their bullets, their voices striking through me.

    I was close to home, not far from here. I could only hope they had made it into the cellar in time. If not… Another explosion hit, tossing me onto the ground. The bird nearly escaped from my grasp, but I stopped it from flying off into the dust at the last moment. “No!” I shouted. “We’ll make it! We’re almost there, dammit! You can’t leave now!” Hollering from around the corner behind me. I had to move. Just one more open stretch and I was home. And I did pray to someone that those guns would fail, if only for a moment.

    I watched the blood on my shoes scrape against the ground as I licked the dust off my lips. Crashing…the horrible crashing! I could hear it from behind me, as if a thousand fireworks had been lit in a boastful celebration, as if a monster moaned beneath the city. But if only, if only. Most men would wish a monster than a war, and I’d have to say the same. A helicopter flew overhead. And another, and another. To my right, two men, clad with assault rifles, tossed bodies down from a building. The bodies screamed on their way down. A crunching sound ended the bodily screams. If not for shielding the bird, I would have held my ears to forget the sound of bone against pavement. A sound like nothing else, a sound you can’t forget. When the body crushes itself against the ground like a thick piece of meat...and the bones crack and the organs shift…a sound like nothing else.

    My home, there in the distance! I just barely see it through the fog! Each step burned more than the last. But I would make it. I had to. I had to. The voices behind me drew closer. Closer. Closer. I swear I could feel their breath on my neck as I made my way nearer and nearer to my bastion. Just as I neared my neighborhood, something jumped up and bit me on my foot. I tumbled down, down onto the ground. As I collapsed, the baby crow flew from my hands, up toward the sun, aged from war, ready to escape. But before he embarked on his journey, a hand reached out and darkened the sun with its grasp, grabbing the bird. I had been shot in the ankle, bitten by the Endless War. A masked soldier, surrounded by his squadron, stood over me. I could hardly understand the man, his voice cloaked undernearth his thick metal mask.

    Two, thick metal horns protruded from the top of the horrible thing. Empty, cavernous eyes gaped at me, revealing only the pupils of the soldier behind it. An open mouth below a twirling metal mustache was surrounded by ornate swirls and decadent carvings. A havoc of beauty it was, resting upon the eyes of a broadened man, clad head to toe in haunting black. He cocked his head at me and laughed, the men around him silent. The bird peeped and peeped, frantically trying to escape from the clutches of the darkness around him.

    “How is it you are still alive, citizen?” He looked up at the sun, bird in hand. I clenched my wound and tried to find my breath. His other hand removed a pistol from a holster. I watched it twirl gracefully through his fingers.

    “Looks like he’s not afraid of death, eh?” said one of the other men. Everyone laughed around me. The dark one rose over me, closer, up against my face. I stared into the steel.

    “A true miracle you survived this day, citizen. Perhaps…someone is looking out for you. Yet here you lie on the ground of the Endless War. Here you lie so hopeless and cold. A damn pity.” He put his gun to my head. I closed my eyes. What does a man think right before death, with a gun to his head?  I still can’t recall what it was beyond the fear, drenching and foul.

    “Please,” I said. The soldiers laughed. But the dark one stopped them with a stare.

    “You know nothing. You are like any other. And that is why you will be my messenger. That is why you live.”

    “Who are you?” I asked.

    “Who are you?” He repeated my words and removed the gun from my head, putting it into his holster. “But do tell them, the Yeux Mouillés de Larmes send their regards. Tell them we are alive and we are well and we have an Endless War that yearns to be finished.”

    “Tell who?”

He laughed through his steel face and crushed the bird, silencing it for good, dropping it onto me and kicking my bullet-wound.

    “Everyone.

And as quickly as they destroyed me, they left me.

    I screamed and scraped my tears. My bird... my bird… I clenched my fists and bit my teeth as I stood and hopped forward. I had no time for that masked son of a bitch and his French affairs. I smelled fire. The city beyond the fog…ablaze. And there in the distance, eastward, my house, my home…I could finally see it clearly now.

