“I’ve finally found you.”
I looked at the man with a confused expression, trying to keep a smile on my face as everyone at my 30th birthday party was now staring at me and not saying a word.
“You’re Patricia VanLeuwen, no? I don’t even know why I’m asking. I know who you are. It’s written all over your arms. The throne of Alimanthra awaits. Do you consent to being transported?”
I was at a complete loss, which didn’t happen very often. I was very quick on my feet with quips. What was this man was saying to me? Written all over my arms? The throne of a place I’ve never heard of? There weren’t many thrones that even existed in the world anymore that I know of, besides Great Britain. At this point, I just had to assume one of my friends was playing a weird joke on me, so I spread open my arms and said, “Of course! Take me there!”
The man snapped his fingers. My vision went dark. I then felt like I was having one of those dreams where you’re falling. I jolted awake before I hit rock bottom. When I opened my eyes, however, I wasn’t at my birthday party anymore. I was standing on a wooden bridge of some sort. Refusing to believe this was real, I started to search for any reasonable explanation. Did my friends somehow drug my drink and get the drugs to hit at the exact moment? That seemed too smart, and also too cruel, for them to pull off.
After my brain came up with the first potential explanation, I finally looked around to take in my surroundings. And I just about lost my breath. My jaw certainly dropped. I was in a valley with a river cutting through it. Towering mountain peaks on either side of me. And an incredible castle in front of me. This man who, I supposed, transported me here was standing next to me on the drawbridge.
“See? Written all over your arms.” He gestured to my arms with a smirk on his face.
I raised my arms and looked at them. In swirling patterns, from shoulder to finger tips, the word Queen was glowing a soft gold all over my arms. At that point, my brain, not being able to process what was happening, just went into overdrive, and I passed out.
The stars were what she liked most about the sky. Then, they started to fall. The balloons were what she liked most about parties. Then, they started to climb.
Floating in the vast expanse. Free to ascend or descend. Tethered neither here nor there. Scared to float or plummet.
Up or down, left or right. Paralyzed by choices. Caught up in the in-between. Incapable of action.
Ethel woke up and felt dangerous. Well, as dangerous as an 88 year old woman can feel. The legs didn’t quite work the way she wanted them to anymore, nor did the back. But she was insanely good at scrabble. And she was really good at trash talking Terry because Terry was truly awful at the game. She slowly got up out of bed and got ready for the day. Today was going to be an exciting day, she could just feel it in her old brittle bones. She finally made it out of the house an hour later to (slowly) walk over to the town’s only cafe that happened to be at the end of the block where she lived. It was just like any other Thursday morning, meeting with the old geezer crew of the small town in which they lived. But she could feel that this wouldn’t be like just any other Thursday, she just wasn’t sure why yet. She walked in and waved to Darren, the barista. “The usual, Ethel?” he said as he started prepping the drink he knew that Ethel would want. “You’re a saint,” Ethel said as she sat down at the table that Mark and Terry already occupied. Before she could speak a word to the table, Terry said, “Ethel, it is wonderful to see you. Did you wake up this morning feeling extra mischievous?” Ethel’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me that you are feeling the same?” Mark looked at Ethel with a twinkle in his eye. “The very same, Ethel. Once Bruce gets here, we need to have a very serious discussion about what we should do today. But I would love nothing more than to have a fun day today.” The door bell jingled and Bruce rolled in. At the same time, Darren brought over Ethel’s drip coffee with a splash of half and half. She smiled and thanked him. Bruce arrived at the table with a dangerous look in his eyes. Ethel thought that it was just destiny that they all woke up feeling the same way. “So are we causing some mayhem today or what?” said Bruce. “Let’s hear everyone’s best prank ideas. I’ll go first. We need walkie-talkies. We hide one in the ceiling and then throughout the day we meow into it so anyone who is in here at the time thinks that there’s a cat hidden somewhere.” Ethel looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this Bruce, but none of us have any chance in reaching a ceiling, especially not you with those worthless legs of yours,” she looked purposefully at his wheelchair. “We’d have to call in an assist for that one. My idea: we swap out all of the stock photos in picture frames in the general store with pictures of Ronald Reagan.” “Great idea, Ethel. Great idea. How about we buy a bunch of plastic cockroaches and scatter them around the block?” said Mark. They all nod in appreciation of the idea. Terry all of a sudden looked mutinous and they all leaned in to hear what her idea was. “Hear me out, we put a cucumber in random people’s mailboxes.” They all burst out laughing. Ethel didn’t remember the last time that she felt so giddy and bursting with anticipation. She felt like a young kid again, playing pranks on her siblings. It didn’t matter if anyone else found their prank funny, she was perfectly content.
