Lonely till numb till raw then indifference.

Laine stood before the graves, the rain cascading down his face, mirroring the tears that fell from his eyes. The cold wind whispered through the trees as memories flooded his mind, transporting him back to the past, to the time when he had met the love of his life.

It was a sunny day, the warmth of the sun embracing Laine as he strolled through the park. And then, he saw her. Emily. Her laughter danced on the breeze, drawing him closer. Their eyes met, and in that instant, Laine knew that she was everything he had ever longed for.

Laine knelt before the tombstone, his hand trembling as he traced the engraved names. Emily and their unborn child. The weight of their loss pressed heavily upon him, the ache in his heart unrelenting. He whispered words of love and longing, his voice carried away by the wind, hoping that somehow, they could hear him.

Laine and Emily’s love blossomed like a vibrant garden. They shared laughter, dreams, and countless adventures. Their hearts intertwined, they built a life together, promising to be each other’s rock in a world filled with uncertainty. Laine cherished every moment, every touch, every stolen kiss.

Laine placed a bouquet of roses on the grave, their petals vibrant against the gray backdrop. He spoke of the dreams they had nurtured, the love they had shared. His voice cracked with emotion, the pain of their absence etched deep within his soul. He yearned for their presence, for the warmth of their embrace.

Their love was a beacon of light that guided them through the darkest of storms. They faced challenges together, supporting one another with unwavering devotion. Laine would often lose himself in Emily’s eyes, finding solace and strength within their depths. She was his anchor, his reason to keep going.

Laine sat beside the grave, his heart heavy with sorrow. He wondered how life could be so cruel, stealing away the love that meant everything to him. The rain continued to fall, mingling with his tears as he whispered promises to Emily and their unborn child. Promises to honor their memory, to carry their love in his heart.

But fate had dealt them a cruel hand. Emily fell ill, and despite their hopes and prayers, she slipped away, leaving Laine shattered and adrift. The world lost its color, its vibrancy, as he struggled to find meaning in a life without her.

Laine clutched a locket that held a picture of Emily and their unborn child, his lifeline to the past. He vowed to keep their memory alive, to live a life that would honor their love. Though the pain of their absence was unbearable, he knew that love could never truly be extinguished.

Back and forth, the story weaves between the past and the present, the memories of their love intertwining with Laine’s grief. But through the tears, through the ache, he finds strength in the enduring power of their love. And as he stands before their graves, he knows that their spirits will forever guide him, reminding him that love transcends time and death.

Why did I have two chili burgers before coming to Chrissy's New Year's Eve party? That was the question of the day, the burning question that competed with the burning sensation in my stomach, the one heading south. Having those chili burgers was the worst decision of 2021, and it was about to lead to the worst moment of 2022 and the year hadn't even started.

"Any big plans for the New Year?" Chrissy asked. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers peered at me through those goofy "2022" glasses, the same ones that I had on.

I smiled and nodded, my brain fumbling for the proper words to say. My stomach rumbled and tumbled as if it were asked the question. I prayed that the commotion in Chrissy's apartment suppressed the sounds. Some of the guys were laughing their assess off in the corner, and I was grateful for that.

"Ummm. I'm hoping to move out, on my own you know? No roommate. Maybe shoot for a promotion at work?" I replied.

She smiled. God her smile was beautiful, she had the perfect smile in my opinion. I don't know if that came off as creepy but she did.

"That's good...I think the same. Well, besides moving out, probably looking for a promotion as well."

This was the closest I'd ever been to Chrissy. I'd had a crush on her since I'd started working with her. We'd exchanged a few words here and there, but there seemed to be some real progress tonight (at least in my eyes). The last thing I wanted to do was destroy her bathroom. All I needed was someone going in after me and commenting on the potential after scent. Beyond that, what if I didn't wipe enough? That was a legitimate fear of mine, always had been and always would be. Why? Why did I choose two-

"Are you okay?" Chrissy interjected. "You seem nervous."

I smiled, "I'm fine. Actually, could I use your bathroom?"

She nodded. "Oh! Yeah! It's down the hall, first door on the right."