    “Mom! Mom!” I yelled as I hopped toward the house, the left side already heavily aflame. “Mom? Mom!” As soon as I opened the front door, a plume of smoke hit me. My eyes struggled to open. Holding my arm to my face, I made my way through, searching for a human-figure. I continued to yell, but the smoke made it nearly impossible to open my mouth at all. I made my way toward the cellar, beneath the master bedroom. Mustering all my strength, I yanked it open and dropped down, landing on my bloody foot. I screamed, biting my hand as hard as I could until I could see again. Covered in the dust and blood of Los Angeles, I stared at Gideon, who stared at me with a twisted face.

    “Get out! Get out! You’ve done enough! Leave us alone! Leave us alone!” He screamed at me, waiving a crooked pipe through the air.

    “Gideon…” I struggled to my feet, “Gideon, it’s me! It’s Fellow!” He stopped, set the pipe down and wheeled himself toward me.

    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…Fellow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to exacerbate things.” He rubbed his eyes, which were finally moist and awake, far from the usual cracks I was used to seeing, so tired and finished. And those awakened eyes wandered to the corner of the cellar, a hesitant glancing between me and that corner. That dark corner.

    “Is she dead?” I asked him, walking into the darkness. He wheeled himself after me.

    “She’s hurt, Fellow. She’s been shot. In the stomach.” He stopped me before I could reach the corner. Looked at me right in the eyes. “She’s been shot in the stomach. I don’t think she’s going to see it out.” I moved past him, lunging through the darkness, deeper into the cellar, Gideon squeaking behind all the while. And then…yes, my mother…it was true. My mother had been shot. In the stomach. She plugged her wound and struggled to focus on me. I held my mouth…I couldn’t…there was nothing. I was nothing. Weeping didn’t make it any less real. Didn’t make the blood stop pouring out of her. I wouldn’t let her die down there, though. I couldn’t. She reached up to me with her free hand. It shook, pale and gaunt, a trembling aspen.

    “You’re covered in dust, what happened to you? I was so worried something…happened…to you.”

    “Mom…Christ, Mom, what did they do to you? Why would they do this?”

    “Oh, you know men and their war games. You know how it is. Things happen. Not everyone gets to be so lucky each day.”

    “No, Mom. No…no…”

I held her.

    “Fellow, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye…”

    “Please, mom, don’t do this, please. God. God dammit!” I punched the wall. Slumped down next to her. And I cried. I cried to her. I gave her myself, raw.

    “Of all the things I thought I’d say to you last, I’ve forgotten them all. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on my cheek. “You look more pale than I do.” I laughed amidst the tears.

    “You’re gonna be fine, mom. You don’t look pale at all. You look beautiful. You always…you’re always beautiful.” I watched her watch me and thought nothing but the pain and pleasure in that moment. Gideon shouted toward me in a hush.

    “Fellow! Above us! We have to keep quiet.”

The soldiers. They walked above us, their boots bringing dust into the cellar air below. Gideon and I huddled around my mother in the corner, our sleeves to our mouths.

    “And what do you plan to do when you find him?” One of the soldiers spoke to another. There were too many footsteps to decipher, too many boots above our heads. Four…maybe five, but maybe it was seven or eight pairs. The dust fell and we were still.

    “I will kill him when I find him. That is what I will do.”

The voice…the man in the steel mask…

    “And who have you taken these orders from? Why all this for one man?”

    “That is not of your concern.”

    “Sir, this house is empty. No sign of anyone here.” My mother stirred.

    “Fellow, I know I could’ve been a better mother to you and--” Gideon shot me a look as I put a hand over my mother’s mouth. And then, from above us, silence. A lone pair of boots moved through the house, slowly, cold and calculating. They stopped right above our heads.

    “Burn the houses. All of them. No one leaves. Understood? No half measures. No loose ends.”

    “You can’t be serious! Who do you think you are? You’ve already burned the city! You can’t burn down—” A gun shot. A loud thud above us. I flinched as Gideon shook his head and my mother winced.

