‘You never understand’ she said And turned around, shaking her head ‘I don’t know what to say I feel like you’re not yourself today’ ‘Myself? I have to be calm and fun Or else you get scared and run?’ He shyly touches her shoulder ‘I know you think I’m being colder But you’re sometimes everything I say, You just take it the wrong way.’ She hid her face behind her hands And slid further into the quick sands.
It was Wednesday morning and she sat on her window pane, holding a cup of coffee that had already gotten cold. This used to be a weekend thing, waking up early, going into the kitchen quietly, careful not to wake up her housemates, making a fresh cup of coffee and climbing onto the window of her bedroom to watch her neighborhood slowly wake up. It used to feel good, waking up early of her own will, not because she had to, and enjoying the first few quiet hours of the day, before everyone else got up. Now it was sad. The sun was long up by the time she snoozed her last alarm, and the street was busy and loud by the time she poured some leftover coffee one of her housemates had made in the morning, before heading out to work. She no longer had anywhere to go to. She had been fired three weeks ago. They told her they were sorry to have to let her go, but they had to cut costs. She didn’t feel like they were sorry. She wasn’t sorry either, not really. She knew she should be worried about where her next paycheck would come from, but she couldn’t muster up real concern. Just a faint but constant sense of anxiety. She woke up with it, it was there when she drank coffee, when she had to read the same page of her book over and over again because she couldn’t focus, when she tried in vain to fall asleep. She figured since she didn’t have a job, it made sense to just quarantine herself, indefinitely. It was a good excuse - no one questioned it, even though the lockdown had been long lifted and the recommended quarantine time for those who may have contracted the virus was only two weeks. No one cared enough to count. So there she sat on the windowpane, cold coffee in hand. Her mind made no plans.
It’s a perceived darkness. A darkness you know is not there, but cannot see past with your eyes. Only with your mind. A darkness that hides the unknown, the distance that fascinates all those who have ever looked up with curiosity. I remember a magical night in my grandmas garden, far away from the city lights. My cousins and I were looking up at the sky, and I remember it as more light than dark, the stars closely dotted together on a deep blue night sky. It all looked so far away, so mysterious and chaotic. But my uncle showed us the order in the chaos. The human mind always looks for rules and patterns, even in the stars. He showed us the North Star, and from there how you can trace the Big Dipper. Suddenly those seven stars weren’t just random fairy lights scattered randomly in the sky, they had a place and a purpose. The sky made a little bit of sense. What amazes me is how few people will ever actually be up there, among the stars, in that space between the stars. That space which from down here looks so small that you could stretch out your arms and have one star in each hand. The vastness is incomprehensible.
The sun is setting and the week is coming to an end. The work week at least. George and Lara are spending Friday night at home, as usual. This weekend is not a usual weekend though - this was supposed to be their wedding weekend. Their long awaited and carefully planned special day was cancelled two months ago, when events with more than 10 people were declared illegal in an attempt to stop the rioting. The riots continue and most people don’t feel much like celebrating anyway. They didn’t talk about it much. The first few days after the law was passed flew by in a flurry of contacting relatives and arguing over refunds with florists. Then they were both just too tired to discuss it anymore. When the whole country descends into chaos, the last thing on your mind is starting a life together. What will life be like anyway one year from now? Or even one month from now? George sometimes makes jokes about it, like how the whole country conspired to let men be bachelors just a while longer, but under the jokes he’s sad he won’t get to see Lara in the beautiful white dress that now hangs desolately in her closet under a plastic bag. He never told her but he has recurring nightmares of waiting for her at the church and her not showing up, and then her mother calling and letting him know she was caught by the rioters and killed. He’s worried that the life he dreamed of with her may never happen. Lara tries to put on an optimistic face when they talk about the wedding. She always points out how lucky they should feel that they didn’t lose a lot of money, and that when things go back to normal, they can have their wedding. But when she’s alone, she cries and feels guilty for not being sad the wedding was cancelled. She has second thoughts. She doesn’t like the thought of planning her happy married life while people are suffering from injustice. She would gladly donate all the wedding money to a charity and join the street protests. She resents George for being so indifferent to the state their country is in and knows she will never be on the same page as him on these issues. And what kind of marriage would that be?