I made my way through her apartment, pushing through the other guests to get to the bathroom. I entered on shaky legs, my fingers fumbling with my pants button and zipper as I closed the door behind me. I waddled over to the toilet and sat down, releasing the contents of Super Chili Burger within seconds. At that moment I was thankful for the conversing people in her living room, thankful for the bathroom fan, and the spray can of Febreeze that sat on the top of her toilet. My muscles relaxed, and my body stopped sweating, I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this relaxed. Chrissy also had a bidet installed, this girl was a bonafide winner. I turned on the bidet and let it do its job at full force, swiped two sheets of toilet paper from the roll, and gave myself a pat dry.

That's when I saw the woman in the mirror. She wore a burgundy dress, one that went down to her ankles. She had vibrant blonde hair that sat above her shoulders, wavy and elegant. She had a bandanna around her head, one that was lined with gems and jewels. She looked as though she'd fallen out of a 1920's silent film. To be honest, I found her quite stunning...but the thing that chilled me to my core was the fact that I could see through her. I watched in silence as she combed her hair, eyes fixated on what she was doing.

I couldn't speak, I couldn't move. I wouldn't go as far as saying that I was scared, I was stunned more than anything else. She continued to fix her hair, and then she retrieved a bottle of perfume from nowhere, giving two spray’s around her neckline. And then our eyes met, I could tell from her reflection in the mirror that she saw me sitting on the toilet behind her. Her eyes widened, and her jaw fell open as though she were screaming but I couldn't hear anything. The perfume bottle slipped from her hands and then she vanished.

I stood up, zipped my pants, and washed my hands in the exact spot where she stood. I could smell perfume, it was so strong. Chrissy's bathroom reeked of lemon and jasmine, it was ripe, strange, and above all else, foreign. I didn’t see any shards of glass or anything that resembled a perfume bottle, but something was there, I could smell it. I scanned around the bathroom, expecting her to appear but she didn't. I stumbled out of Chrissy's bathroom in a frenzy, I must have made it obvious because I was greeted with several confused stares.

"Nolan? Is everything alright?" Chrissy asked, a tremble in her voice.

I scanned around her apartment. It wasn't the biggest gathering and her apartment was small. There were three girls out of eight attendees and none of them looked like the woman in the bathroom. I turned around and peered down the hall to see only darkness and closed doors.

"Yeah man, it looks like you've seen a ghost. You good Nolan?" That was Greg, and it came from the corner next to the TV.

I was trembling and I felt out of breath, all I could see were eyes of worry. Chrissy walked up to me and placed her hand on my forearm. She adjusted the 2022 glasses on my face, they were crooked and I wasn’t even aware. "Are you okay? Do you need water?"

I wanted to tell her about the woman in the bathroom, but I didn't know what to say. Everything sounded insane in my head, but I knew what I saw, I knew I wasn’t crazy. There was a woman from a different time in Chrissy's bathroom, and I was sure of it.

"Walter Cain is coming to celebrate the New Year, perhaps you'd like to freshen up before he arrived?"

Doris couldn't get Dorothy's words out of her head. She had to freshen up if Walter was coming, there was no debate. She'd been enamored by his charm for months, and the fact that he was coming to Dorothy's New Year's party made her legs tremble with excitement. 1922 was going to be her year…and if tonight went well it might become her and Walter’s year.

She stood in Dorothy's lavatory, eyes fixated on her hair. Heart beating to the rhythm of the vibrant music in the living room. She could hear the laughing and the clinking of champagne glasses, everyone was having a blast and that was good...but she was nervous about Walter's arrival.

"Calm your nerves, Doris, you're getting ahead of yourself." She told herself.

She heard a knock at the front door and her blood ran cold. She could hear Dorothy open the door and a series of cheers erupted through the living room. Walter had arrived with quite a fashion, as he often did. Doris's legs began to tremble even more. She combed away at her hair, ensuring that it had the right amount of bounce, making sure that it was perfect. Then she reached for the perfume bottle and sprayed her neckline…

How long had that man been sitting on the toilet? Why hadn't she noticed him before? Why was he dressed like that? What was that on his face? 2022? What did that mean?

The questions hit Doris like a flurry of punches, and before she knew it she was screaming. Screaming at the top of her lungs, screaming so loud that her chest burned. She stumbled backward for the door, hands fumbling for the knob, she twisted it and fell out of the bathroom landing on her bottom with a thud that shook the apartment.