    “Burn the houses.”

Twelve boots in, ten boots out. They left. And again, only the faint sound of tornado sirens in the distance. I let go of my mother.

    “So…cold, Fellow. Why is it so cold? Why is it so cold?”

    “You’re fine, Mom. Everything’s going to be fine, okay?” She moaned as I looked at her wound. “We have to take her somewhere, to someone,” I said to Gideon.

    “We have to get out of this place if you want to make any future plans at all, my friend.”

    “I’ll lift you up first and then Mom, alright?”

We crawled our way out of the cellar and into the main room. Carrying my mother, still covered in the blood of the military man, we escaped through the back entrance and into the woods that stood behind the neighborhood, Gideon wheeling himself behind us. We stood at the edge of the woods and watched as the soldiers returned in their war machines. The wanton bastards…in some old-fashioned amusement, they burned everything with crude torches. They burned everything. They burned everything. Not without hesitation, staring at the flames of our lives, we turned our backs and trudged through the trees. My mother’s skin grew cold.

    Oh, Christ...another black out. Didn’t always used to be this bad, but lately... Where was I? I looked around. My mother’s grave, in the grove. It had to be Sunday. Cloudier than usual. How long had I been out for? I stood up, brushed the dirt off me. My head spun. 2092... Seventeen years ago, she passed away. Seems like yesterday. Or a life time. Couldn’t decide. Every Sunday evening I visit her, lilies in hand. I tell her how Harmony is, how the village looks. I tell her about the long days, about Gideon. I tell her how she isn’t the only one who left us too early. No, no, Gideon is still around, I assure her. In fact, he’s hell-bent on seeing me die well before he finally chooses to, even says I’ll go mad before he does. We’ll see, I say.

    I tell her I’ll see her next Sunday, tell her to get some rest. I walk away. It’s always hard to say goodbye. Never gets any easier at least. And as much as I love speaking to her, I know I will always feel sick during those newfound silences where her voice is supposed to be. But the sun rises the next morning and so I choose to, too.

   Sunday evening, I left my mother. It was then that the fields tickled my hands as I left my past for my present.

    I don’t recollect thinking about anything on the way back to town. Three-awns and fescues thwacked my jeans as the village lights shone at the bottom of the hill. And I could swear the moon smiled and guided me back home that night. As disconcerting as silence was to some, I welcomed it.

    The village stood before me like any other night, but I felt a stark hesitation to enter. Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was insanity. I shrugged the feeling off and entered as a light flickered on and off above the postal office. I waited an eternity for that light to burn out, but it seemed as indecisive as a light could be. And the next eternity I found myself in my house.

    I felt ill; the sickness of an orphan. A shelf with ancient Oriental statuettes and face-masks stared back at me, tokens of my grandfather’s travels. White plaster walls, stained and worn by time, wrapped around cheap white doors and lace curtains. Paintings of things I would never see lined the walls: a jaguar, a lion, the cosmos. A worn antique table no higher than my knees sat in the center of the room, on which laid books, scattered about, and a mug now festering with a grey substance. A lighter wrapped in twine, a box of tissues, isopropyl alcohol, scattered notes and papers, a jar of writing instruments... If the things I own define me, I guess I’m no puzzle. An ashtray in the center of the table, empty. A box of tea. A pair of earrings. Incense. And there in the corner by the fireplace, sat Gideon.

    He wore a thermal shirt and long underwear, a black jacket, black socks, red scarf. He always stared into the fireplace, as if it were trying to tell him something, only he couldn’t understand its crackle. I sat down in a leather chair and took off my boots and jacket.

    “Full moon tonight. Seen it?” I asked. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the fire. “You know, I’ve been thinking about going away for awhile. Somewhere. Anywhere, really.” Gideon didn’t respond. But I continued. “I don’t know what it is...everything just seems different since, well, you know.”

    I lit up a cigarette and joined him in the corner.

    “Get any sleep?” He nodded.