When I died, it took me by surprise. I didn’t even immediately realize it happened. I was walking down the street and I turned for a second to call out after a friend. Then I felt a waft of wind at my side, I lost my balance for a bit, and my vision went black for a moment. I thought I was just dizzy, or maybe had a sugar crash, but it turned out I was hit by car. Just like that, I was dead. No pain, no last words. When I opened my eyes again, after what felt like a second, things around me weren’t all that different. I was still on a street, granted it wad a bit darker and dirtier, but similar enough that I didn’t immediately realize I was somewhere else entirely. I turned again to see if I could spot my friend, but there was no one. Slowly I began to realize my body wasn’t exactly there anymore. I was there, but I had no physical sensations at all. I was weightless, neither hot nor cold, not hungry or thirsty, tired or rested. It was strange. What’s even stranger about the first few days of being dead is that you still once in a while get glimpses out of the corner of your eye of what’s happening to your body. To your actually body back on Earth. Throughout those first day I saw the inside of the ambulance. The friend I had turned to call out to. The faces of family members passing by, one by one. I didn’t exactly feel anything about what I was seeing. Being dead is a bit like being numb in that way. But I knew they were sad and that was hard to see. While all of this was happening, I had my own afterlife to figure out. First, I had to figure out where I was. As I said, the place looked a lot like Earth, but it was decidedly less nice. No sunlight, no trees, no birds. The first person I met was a mean looking old man. He seemed to enjoy the fact that he got to tell me that I was in hell. Actual hell. It’s strange because I’d never given the whole afterlife thing much thought. I didn’t go through the phase where people usually make up their minds if they believe in all that heaven and hell stuff. But if I had to make a judgment, I’d have (humbly) admitted I would probably go to heaven. I was a good enough person- I paid taxes, was a good friend, took good care of my cat and house plants, donated to charity and tried to help out in whatever way I could. I was no saint, but my sins where, I thought, minor. The first few days I just went about discovering this strange place, feeling rather frustrated that I’d been misjudged. Fortunately there was an easy way to register my complaint.
The little man holds his hand out to me, as if repeating his question - ‘What is it you want?’ I look at him in disbelief. He really did say ‘anything’. And he meant it. I don’t dare question his sources. I just know that I can ask for it, the thing I’ve always dreamt of, and he can make that come true. I can finally get my wand. It’s a big risk, if I’m honest. There’s only a small chance anyway that I could actually do magic with it. After all, I’ve never shown the usual signs of magical ability - no strange things have happened around me, nothing abnormal. No speaking with animals or moving things with my mind. Perhaps I need to expand my view of empty handed magic. Maybe anticipating someone’s next words or being in the right place at the right time is also something. So gather up the courage and I say: ‘Could I have a magic wand?’ He lifts his eyebrows and gives me a skeptical look. ‘A magic wand? Really? What kind?’ ‘What kind? There more than just one kind?’ ‘Of course. There’s countless types of magic, there’s white magic, dark magic, natural magic, magic of the moon, the sun... there’s domestic magic, wild magic...’ ‘Ok ok, I get it, there’s lots of kinds of magic. I’d never thought of that. I guess... light magic?’ ‘Fine. A light magic wand.’ He turns around and disappears into the back of his shop. I hear him rummage around, knocking over a few things, cursing something that fell down, and then he comes back out holding a long, narrow black box. Just as I’d always imagined it. ‘Here. Try it.’ He puts the box on the table and crosses his arms in front of his chest. I can tell he had even less faith in my magical abilities than I do. I approach the table and reach out for the box. My hands are trembling as I lift the lid. Laying inside is a thin wooden wand. It‘s dark brown and has a very smooth finish. No knots or imperfections as I’d sometimes imagined. The handle is decorated with fine carvings of stars and suns. I pick it up and run my fingers over it. It‘s slightly warm. I could swear for a moment I saw a glow around my hand but when I look more closely it‘s gone. ‘Well, do you feel anything?’ the merchant asks. I try to hide my puzzled look and give him a confident smile, but I don’t think I fooled him. I don’t really feel anything. I close my eyes for a moment, if nothing else just to escape the ‘I told you so’ look on his face. I focus my attention on my hand. It’s growing warmer, the wand almost pulsating in my hand. I lift it up and open my eyes. The tip gives off a shy but very real white light. It‘s happening!
