No crystal balls could ever show The wonders you have seen No sun-struck pools of water ever Shone so brightly green No planets in the universe Are such a perfect sphere No pair of stars, no twinkling lights Could ever be so dear No windows ever looked upon A better view to see Your eyes are all I’d ever want To turn their gaze to me

The water coursing down the windowpane Relents, just as the water from my eyes Stops flowing, slowly, slowly, til the rain Is done. And here upon my bed I lie, So far from sleep with rumbling in my head To rival any thunder from above - That storm on high has passed, and now instead There’s silence in the world. And you, my love Who left me here alone, whose cutting words Became a hurricane inside my mind As violent as the tempest I just heard Go quiet. Clouds dispersed. And now I find Through bleary eyes and windows, clear blue sky If storms can find such peace, then so might I.

“Don’t drink that.” I pause in the middle of reaching for my glass of water and look up at the voice - at the woman sitting down in the seat across from me. She has all-black sunglasses on, even though Sunny-Side Up is an indoor restaurant, and while those shades could be for a medical condition or something, the black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and black jeans make me think it’s a fashion choice. She puts her elbows on the table and steeples her fingers in front of her mouth, looking straight at me. “I, uh.” I blink at my reflection in her sunglasses. “I’m kind of waiting for someone?” “I know. That’s why I’m here. He’s already arrived.” I put my arm on the back of my seat and turn, scanning the room. How could I have missed Brian coming in? Am I that face-blind? I specifically chose this table so that I could see the door and be ready with a smile. First impressions are essential on a date, especially when it’s with someone from a dating app. “Don’t look! He’s watching!” the woman hisses, rapping her knuckles on the table, drawing my attention back to her. “We have to avoid making him suspicious as long as possible. Just act like I’m an old friend or something.” “I’ve never met you before in my life.” “Hm.” Her mouth, this whole time drawn into a serious line, quirks into a half-smile. “That depends on your definition of ‘met.’” I frown. “If you meant that to NOT sound creepy, you really missed the mark. What, are you stalking me?” “No. But Brian is. He’s been following you for weeks, waiting for his chance to strike. When you matched on Bumble, he finally had a way in.” A chill runs down from my head and along my arms. “How do you know we matched on Bumble?” “Because Bumble is the only dating app you like. All the others feel too sketchy to you, but at least this one lets you message the guy first, instead of just letting some rando drop a dick pic in your lap. You hate dating, but you need to get your mom off your back about meeting people. She means well, you know. She’s just worried because she was already married at your age.” I know that about my mom. I’ve tried to explain the aromantic spectrum, that I rarely feel comfortable being seen as a romantic partner, that finding a spouse is very low on my to-do list, but she doesn’t get it. The question is, why does this woman know that? Every word she says adds to my desire to bolt for the door. “Don’t leave,” she says, as though she knows what I’m thinking. “At least not through the front door. It’s too obvious. And not without me. I can help you.” I wish she’d take those sunglasses off. I hate staring at my reflection instead of her eyes. I depend on other people’s eyes to get a good read on their emotions. It always unsettled me as a kid when my mom would wear sunglasses, because she was so straight-faced. I have no idea what this woman is thinking. “What is this? What do you want from me?” I demand shakily, reaching into my pocket to grab my keys. I don’t actually know how to use them as a weapon, but all the internet’s advice on “how to avoid getting kidnapped” says to put your keys between your fingers. And I have no intention of going anywhere with this woman. “This is a rescue operation,” she says, calm and unflappable. “Again, you’re being followed. Brian’s mission is to gain your trust and take you out.” I can’t help but laugh at that. “He’s taking me out, yeah. On a date. And once he gets here -” “I told you. He’s already here. He’s waiting for you to take a sip.” She points at my glass of water, still where the waiter left it, its condensation slowly forming a small puddle on the table. “It’s already been tampered with. You’d collapse in broad daylight, with dozens of people around who don’t know you or why you’re here. And it’s not like he ordered this drink for you - it’s water. Complimentary. Your death would never be traced back to him or his agency. It’s the perfect crime.” “His agency?” “It’s a long story, and right now, ironically, we don’t have the time.” I don’t see anything ironic about that. I look over at the door. Any moment now, Brian will walk on in, looking just like his Bumble photos, and he’ll be a normal guy, and we’ll laugh about this crazy woman who thought he was going to murder me. Any moment now… But he should have been here ten minutes ago. “Let’s say I believe you,” I say. “Which I don’t. Why would Brian try to kill me?” The woman is quiet for a moment. She folds her hands on the table in front of her. “Because he knows what you can become. You’re going to make some choices this year - today, even - that could wildly change the course of your life. And in some versions of your future, you become a force to be reckoned with. A