I went to college to get away. To get away from my remaining family, from everyone that I knew. I wanted to start fresh. I needed to start fresh. Too many of the people close to me left, so I had to take it into my own hands: I had to be the one to do the leaving this time. So I went to the last place anyone I knew would go - Pueblo, Colorado. If you don’t know anything about Pueblo, let me give you a quick description in a few words - cowboy, conservative, druggy, and boring. Pretty much the exact opposite of San Francisco, well, besides druggy, because that’s pretty much everywhere. So there I was, in Pueblo, Colorado, free for the first time in my life. A completely new place. Death couldn’t follow me here, right? Pueblo was, well, Pueblo, but there were exactly zero people in the city that I knew. Which meant that there were zero people in this city that death could take away from me. I was enrolled in college to study Social Work. With all of the death in my life, I thought I’d be pretty good at helping others deal with grief as well. So there I was in my first ever college class. Psych 101. After half an hour, the professor was finished going through the syllabus when emo lanky kid sitting next to me said under his breath, “I thought everyone in here would be dead by the time that old hag finished the syllabus.” I glanced at him with a startled look. Seemed like a harsh thing to say about the kind-looking professor. I quickly looked forward again and avoided eye contact. The professor had continued on to lecturing about the anatomy of the brain and for what each part was responsible. “Now the frontal lobe is primarily responsible for taking action, both mental and physical. This lobe helps us plan, problem solve, make decisions. It is our impulse control -“ “So it is precisely the frontal lobe of this serial killer that I should be blaming for the uptick of murders happening in this place,” said the guy next to me, again, under his breath but definitely loud enough for me to still hear every single word. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to even be quiet about his comments or if he intended for me to hear them. How odd. I was a little weirded out by this guy, so I intended to sit somewhere else in the classroom next class. I was unfortunately running late for the next class and when I arrived, the only seat available was of course next to the emo guy. We had a pop quiz the second class and I observed that his name was Greyson. To my dismay, the morbid comments continued during that second class. Class after class, I somehow ended up sitting next to Greyson and having to listen to his comments. However, they got wittier and funnier over the course of the semester. I was no stranger to death - my father, my youngest sister, my uncle… So I let a few of my own morbid comments out to which Greyson responded with an approving smile. We eventually began chatting before and after class and realized that we had quite a bit in common, not limited to: being alone, a strong interest in the human mind, and basketball. As we became friends, I did notice that Greyson expertly avoided touching anyone, which wasn’t weird until he faked tripping to avoid bumping shoulders with someone in the hall. Finally, towards the end of that first semester, after we had studied together almost every day of the preceding month, I had to bring it up. “Hey Greyson, can I ask you a weird question?” He immediately got tense and a worried look appeared on his face. “I knew this was coming. Go ahead, I won’t lie.” Well his response certainly piqued my interest. Instead of being scared to ask the question, I became intrigued and bold. “You never touch anyone. You avoid it at all costs. What’s going on?” “Every person I have touched in the past has gone insane. Every. Single. One.” He looked me right in the eyes and was trying to impress something upon me. But I didn’t get it, so I pressed him. “How do you know that for sure? Are you cursed?” I reached out my hand across the table ready to tap him on the arm and he flinched away. “There’s something about me that I haven’t shared with you. And if I do, there’s no going back. I’ve never shared this little bit of information and been greeted with welcoming arms.” He looked genuinely scared. But I knew him. I knew him well. He was kind, genuine, witty, knowledgeable, and even loyal. I was also scared, because it felt like anyone important in my life ended up dead. In the few months that I’d known Greyson I was so confident in knowing that he was important to me. I wasn’t sure what he could drop on me that would convince me otherwise. I gave him a reassuring smile. “You can trust me, Greyson.” He looked back at me with wide eyes, “Weirdly, I do trust you. Okay. Don’t freak out. This doesn’t mean death.” DEATH? What was he about to say to me? All of a sudden, I was paralyzed with fear. Death is the one thing that I fear terrified about. “This