    “Good, good.” I put my hand on his shoulder and sat back down. I couldn’t leave Gideon. But I had to move on from this. I don’t know where the feeling came from, but it drove my feet into the ground and my tongue into my teeth. I put out my cigarette and picked up a half-eaten bagel from the table and took a bite. Slightly stale. But I hadn’t eaten all day. It was fine. I was fine, most likely.

    I couldn’t tell you when it was that I lost myself, if there even was an exact moment. But maybe it was then. As mundane as a bite of a bagel was, as my teeth sunk into its being, I felt a desperate urgency to leave as soon as possible. It wasn’t...it wasn’t a reaction to danger, nor paranoia. I couldn’t explain it. I put down the bagel.

    “I’m sorry,” I told Gideon, who had moved himself in front of the television. “Sometimes I just feel things and I have to do them and I don’t know why. It’s strange. I’m strange. And you deserve a better life. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you.” I lowered my head. That feeling crossed over me again, some supreme loneliness, maybe mourning, but it felt different. Gideon sat in silence and watched the News.

    After the incident, I’d only heard him speak a handful of times, maybe twice. I don’t know how he felt. And maybe neither did he. But this was his life now, and it had been mine as well for quite some time, at least since Mother left. Now I took care of Gideon. It was a task I never enlisted for willingly. No enjoyment in it. But I have to lie to myself. Honesty is a sickness and is treated only by optimism. I am happy because I have to be. And I am only sad because I choose to see reality as it is.

    “Do you think I’m strange, Gideon?” I held back my emotion and pinched my arm and admired the hardwood floor. It was hand-scraped Walnut. Allspice. Low gloss, Century Farm collection. Mother picked it out.

    I listened. Silence. I picked my head up. Gideon had turned off the television and wheeled himself toward me. Slowly, he made his way across the small room and sat in front of me. His hand shook as he put it on my arm. Breathing heavily, his face contorted and his mouth opened.

    “Always... be... strange.” He let go and wheeled himself back to the television and began watching the News again.

    I grabbed a blanket and closed my eyes on the couch on the other side of the room. The fire burned itself out, and Gideon turned off the world and slept in the corner. The moon shined through the window onto the Oriental figurines. There in that quaint little house, I rolled over and tried to find the darkness.

    Aches riddled my body as I opened my eyes. Still dark out. Had I only slept a few hours? Why did I feel so terrible? I rose and opened the curtains. Moon was still in the sky, the village was dark. Only the hum of the television remained, with Gideon sitting, staring deeply into the phosphorescence.

    Twelve-thirty-eight in the morning. But the clock said it was the thirteenth of May...

    “Is it the thirteenth? Did I sleep for an entire day? How did I sleep so long...” No response. I walked over to the television to check the date. Sure enough, it read: May 13th, 2099. “How did I sleep for an entire day?” Must have been another blackout. But I’d never had them so close together... this one seemed different. Something seemed...off. I sat down in the leather chair and caressed the lines in my hands. Stood up. Put on my jeans and jacket.

    “I’m gonna go out for a bit, I’ll be back later. You gonna be okay?” Gideon looked over at me, but turned back to the News. “I’ll be right back.”

    The door stuck when I closed it behind me, the cold air stung my hands.

    Lights lined the road as I walked toward Bill’s Place at the end of the line. On either side of me, homes with neon blue porch lights lined the way. Opaque glass doors reflected the light onto the street, creating a scintillating path that wrapped itself around the entire town. I saw no ones, but that wasn’t too unusual. Still, I shivered. After walking a few minutes, I stood at the entrance to the bar. A sliding compartment opened at the top of the door and a pair of eyes poked out, bulging red eyes that hadn’t seen sleep in God knows how long. And yet, my eyes bulged just as red.

   “State your name.” The eyes narrowed at me.

    “What?”

    “State your name!” Had everyone forgotten who I was? A stranger in my own town... Perhaps I’d slept longer than I thought.

    “Fellow.” The eyes widened and the slot closed shut. The door opened. I walked in, sat at the bar, folded my hands together. Eyes red. A pain in my back.

