“Come out already we’re gonna be late!” … “I’m serious, we don’t have time to play games anymore! Are you even dressed at least?” … “_Fuckin christ, I can’t do this._” “… you swore, you’re not supposed to do that.” “Great, _now_ you hear me.” … “Look, I know it’s scary and I know that it hurts but if you don’t say goodbye to mom now yo—“ “NO! _That’s not mom. _Mom’s always smiling, and she smells like cookies, and she’s always laughing, and she feels so warm every time I hug her. That’s not mom, why do you keep pretending that it is.” … … “will you please just come out” … _“please”_

Four photos in sequence, Two figures in frame; A moment frozen in time, Revealing their shame. In the photo that leads, The left one trembles; Hands on her chest, She steels her resolve. In the photo that follows, The right one’s concerned; A glance to the left, His brows upturned. Photo three shows what’s after: A look of bewilderment, A hand on his lips; Her eyes look away. In the photo finale, Two figures blush red; Their hands intertwined, Their thoughts miles ahead.

I am one of billions. My light inconsequential, a mere flicker in the eyes of some grand observer. But still, I shine. The onerous trek I take bathes the Earth below me in light, a brief respite from the ever looming blackness of the void — the primordial state of nothing from where everything began and where everything will return. In the moments when i cannot, the light of my brothers serves as a reminder that the war against darkness is not over. It is a losing battle, but one we continue to fight nonetheless. For in those fleeting moments of starlight civilizations have formed, risen, and fallen; each reaching heights unimaginable to those before them. Their growth exponential, we bathe them in light to bask in their radiance — watching with bated breath to see how far they can rise. And so we shine, until we cannot.

I remember the day you left, your hand in mine, a promise unspoken. _We’ll meet again. _ And it hurt, and I cried, and I missed you. I remember your first letter. The words packed so tightly you could hardly see the paper underneath. You’d talk about the food that you’d never find here. You’d talk about the sound of the sea. You’d talk about the views, how the sun would hit the waves just right and blanket you in light. You’d talk about sharing this with me, someday. And I believed you, and I waited, but that day never came. I remember the first Christmas we spent apart. How cold your side of the bed felt. Your mother came over and we spent the day talking around you. Smiling a little too much, laughing a little to hard, drowning your absence with each other’s company. And I convinced myself I was happy, and that your memory was enough, and that this was all temporary. I remember your last letter. How easily the months of silence that came before it were forgotten. How pointed the words felt. How you were sorry but you couldn’t do this anymore. How you promised me the world, but you couldn’t. And I cried, and I missed you, and it hurt. I remember leaving. No destination in mind, save for “away”. Away from the restaurant where our eyes first met, away from the bench where we shared our first kiss, away from the steps where I first met your mother and you introduced me as the best thing that ever happened to you. I packed my life into a bag and fled out into the world you promised, but couldn’t. And I convinced myself I was happy, and that your memory was temporary, and that the rest of the world was enough. I remember the day when I finally knew it to be true. The day when I saw you again. The gleam in your eyes now tempered by age, your face now slightly wrinkled, your features that I once knew well now looked_ off._ I think back on the memories that could have been, the sights and the sounds that you promised, and I remember that you were never there — but I was. I remember the world that you promised but couldn’t, the world you left for the taking, the world that I took for myself. And now you’ve come back, but I no longer need you.

__ _This may be the end of me. _ __ _With each step I feel my castle collapsing, each step bringing me closer to ruin._ __ _I hear the cacophony of the fair outside. The audacity of these people, enjoying themselves when my time is nearing. Their laughter naught but raucous jeering to my ears. _ __ __ __ “Timmy, it’s time to go!” _The siren’s song beckons, my end is nigh. Please cruel mistress, wait just a little longer. My whole life I’ve waited for my time in the castle, for the sheer bliss I can find with in, only to have it snatched away prematurely. Oh what a terrible fate!_ __ __ “**Timmy, I know you can hear me get out of there right now!**” … .. “_Yes mom, I’m coming._” “Don’t be like that. The bouncy castle sprung a leak, you know its not safe in there. We’ll just come back next year.”

_“Keys run the world my boy.”_ That’s what my pops used to say. From the brass plated keys used to lock your front door, to the ID cards you swipe to get into your office building, to even the very tips of your fingers, keys are woven into the very fabric of human existence. Every key grants you access to _something_. It opens a door, it lets you into a building, it unlocks a phone, it opens an account, it signals that you are one of the select few allowed to be here. Keys, by their very nature, are exclusionary — a symbol of security given only to those who’ve earned your trust. Or they _should be _at least. As with all things in life, keys can be stolen. _Key bearing_ as we like to call it has been a family business since my great great grandfather discovered how easy it is to slip his hand into someone else’s pockets. Keys may have changed over the years, but the people using them are just as careless as ever. These days key bearing involves less sleight of hand and more technological trickery but our main business model remains the same — secrets hide behind locked doors, and someone out there is willing to pay through the nose to get them open.

It’s frustrating. I feel it in your touch, the way your hand cradles mine. I see it in your eyes, in that particular way they shine. I see it in the gifts you give, each deliberate in their choice. But I miss it when you’re gone, and I sit and wait and call. Whenever I’m not next to you, do you even think of me at all? I miss it on your lips. I wait and I wait, but the words never come. Instead I get, a sly grin, a sarcastic quip. Which may be enough for some; but not for me.

Bloody red beckons Bathes you in her light Stains your heart crimson Buries you with delight Amongst the trees and shrubbery Beneath the bloody blooms A final place of rest for those Who lie in scarlet tombs And they all cried murder They pled to keep away But when bloody red beckons You’ve no choice but to obey

It was a cold night when the stars fell. For Kristin, it was one of her earliest memories. Her father held her, shaking as streaks of light faded into the blackness. It was odd, she was used to being comforted, her father’s hands a source of strength. But back then, it was she who comforted him, his uncertainty stayed by her wonder. This wonder would stay with her. In the years that followed she has moved out of her small Icelandic town to pursue a degree in astronomy, in search of answers. To this day she asks why the stars fell, where they ended up, and if they’re ever coming back. For Amorsolo, the sun was up when the stars disappeared. It was a new moon that night, ideal for night fishing. His day consisted of prep for the night’s endeavors and ended with him and his brother in the middle of the sea, sharing a lantern between them. The single light was all they had to stave off the darkness. It was all consuming, the night. The lantern’s fuel slowly burned away and its glow began to dim until eventually the two were swallowed whole. The sound of waves were the only assurance of their existence within the pitch black. Their great grandmother had told them, when they returned the next day, that one of the old gods of the world had died and that the stars are in mourning. Since then, on the night of a new moon, Amorsolo would leave all the lights on and lie in bed, wishing for this wake to be over. For Maddie, the night was as bright as it always was. The bright billboards provide a technicolor backdrop to the city that never sleeps. It wasn’t until the next day that she found out through the news that the stars had disappeared. She stood outside that evening, squinting at the sky trying to see the stars that have ceased to be. Life continued on as normal for Maddie, except every so often, when it comes up in conversation, she’d wonder if the stars are back.

I am a soldier. Master has given me orders, and I follow them well. I am a guard. Every night I stand watch and protect master when he sleeps. I am a look out. I know how to bark when I see lights flashing red and blue. I am a fighter. I know who to bite when you call for me to. I am a good boy. I do my jobs well. So why did you leave me master? You were gone when the men in blue took me away. You were gone when they took me to my new home. I don’t like it here master. The ground is cold, the food is bad. Where did you go master? Why didn’t you take me with you? Was I not a good boy?