is going to sound unbelievable, but I swear to god it’s the truth. I’m actually the Grim Reaper.” I looked at him stunned. Then I let out a nervous laugh. “And being the Grim Reaper precludes you from touching people?” He looked back at me without a glimpse of jest on his face. “Correct. If I touch someone, they can see both worlds: living AND dead. There is no reverting back. Forevermore, the touched person will see both worlds. Most don’t have the mental capacity to handle it. Hence why they go insane. It’s too much to process for the normal human brain. I was actually hoping that taking some psych classes would help me understand it better.” Of all the bombs that Greyson could have dropped on me, I can honestly say that this was not on the bingo card. I didn’t say anything to him for the next few minutes while I thought about this. Well, I was scared of death taking away another person that was important t’ me. But the Grim Reaper himself was effectively death, meaning that he couldn’t possibly be taken away from me. As I thought it through, I became insanely curious. Death had always been somewhat close to home for me, maybe that’s why I gravitated towards Greyson. After several minutes of quiet deliberation, I looked at him triumphantly. He looked back confused. “It really doesn’t feel like we interacted by chance. I’m already a little insane. I had to grow up really quickly when death seemed to be surrounding me ever since I was a small child. I think that it was destiny that we met here. Maybe since I’m already a bit crazy, your touch won’t be too much for me. I’m already accepting of death. What will be, will be. I’ve lived with that mantra for most of my life and I haven’t let it hold me back.” I reached out towards him without crossing the threshold, allowing him the choice still. “I feel confident that I’ll be okay. I can’t imagine that living your life has been easy without having any physical touch. Go ahead.” We made eye contact and I knew my life would never be the same. “There’s someone who’s been watching over you this whole time.” He hesitantly lifted his hand, then confidently clasped it with mine. Slowly my vision expanded. I don’t know how else to explain it. Beings materialized, engulfed in a purple-ish hue. I slowly looked around me and saw cats and dogs trotting around, along with a few people walking up and down the hallway outside. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw someone I didn’t think I’d ever see again and tears started welling up in my eyes. Little sis. “Thank you,” I whispered to Greyson.
Over in olde town, there is a little used bookstore tucked between two hip restaurants. The Pages was overlooked by most, but dear to me. The old bookstore had always been my escape, but today it felt different, almost magical.
As I walk through the door and hear the tinkle of the bell announcing my entrance, I’m instantly smiling. There’s just something about this place. I see the towering shelves that wind throughout the store. I smell the hundreds of thousands of pages that fill the space. I close my eyes and I can hear someone turning pages of a chosen book. I feel the spines of countless books as I make my way to the counter and I can almost taste my own anticipation of what Walt will have for me today.
It has been nearly three weeks since I have been able to step foot in The Pages, but I know that Walt will have a treasure set aside for me. He always does. And I really need an infusion of inspiration. The last three weeks have been taxing.
I round the corner, expecting to see Walt, who would light up when he sees me, but the counter has a young girl at it instead. My smile fades and disappointment begins to bloom. She looks up and with recognition, she smiles at me.
“You’re surely Remy? Walt knew you’d be back soon. He left an absolute gem of a book for me to give to you!” she looks genuinely excited to hand over this book that materialized in her hand from underneath the counter.
“Thanks, I think? How did you know who I was?” I ask skeptically as I approach the counter.
There is a fleeting look of uncertanty on her face. “Honestly? I didn’t, but I just had a feeling. Walt said I’d know who you were when you walked into the store, but gave no other clues to me. You must be special though because this book…” she trails off shaking her head with a coy smile on her face. She offers the book to me. “See for yourself.”
I reach my hand out and take the proffered book from her. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. A tear wells up in my eye. My favorite series as a child. How did Walt know?
“Open it up,” the girl quietly suggests.
So I do, and on the inside if the front cover is a note that reads, “Remy - never lose your imagination. Narnia is always just on the other side of that wardrobe. - C.S.”
I’m absolutely dumbfounded. I look and see its a first edition copy. Magical day in my favorite bookstore indeed.