The cursed city was disappearing into the background. With each galop of her black mare, the city was growing smaller. Her blood was still racing in her veins, her ears still ringing with the battle cries. The sweat was drying on her skin, and she grew cold under her cloak. She knew she had to stop soon, the mare was tired and she hadn’t slept in days, but she wanted to be as far from the City of Death as she could. She spotted the thick forest on the next hill. Her eyes focused in the dark and she held on to the reins tightly. ‘Come on, just two more miles and we’ll stop for the night.’ The mare quickened her pace without protest. The feeling of dread still lingered in her too. Elvira was a peasant girl, tall and slender, with raven hair and dark eyes. Her secret was that she could speak to animals and control them. She kept her magic a secret from her parents and everyone in her village. People sensed she was strange and so she was avoided by everyone, especially those her own age. Her only friend was her sister who knew her secret and was always by her side. When her sister was kidnapped in the middle of the night, Elvira knew she was the only one who could go after her. No one knew where she was taken or by whom, but Elvira knew. The kidnappers had ridden into the village on horses with silver manes and white bodies, so thin you could see all their bones. She knew they could only come from one place - the City of Death. She had heard the legend as a little girl, told and retold at every village festival and fireside dinner. It was the kind of legend people half believed. The village elders would never admit it was real and never shared what they had seen in their youths. When the raiders from the City came to the village almost every night and took whatever they pleased. Elvira learned the truth by watching the animals. They would grow restless when the stories of the City of Death began, dogs would howl and growl at their masters, horses pulled on their reins. The raid in which her sister had been taken was the first in over 20 years. The raiders made no noise, their horses moved as though their hooves didn’t touch the ground. Elvira had heard the faint scream of her sister, caught one glimpse of them and then they went as quickly and noiselessly as they had come. The City of Death wasn’t hard to find. Hidden in plain sight as they say. The dead have nothing to fear. The horses could smell it from miles away. Elvira had ridden out of her village at dawn and urged her mare on for two days before they had the City in their sight. She tied the mare outside the city gates and sneaked in.
Oh God, it’s happening again! It always starts the same way - with a feeling of vertigo that grows stronger and stronger, until I feel so nauseous I need to hold on to something just to steady myself. Then when I open my eyes, everything is still. It’s confusing at first, our brains are not used to such stillness, and the absence of sound is particularly troubling. Just things like the buzz of a refrigerator can still be heard. TVs and radios go into static mode. But the wind stops. And the people - that’s the strangest part. They just... freeze. In the strangest poses too. The facial expressions are the best part. Mid-blink, mid-word, mid-thought. I have no clue how or why it started. I only remember I was at home, upstairs in my bed listening to music. And it just stopped, the radio went on static. At first I didn’t think anything of it. But then I got up and the buttons didn’t work. When I slammed my hand on its plastic black top and the usual thud sound didn’t come, that’s when I realized something was not... the same. My curtains were completely still, even though just a moment ago a little breeze was blowing in through the open window. It’s really hard to say how long it lasted - that’s the whole thing. Time just stopped, and even my perception of it was also messed up. And then it started back up again. Just like that. This time I’m at a party. This is when it’s the strangest, and the most thrilling - time stands still for everyone but me. It was scary at first. For a moment you feel like everyone could be just playing a very elaborate joke on you. I wasn’t sure if people couldn’t actually see me and remember what happened when they came back from it. If they wouldn’t ask questions which I wouldn’t know how to answer. But no one ever knows. They just stop and then continue as if nothing happened. I guess technically for them nothing did. I have gotten into the habit of walking around and looking at people very closely when time stops. Gives me a chance to observe all the details I wouldn’t normally have time to observe. A little wrinkle, a subtle smile, a mismatched pair of socks. It’s my little fun. No, I cannot steal things. I’ve tried. Interacting with objects is not the same when there is no time. As I start walking around, doing my close inspections of some of the guest I don’t know, I notice a movement out of the corner of my eye. I’m startled - I didn’t expect it to end already. But everyone else is still, so I turn to have a better look. And right there, across the room, a man is casually drinking his champagne, smiling at me. I’m stunned, and embarrassed, and have so many questions. And then everything around me starts up again.