champion of justice. A source of inspiration and hope for people across the world and across time. And people like Brian, and the agency he works for… It would make his work a lot easier if you ceased to exist. If you never had a future at all.” “My future?” I force a laugh I don’t really feel, though something deep in my chest is stirred by the confident, encouraging way she described me. “Like anyone knows what’s gonna happen in the future.” “You’re right. We can never know for sure. But Lailah - if you die today, then none of it will happen. And I cannot allow that to be true.” “Why not?” I tighten my grip on my keys. “What do you care what happens to me? Who are you?” The woman leans back in her chair, taking a slow breath and letting it out in a long, soft exhale. Then she reaches up and takes off her sunglasses. My eyes lock on hers, and the first word that pops into my head is “Mom.” Those are Mom’s eyes, the eyes I inherited from her, on the green side of hazel with just a hint of blue at the center. But this woman is younger than my mom, though she’s definitely older than me. Her face has hardly any wrinkles, and her hair is dark where my mom’s is streaked with silver. Also, her hair is much, much longer than my mom has ever worn it. Mom’s always bugging me to cut my hair, and I’m always reluctantly obeying, bringing it back up to my shoulders. But now that I think about it, this woman’s hair goes all the way down to the small of her back, about as long as I would love my own hair to be. And I’ve never worn that much black all at once in my life, except for concert band performances in high school, but how many times have I looked at girls with the courage to wear a black leather jacket and thought, “God, I wish that were me”? That’s when I notice the silver necklace she’s wearing. A tiny pendant in the shape of an elephant hangs from the chain. I put my hand to my own neck, pressing my thumb against the little silver elephant I’ve worn for years, ever since Mom gave it to me for my birthday. My brain dances around an impossible thought, an idea that belongs in a sci-fi film, not real life. But who else would be so invested in making sure my future came to be, but me? She’s looking at me now with a mixture of nervousness and hope. Her hand rises to touch her own necklace. “It’s the same one,” she says. “I’ve had to replace the chain a few times, but I haven’t lost the elephant yet. It makes Mom happy to see that I still like it.” “Good to know I never stop liking elephants,” I say, and a relieved smile breaks out across the woman’s face. Suddenly, the glass of water explodes, shards flying across the table. One cuts the back of my hand. The woman throws herself sideways, falling to the floor. She grabs my arm and drags me down with her. I hit the tile, looking up just in time to see something small impact the back of the chair. I’ve only seen bullet holes in movies, never in real life. But that’s what I’m gaping at now: a bullet stuck in my chair, right where I’d been sitting a moment before. The restaurant around us erupts into screams. Lunch patrons jump to their feet and rush for the door. The woman curses under her breath. “We gotta get out of here.” “What’s happening?” “Brian’s figured out who I am. Or maybe he just got tired of waiting. Stay low. Head for the kitchen.” She puts her hand on my back, guiding me through the panicking, pushing mob trying to escape the restaurant. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. This is really happening. My date - my secret agent stalker - is trying to kill me. We shove our way through the two-way door to the kitchen. The remaining staff are hiding under counters. I can hear one of them whispering frantically into her cell phone, telling the restaurant’s address to the 911 operator. “Keep going. Back door. He won’t follow.” “How do you know?” I ask even as I comply. “He didn’t when I was you.” The back door opens into a shadowy alley lined with dumpsters. The woman grabs my hand and pulls me along until we’re out on the sidewalk, surrounded by lunchtime foot traffic. I squint in the sunlight, wondering if we’re really safe out here. “Here.” She offers me her sunglasses. I take them, staring down at the mirrored lenses in my hand. “Are you really from the future?” I ask. “Yes.” “So I become what, a time traveler?” “You could.” She crosses her arms, leaning back against the nearest building. “It’s up to you. I’m someone you could become. I remember being you, but you could choose to walk away from all this. That’s your right.” “I thought you can’t change the future.” She smirks. “You watch too much Doctor Who. Nothing’s set in stone. Nature is fluid; nature is choice. But the Branchless Path - the people Brian works for - they think they know how things should be. They want to prevent people from being able to choose. My job, my purpose, is to stop them.” I think about the bullets impacting my water glass and my chair, and the panic I felt. I think about Brian, so charming in his text messages, all the while plotting my death, and still out there. I think about how many other people he could be on a mission to hurt. “How can I help?” I ask. She raises her eyebrows at me, though it’s hard to tell if she’s surprised or impressed. “You sure? You just had a rough day. It’s okay if you want to go home.” “I mean, sure, part of me wants to go hide in my bed. But the rest of me…” I put on the sunglasses. “The rest of me wants to kick Brian’s butt. So. How can I help?” A huge grin spreads across my future self’s face. “That’s exactly what I said when this happened to me. Okay, sister. Let’s do it.”