    I had been there before, but the place seemed foreign. Everyone spoke in a whisper the moment I walked in. Had I interrupted something? Small droplets of water lined the top of the counter. I squished some between my fingers.

    “Can I help you?” The bartender stood over me. Did he not recognize me? Acting as if I were some vagabond. But maybe I was.

    “Gin and tonic, please.”

    “Water for you.” He walked away, filled a glass with water, put it in front of me. “Not foolin’ me, not again, no foolin’ me. No, sir.” Everyone stared a moment. But as the bartender left, the noise returned and the silence evaporated.

    Was I forgetting some memory? Had I done something wrong? When was the last time I was here? I couldn’t remember. Maybe I didn’t want to remember.

    Above me, a sign:

THIS ESTABLISHMENT HAS BEEN GRANTED

THE RATING OF A+ FOR OUTSTANDING SERVICES

BY THE CCC (CIVILIZED COMPANY COMITTEE)

Outstanding services... I looked around the place. Everything felt fuzzy and filthy. I knew I had been here before, but I didn’t recognize much. A rusty bucket caught droplets from upstairs, one after another. In the corner, a woman sat on a man’s lap and kissed him; his hand on her thigh, her hand tightly on his hand. A faint musical hum came from a radio in the back, the oldest radio I’d ever seen. All the while, the bartender smoked his lungs out with his eyes closed, smacking the radio when the music skipped. Next to me, two men watched the News on the television above. One, a young man with glasses, spoke to the other, an older gentleman. Drinking my water, I held my breath and listened to their conversation.

    “So who’re you voting for?” asked the young man.

    “I’m old. You know who I’m voting for.”

    “Yeah?” He laughed, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

    “It means...” He turned to the boy, “It means, if I were you, I would shut up, drink up, and watch the News.” The boy paused and took a sip of his drink and looked up at the television.

    “So does that mean you’re voting for Unisync United?” No response. I had barely touched my water. I kept listening.

    “Well, I’m voting for Herald International,” the boy said to himself. A stark silence followed these words and I felt a chill on my neck. The bartender’s eyes opened, his lungs relieved. Radio static. I drank my water.

    “Did someone say Herald International?” A voiced wandered from across the bar. The old man took his drink and walked away. I could only help but sip, sit and stare. “You! Young boy! Come here.” The voice emerged from a dimly lit corner. “Come here, I insist upon it.” An older man in a dark blue suit with a rosewood cane. Eyes as smooth as his suit. He stood with a ferocious posture. Held a gun pointed outward and walked toward the boy—who still sat at the bar and faced forward. I could feel his fear. I, too, felt it. He spoke monotone as he  stepped coldly toward the boy, his gun level with his head. One Footstep. Another. Another. Foot. Step.

    “I’m sorry,” said the boy.

    “If you speak one more time I will shoot you.” At this point, the others in the bar hardly seemed to notice the affair. Even the bartender’s eyes had shut again. My glass was empty. The man put the gun to the boy’s skull, through his thick blonde hair, against the back of the bone. He whispered something into his ear and looked at me. I clenched my drink. The old man in the suit whistled. Other suited men stood up  and joined him. Putting his gun away, he yelled a short, animalistic cry and turned around. I wish I could have helped the boy, but at the time I held my life far too dear to me and chose to instead protect my most important belonging: myself. Nevertheless I stood up for a moment, fists ready. Everyone ran out of the bar as the men beat the boy onto the ground. There they kicked and prodded and smacked him into a bloody pulp. They kicked him again and again, taking turns holding his brittle body and smashing his head in. I turned around and put my shaking fists down. The old man with in the blue suit faced me and stared into my eyes and pointed right at me, grinning with every tooth he had. I ran out of the bar and tripped onto the dirt path, landing on my shoulder. In the distance, the townspeople walked off into their neon blue homes and shut their doors. I watched the doors turn opaque as they locked.