He was at a loss. Days went by when he couldn’t remember whether he had smiled, or said a word to anyone. He left home every morning at dawn, and came home late, as late as he could, to make sure his wife had already gone to sleep. She probably knew he was avoiding her, but wasn’t in a position to complain. She had it coming. It was about a week ago that she had waited for him in the evening at the kitchen table. She’d been crying, but had stopped now and just sat there with a straight face, staring into her glass of wine. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. ‘I had an affair.’ ‘I know.’ They talked a bit more after that. He didn’t shout, didn’t ask too many questions. He knew. All the late nights she’d sneak out of bed, texting and smiling. All the client dinners and then the girls weekends. But he didn’t blame her. Or himself. These things just happen. The worst part was that his friends knew and he couldn’t bear them anymore. The looks of pity, the minds already made up. Everyone said the same thing, before even hearing the whole story - leave her. Get out. Get a divorce. There was no use explaining that he’d been cold for months. That she had tried everything to bring him back into the relationship and he’d resisted. He blamed himself, but no one would hear it. In their eyes, only one person was to blame - her. He wanted to just escape. Head out into the world where no one knew him. Find a safe place and then ask her to join him there. Start fresh. He knew her, she didn’t want to hurt him. They loved each other. One thing he couldn’t live with was being the guy who stayed with his wife after she cheated on him. Not when everyone knew and would forever look at him like he’d been fooled. No one would let him forget, with every look, and then later with every not so subtle joke. He only wished she had been more careful. Chosen someone he didn’t know. A stranger in a bar. A random guy on the internet. Then it could just be over, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the judgement.
I wake up with a throbbing pain on the side of my head. I squint and try to look around. It’s not fully light yet, but I can make out the familiar walls of my bedroom. I made it home - that part is good. But everything else is so blurry. I remember laughing. Then crying. Wind in my face. Hugging. And that’s pretty much it. I touch the side of my head - no blood on my fingers, but I do feel a big bump. Ok, so it’s just swollen. I wonder what it was. I try to get up and a glass bottle rolls off of the bed and loudly onto the floor. Too loudly. I try to reach for it and find a... bible instead? It has black covers and it’s definitely not mine. One of its corners is smashed in and it’s a bit dirty. Oh. Is this what hit me on the head last night? When I was... laughing maybe a bit too loudly on a quiet street? That might be it. I think it hurt so bad I started crying. Or was that later? I put the book aside and resume my search for the mystery bottle. It rolled under the bed, so I get down on the floor and feel for it. I finally reach it and it looks like a milk bottle. Definitely not what I expected. What did I even drink? I remember starting with wine... but when did I switch to milk? Oh that’s right! I was crying. I was crying because I had put too much spicy sauce on my kebab. And then... then Tobi went to the kiosk and got me milk! And I drank the whole thing. I stumble out of my bedroom and trip on something. I almost catch my footing but it’s too late and I fall down. The milk bottle drops from my hand, and doesn’t break. That’s lucky - again. I look to see what on Earth I tripped on and it’s... what appears to be a crooked bicycle tire? Very strange, considering I don’t even have a bike. I look it over, it looks like it was in a bit of a crash. I wonder... is this from Tobi’s bike? Did I ride home on the back of his bike? Oh God, I hope he’s ok. I hear snoring coming out of my living room. What the...? It’s Tobi, sleeping on my couch, in his underwear and a ripped jacket. So we did bike home together. I wake him up. ‘Hey, morning!’ ‘What? What time is it?’ ‘I don’t know. Are you ok?’ ‘Yeah... I’m good.’ ‘What happened?’ I ask, sitting down on the floor. ‘I was biking us home. You were sitting behind me on the bike, having a great time. You went on and on about how great the wind felt in your hair. And you were holding on too tight. And I crashed right in front of your building!’