You’ve seen it in your dreams. You have, though you might not remember it, or know that it’s what you saw. But everyone dreams of the Forest of Souls. We dream of pale green grass, the softest carpet under our feet, too fine to ever leave a stain. We dream of flowers, a rainbow of petals lining the shores of an ever-sparkling stream. We dream of birdsong barely heard - just scraps of an ever-familiar melody, just out of earshot - and of the sweetest, most gentle breeze on our skin, like the faintest of kisses on our cheeks. Most of all, we dream of trees. Thick trees that block the view of the outside world, thin trees that bend and sway to the touch, rough trees and smooth trees with bark of all shades of brown and grey. A canopy of leaves spreads above, held up by a network of branches - green leaves, red leaves, yellow and orange leaves, a mixed quilt of summer and autumn, all at once. These dreams are our souls’ way of remembering how we were once a part of this forest. You were once a petal, or a leaf, or a whisper of birdsong on the wind. You were here, and you were a part of everything, and you were content. You knew nothing but the forest, then, nothing but the light filtering through the leaves and the cool wind causing the blades of grass to dance. You knew nothing of schedules or obligations, for the Forest of Souls exists outside of time. You knew nothing of desire, for you had everything you could ever need, and you wanted nothing more. You knew nothing of pain, because you had no body - you were only a soul. We all begin in the Forest of Souls, and a part of us, deep down at our core, knows that we will end there. One day, the forest will call you back. It will woo you away from the Earth, away from people and places and things, away from schedules and obligations, away from trial and error and reward. It will woo you away with its promise of an end to pain, an end to fatigue, an end to longing and loneliness. You will give in. Everyone does, in the end. You will return to the Forest of Souls, and once you enter, you will never again come out. After all, we each only get to live once.

My legs scream at me after hiking all day, and my scarf is soaked with sweat, but I force myself further up the rocky slope. It’s steep, and I stumble more than once, pushing myself to my feet again and continuing my climb up the black volcano. I’ve never done anything so physical in my life, but now, there’s no time for doubt or fatigue. I reach the top, coming around a spire of dark rock, and the impossible comes into view. An enormous humanoid figure made entirely of storm clouds stands tall over the caldera, two yellow eyes like stars in its face pointed down towards its feet. And there between its feet, standing at the edge of the wide, round pit, I see a little girl, her pink t-shirt covered in soot. “Rebecca!” I run forward. The cloud-man turns, and suddenly his foot comes down in front of me, blocking my path with swirling gray. “You must not interfere,” he rumbles in a voice like thunder. A few days ago, I wouldn’t have believed any of this. I would have been shocked into silence. But I’ve seen so many impossible things, now, and if this creature thinks he can scare me, he’s dead wrong. “I’ll interfere as much as I want!” I shout over the raging winds. “That’s my daughter!” I walk straight through its foot. The ever-shifting clouds tug at my clothes and hair, but I come through to the other side, eyes streaming, just as Rebecca leans forward over the edge of the pit, preparing to jump. Rushing forward, I grab her arms and pull her back. We both tumble backwards to the rocky ground. “Momma?” she gasps. “I’m here. It’s me.” She’s trembling. I take my scarf from my neck and wrap it around hers. “I’ve got you. This ends now.” “No, no, you don’t understand!” The cloud-man looms over us. “Foolish mortal. You must know by now. There must be a sacrifice. And the chosen hero must make it.” “Says who?” I shout. “Says you? She’s ten years old! She should be at home with a book, not getting ready to throw herself into a volcano!” “Momma,” Rebecca tugs her arms out of my grasp. “I have to do this.” “No you don’t!” “The world is ending! The monsters are here. Look!” She points down into the pit at the volcano’s heart, and I look. There’s no lava there. At first my eyes register it as a storm, near-black and constantly shifting. But the more I look, the more I make out the individual creatures making up the mass. I can see their tails, their claws, their teeth. “If we don’t feed them, they’ll destroy the world,” my daughter says. “They’ll bring about a thousand years of terror.” “So I’ve heard,” I say. My hands are trembling. I hate this. I hate everything about this. She puts her hands over mine, smiling at me with teary eyes. “It’s okay, Momma. I’ve made my choice. I’m ready to die, to save the world.” “No.” I hug her. “Oh, no, sweetheart, no. That’s not your choice to make. It’s not yours. And it’s not his,” I add, scowling up at the figure in the clouds. “Whatever he is; I don’t care. You’re a child. And I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. It’s my job to give you a world worth living in.” “But it is my job.” Her eyes flicker to the storm raging in the pit. “It’s destiny. The monsters won’t leave until they have the hero’s blood. My blood.” She says it with a mature certainty that breaks my heart. My little girl! But no matter how many impossible things I’ve seen, there are some things that nothing can change. “We’re family. Your blood is my blood.” I kiss her forehead, wrapping the scarf more snugly around her shoulders. “Just get home safe. That’s all I ask.” Her eyes widen with realization. “No, Momma, please -” “I love you,” I say, and I shove her further away from the edge, using the momentum to throw myself into the pit.