I walk through the town with my companions, heads held high after we saved some children from an old hag on the outskirts of the surrounding forest. Damien is particularly exuberant after this encounter for some reason, as this was not one of our more exciting fights. He was also very peppy during the fight, throwing quip after quip around like he was having a conversation with an old friend instead of a hag. “We must go celebrate with the townspeople now that the pesky hag has been handled!” he says as he strides forward ahead of us. Damien makes it to the tavern first and as he enters he roars, “The hag lives no longer! Come now, let’s celebrate! A round for the whole tavern, on me!” He chuckles in joy as the others in the tavern stand up to thank him for taking care of the hag. I look over and see that Minnie is observing Damien with mild entertainment, rather than curiosity at his mood. “What’s up with Damien today?” I ask Minnie as we push through the tavern doors. “He seems more lively than normal, which is saying something.” Minnie gives me a smirk. “I may have slipped a Potion of Happiness into his morning juice. Was curious what it would do to his demeanor.” Damien is already regaling the townspeople of our fight with the hag, making it sound incredibly more action-packed than it actually was. “That old hag was trying to charm me by saying things like, ‘Oh you’re so strong my good sir! Can I use your toned abs to sharpen my dagger?’ But I wasn’t to be charmed or fooled. I knew how much a nuisance the creature had been for this town! Now, I enjoy a good pun, but her wits were no match to my blade. ‘We shall speak no more words today, hag!’ I said to her and true to my word, before she could speak another, I sliced the hag in twain with my greatsword.” As he finished the story the townspeople are all looking at him in awe and he is just beaming at all of them. I cannot believe that he commanded this sort of audience with that dreadful storytelling. I smile to myself as I go to get an ale from the bar. He may be overzealous because of the potion, but I can’t deny that his energy is contagious and the whole tavern is filled with joy because of him.
Peter is jostled awake by shake of his shoulder and someone softly saying, “Niccolo, you must arise. They’re expecting you.” Confused at the name he’s called, Peter opens his eyes and swears he’s still dreaming. He sees a woman in front of him with a weird smock sort of shirt on with some tights and boots. He’s immediately reminded of Robin Hood. Wait, was that actually a man? “Is something wrong Nic?” the woman asks in a deeper voice than Peter expected. Definitely a man. “Where am I?” Peter asks Robin Hood. Robin Hood looks at Peter with a very concerned look and hesitantly responds, “We’re at the theater around the corner from the cathedral. You’re about to go give a lecture to thousands of people about what the meaning of life is.” “I’m … doing what?” Peter takes several long blinks and slaps his face a few times. He can’t wake himself up from this dream, which is turning into a nightmare. He’s a CPA from Chicago. What did he know about the meaning of life? “I knew that last glass of wine wasn’t a good idea, but you always seem to pull it together in the end,” Robin Hood says as he grabs a cup of water and splashes it on Peter’s face. Peter scrambles out of the chair he was dozing in and only then does he realize that he’s in what is essentially a dress. The blood drains from his face. He makes a move to start running from the room, but he trips over his own feet as he’s wearing shoes that are not only insanely uncomfortable, but they also have heels. Robin Hood grabs his arm and helps him up. “Nic, that’s enough. We have to go on stage. Let’s go.” Robin Hood drags Peter out the door, through a hallway, and they arrive in the wings of a stage, in front of what he can only imagine are thousands of people who are here to hear someone, who is not Peter, give an enlightening speech about life. “Remember Nic, you need to project as much as possible. There are lots of people here to listen to your words.” Robin Hood leaves Peter standing there, legs shaking, while he walks up on stage to lots of polite clapping. “Thank you everyone for your presence today! I’m here to introduce you to one of the most enlightened minds of our time. He’s truly brilliant and has some pretty revolutionary ideas to share with you all today. Please welcome to this stage, Niccolo Machiavelli!” Robinhood turns toward Peter and waves him on stage. Machiavelli? The only thing that Peter could associate with Machiavelli in his mind are negative vibes. He was a bad dude, wasn’t he? No time to dwell on that as his feet are carrying him up on stage. Peter gets to center stage, looks out at all the people wearing silly outfits, and takes a deep breath. Time to tell them what he knows about life. None of these people have seen Forrest Gump. “Life is like a box of chocolates.”