    Eventually, those animals left the bar and walked right over me, but did nothing. I watched their feet climb over me one by one, shoe by shoe, and let them go off into the distance. I waited for one to turn around. But they left me alive, looking up at the stars, covered in dirt. I got up, brushed myself off and went into the bar.

    The bartender knelt down over the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. I walked over and stood over them.

    “I think he’s trying to say something. What do you think?” He looked at me.

    “We let this happen. Why didn’t you stop him?” I asked.

    “Better him than I.”

    “We’re monsters.”

    “No, no, no. We’re only human. But those men...perhaps.”

    “Why did this happen?”

    “It’s election season. What do you expect?”

He stood up and lit a cigarette, leaving me alone with the boy. I could hardly tell he was human. His face was so smashed it was difficult to find any facial formations. I put my ear to his mouth and tried as hard as I could to make out what he was trying to say. He leaned close to my ear, gasping in blood. But the words were distinct:

“Vote for Unisync United.” The boy died a few minutes later. And so I left the bar, covered in dirt, blood, and fear.

    I had heard stories of partisan wars in the past, but never had something come so close to home. Harmony had always been a quaint place, it was only recently that it had transformed into a slum. But be it with most things, it was difficult to think while covered in blood.

    I walked down the dirt path, back toward the house, past the  blue hope. The lights flickered in front of the opaque doors. There I was, the only one in town, in no rush to return home, but in no hurry to take my time getting there. There was nowhere to go and no why to go there. Except Gideon, who I knew was still in that corner, watching the News, waiting for me to return. So I picked up my pace and rounded the corner. Darkness permeated the air as if it were more than an absence, closing in on me, permitting me only to see a distant light that never seemed to come any closer. I started running. Where was my house? The streets blended together. I couldn’t remember where I lived. Where was I? My head hurt. Where did I live? And that...well, that was the first time I saw him, there in the distance, underneath a street light.

    He wore a yellow suit and a wide-brimmed hat, strange and dapper. He twirled a bottle of red liquid  and stood legs crossed against the pole. The light enveloped him divinely.  Looking down, he spoke from the distance.

    “Well, well, well, well...after all this time.” I couldn’t see his face, but I was invited by my own curiosity. And so in that moment I forgot where I was going or who I was and shuffled forward. When I reached him, he walked away from the pole and into the darkness. Turned around. Faced me. Twirling the bottle, he looked right at me.

    “Are you hurt?”

    “It’s not my blood.”

    He turned around and smiled. “Fascinating.”

    “Who are you?”

    He sighed and faced me. “Ember. My name is Ember. And I assume you are...Fellow, correct?”

    I nodded my head.

    “Fellow...oh Fellow, you haven’t any idea how strange the odyssey ahead is. Or even who you are.”

    “The odyssey ahead?”

    “I’m inclined to foreshadow to pique your interest, Fellow. But onward...onward to business. I have someone I would like you to meet. Would you like to meet him?”

    “Who is it?”

    “Funny. Most people...would tell me to hop the damn hell away.”  He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d need you to go very far away to see this person. You’d have to leave behind...whatever it is that compels you to keep coming back to this place, back to Harmony.”

    “But I’ve never even left California...” I looked down at my feet. He walked closer to me until his feet nearly touched mine.

    “I know you, Fellow. You belong in the city. With us. Trust me.” He turned around into the dark. “I’m a strange and mysterious character, I know my way around a story or two, so you ought to come with me. At least, if we are to speed things up a bit.”

    “How is it you think you know where I belong? Who are you to decide where I belong?”

    “It would be wise to save the questions for later, Fellow. But now, I need an answer. Will you come with me? Or will you stay behind with the rest of this...earthy place? Your Harmony?”

    “I should be getting home. Sorry. It was nice meeting you, though.” I walked away.    

    My house had to be somewhere around here. Maybe I would remember in a moment or two.

    “But we have to advance the plot! Or else there’s no point to us! Your existence is merely a thought! Besides, you can’t even remember where you live, can you! You sad little man!” Ember shouted after me. I stopped. But I kept walking. I left Ember in the distance, under the light from which he came.