I am still in shock that my name was read during the reaping for this year’s Hunger Games. Amelia Walker, tribute from District 7. What a joke. I guess I shouldn’t be too angry. I honestly don’t have much going for me. My parents are useless, their minds gone but bodies still kicking. My brother is addicted to pain killers and therefore also useless. I have no friends. I’m just kind of on my own, having to care for my parents while they are slugs since my brother is nowhere to be found most of the time. Maybe the Games will be good for me. I’m certainly made for them. This year, the tributes each get to bring one non-lethal item into the arena. And of course we all get to reveal it to the nation during the interviews with Caesar. The male tribute from my district is an idiot. Big burly 17 year old named Ross Moser. We can work together inside the arena if we wish - it tends to be a reliable way of surviving. I can probably make use of him. He certainly will be a good distraction while I … I’m waiting what feels like hours to be brought up on stage for my interview. Finally they call my name and I stride out onto the stage with my best resting bitch face. Caesar asks the same annoying questions to me as everyone else before. I roll my eyes and answer with one word. “So, Amelia, I’d just love to know what your non-lethal item is. Care to share?” asks Caesar, like I have a choice to share or not. I begrudgingly pull my item out of my pocket. It’s a mask that I used to wear playing pretend as a child. The crowd is so confused. Caesar takes it in astonished, then smiles wide as he says, “Amelia, you know I have to ask you to put that on.” So I do. And I become a different person completely. They can’t see my face anymore, now I’m Alicia. And Alicia is CONFIDENT. Alicia is CHARMING. Alicia is LETHAL. Alicia is going to make sure that Amelia wins the Hunger Games. Caesar asks more questions and Alicia responds with eloquence and intelligence. The people of the Capitol love Alicia. After the interview, the mask comes off. I’m me again and my mentor is flabbergasted. Now everyone that I’ve fought in District 7 will know that the weird kid Amelia has been kicking all of their asses in the ring. And when Alicia is done, they’ll all realize Alicia could have easily killed each and every one of them but she was holding back. The thought of their expressions at this revelation makes me smile. It’s finally time to get into the arena. We’re released into the arena and I sprint into the forest. Once under cover, I put the mask on so that Alicia can deal with this atrocity. Alicia thrives under pressure. Alicia is especially skilled in hand to hand combat and knows all of the pressure points in the human body. As long as she can get into close combat with someone, she has never lost a fight. Even if the opponent is nearly twice her size. Alicia stays out of sight and travels by jumping from tree to tree until she can find Ross. She must find Ross so that he can be her decoy - distracting the other tributes while Alicia can get clean hits on them when they least expect it. They just need to make sure that nobody sees them together for maximum effectiveness. She finds Ross as he bashes in the head of the girl from District 5 as the sun is setting on day 1. The tributes from Districts 8, 9, and 10 also die on the first day. On day 2, Alicia and Ross easily take out the tributes from Districts 11 and 12. On day 3, they get rid of the District 5 boy and both from District 1. Day 3 is quiet. On day 4, Ross is downed with a dart to the neck. Before taking out the District 3 girl, Alicia waits to see if the District 3 boy is here too. She’s not disappointed, as he materializes from a nearby tree. As they gather around Ross’s body to confirm he’s dead, Alicia drops onto the girl, taking her out in an instant as she smashes the girls face into the ground. In the same movement, she comes up with a high kick right into the neck of the boy. They had no chance. She grabs the device that the District 3 girl used to shoot the dart along with the extra poison darts she had in a pocket. Alicia hears screams in the distance and she makes her way that direction as fast as possible. She just wants to be done with this. When she arrives at the scene, it appears that the District 2 tributes are the ones still standing as the District 6 tributes lie on the ground. That means there’s only Districts 2, 4, and herself left. She takes aim at the boy from District 2, but just before she shoots, a trident soars past her ear. Well, they know she’s up here now. She drops onto the girl from 2 and feels a familiar crunch. She jumps back before the boy from 2 can stab her with a dagger. She is able to disarm him and land a nice teeth punch, but not able to down him before she feels another trident strike her foot, pinning her in place. She looks up in agony as she knows she’s trapped. Alicia reaches up to remove the mask, to bring Amelia back for this moment. I thought that Alicia couldn’t lose. Turns out patience wasn’t one of the things in which Alicia excelled. I proudly look the District 2 boy in the eyes as he stabs my heart.
I swear to god, I just saw an envelope materialize on my desk from nowhere. I blink ten times to make sure I’m not seeing things, but the letter is definitely still there. Not only that, but it’s addressed to Adaline Murphy, aka me. I hesitantly pick up the envelope and look around, wondering if I’m about to see Ashton Kutcher pop up in my window telling me I’ve been punked. Seeing no one, I open the letter. It looks like my cousin Joey’s handwriting. Odd.
Ad - watch your back. They’ve figured out you are the expert on reality hopping. I’m so sorry, but I can’t help anymore.
Reality hopping? What in the world does that mean? I just saw Joey for lunch 20 minutes ago. Before I can attempt to make further conclusions, there’s a flash in the room and suddenly I see myself standing in front of me. But I look COOL.
“No time to chat Addy, we have to go now. Only you can help me.” She held her hand out towards me as she muttered, “And maybe 5 other Addy’s.”