    All the houses looked the same to me. Which one was mine? Why couldn’t I remember? I rounded corner after corner. Nothing. I slumped down against the wall of a house and looked up at the blue light. Everything was so blue and pristine in Harmony. And then there was me, so pale.

    The door next to me squeaked open and a figure stepped out. Looking over, I could see Ember’s head in the doorway.

    “I found your house.” I looked around the porch, but didn’t recognize it. I followed Ember through the doorway into the house and looked around. He was right. It was mine.

    “How the hell did you get into my house?” I demanded.

    “Very carefully, Mr. Fellow, very carefully.” He stood in the center of the room and admired the place. He held his hat between his arm and chest. I stood across the room from him. Sure enough, Gideon watched the News in the corner, a blanket over his legs, a scarf around his neck.

    “This must be the famous...erm, Gideon? Is it?” Ember looked at him a moment, then back at me. Gideon sighed. “Exciting fellow, Fellow. A rich history inside that one. But for another story, I suppose.”

    “Why are you in my house?”

    “Good question. But I have a better one: why aren’t you asking me to leave your house?” His question was valid, and I had no answer. There was something enigmatic about Ember that compelled me to listen, as if I had known him a thousand years ago. Old friends, rekindled.

    “I can’t leave behind Gideon, Ember. He needs me.”

    “Yes, but do you need him?” Ember sat down in the leather chair and stroked the arms carefully. “But you’re right, he does need you. But great things demand great sacrifice. Yes?”

    “And what great things am I needed for? And who is it I’m meeting exactly?”

    “I am not here to answer your questions. I am here to take you...I am here to take you to the place you belong. Now I will ask you again, will you come with me and leave this behind?”

    “Do you honestly expect me to trust a complete stranger and leave my life behind?”

    “Yes! Because this stranger is offering you your only ticket out of this tragically boring life! Out of this insanity you call a living!”

    I said nothing. Gideon shook his head and sighed.

    “Fine. But when you change your mind, meet me tomorrow night. Midnight. At the top of the hill past the forest. Make it as difficult for you as I can.” He looked at me and put on his hat. I watched him grab the door knob on the way out. But before the door shut, he looked out at the night and spoke: “The man you are to meet, his name. You wanted his name, right?”

    “Sure.”

    “Jack Rogue. That’s his name.” He closed the door. I closed my curtains and pulled up a chair next to Gideon.

    “You hear that? He wants me to meet Jack Rogue, Gideon.” Gideon watched the News. I put my hand on his shoulder. “I can take you to live at a place while I am gone. I know they’ll take good care of you. I just...can’t have you stay here alone, it wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry. But I have to do this.” Gideon turned off the television with his shaking hand and rolled himself to face me. He wheezed heavily.

    “Why?” he asked me.

    “I don’t know. I wish I had a better answer for you, but I don’t.” I stood up. Gideon wheeled himself toward the window and stared at the curtains. I walked over and opened them. He sighed. “Everything will be fine. I’ll be back before you know it and it’ll be like nothing changed. Who knows, maybe I’ll even make a little extra money and we can do something together. You and me. How does that sound?” He didn’t respond. He reached up and closed the curtains, turned and looked at me. His eyes pierced into mine.

    “I don’t need you anymore. So go.” Staring at him, I broke my gaze and turned off the light, leaving us in darkness. I laid on the couch. Jeans and shoes on. Head of sweat. Tired eyes. Tomorrow I planned to meet a yellow-suited man named Ember at the top of a hill, past a forest, so he could take me to meet another man whom the only thing I knew—save his name—was his recent desire to become President of the United States of America.

    Who was Ember? He seemed other-worldly to me, an ethereal thing.

    I kicked off my shoes and clenched my fists. Maybe I even fell asleep.

    Let the grip go. Let the grip...go. And the soft machine in my head created a cathedral of dreams. Splinters in my wooden throat, I burst into noise.