She could hear the stunned silences that consumed Dorothy's drawing room. Doris raised a trembling hand and pointed into the lavatory. "Dorothy! Dorothy!! There's a man in your bathroom! One who doesn't belong!!"

Her eyes met with Walter's for a split second and then he was cutting through the apartment, his bowler hat pressed against his chest. Charles Riley and Clarence Doyle followed with stern expressions.

"Who's in here? Reveal yourself!" Walter shouted, his voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Doris my dear. You're as white as a ghost. Good heavens, are you alright?" Dorothy asked. She made her way toward her with Eleanor Riley and they helped her to her feet.

"There was a man...he had these weird spectacles on and he wore these bizarre clothes. A black coat with a cloche attached to it, a repulsive shirt…it was a horrid style." Doris's words came out in a sputter, caked with tears.

Walter walked out, a look of calm on his face, "Doris my dear, there's no one in here, all I smell is perfume. Are you okay?"

Doris nodded, but she was far from okay. She'd just seen a ghost, and she wanted to tell everyone.

But who in the right mind would believe her?

I had used to cower when my father shouted at me. To him, I was weak and pathetic. Me, who couldn’t lift a sword or string a bow. But he made me. He put the weapon in my hand and forced me to fight him. He spent his whole life working the weakness out of me, he forgot to love me. His neglect caused hate to root between us. Then, when I finally became stronger than he, he tried all he could to weaken me. He demeaned me, insulted my every decision and opinion and movement. I sometimes had wished I could hide from my father and his awful words. That was, until I realized he did it all out of fear. Then I only grew stronger.

“Daughter-“ he starts, hand on my shoulder. I am agitated by his persistence. Without turning around to acknowledge him, I shake his shoulder off and respond. “Not ‘daughter’. It’s General Harlen. Do not disrespect me by not using my proper title ‘father’.” I feel his red hot glare even without looking. “General, then,” he manages to grit out, “You should be with your fellow commanders, shouldn’t you? Not out here in the courtyard? Don’t you have duties?” At this, I turn. He seems pleased. “Is it your duty to plan my schedule and remind me where I ought to be and ought not to be? Have you come out here to tell me how I must use my time and where I must go? Well, then your time is wasted.” My cheeks are flushed with anger, and I feel like slapping him, only then he would correct me on manners, and I’d only make it worse. So I breathe, and start to walk away, glad I could rant even just a tad. “Daughter-“ “GENERAL.” “Harlen, listen to me.” “No. No, I’m done being your dutiful daughter. I have my own life now. Leave me be.” “Daughter, you forget yourself! I am your FATHE-“ “NO!” I shout, wheeling around. “No, YOU forget where YOU stand next to ME, father. I have surpassed you in status, a general while you are still a lowly lord, leeching off your daughter’s new found power. YOU are in my shadow. ACT like it.” He freezes in place, not expecting an out burst. “You failed to gain what I have already received double of, and you dare talk back? You are a walking second place medal, And I seem to have to gold, don’t I?” He takes a step back, mouth open to interject, to calm me down. I won’t let him. “You hang around me so you can find some way to steal it. Find some flaw you can exploit, some secret you can expose, so you can squish me beneath your foot like a pesky beetle.” I pull a small knife from a sheet hat my hip and place the sharp point at his throat. “You were so angry that your small, quiet daughter was an embarrassment to your line, and became immersed in trying to bring me higher I guess that backfired, because you are mow the embarrassment while I rise higher still. You now wish you’d let me fend for myself when I didn’t know how.” I trace the trip of the blade down to his heart, pushing a little to scare him “Well, now I can, and with all the effort it takes to skewer a fruit on a toothpick. your just worried I’ll skewer you next.” I stare him down not blinking once, my harsh face never wavering. Then I pull back and walk of, leaving him in silence.

Blood drips from my hand into the snow. Through labored breaths, I shout out his name, but no response echoes through the trees back to me. I stagger forward following a crimson trail to a clearing where across the way is a cliff. I fall to my knees looking over the edge. I flinch as I pull my hand away from my side and see just how bad my wound is. The air is so cold. It stirs my insides, makes me cough out blood. I stand, more determined than ever, and March back to the forest. He is gone - there’s enough evidence for that - but I am not done here yet. I refuse to give in before the cold takes my feet. I will fight for every breath, for every step until I find those frozen doors behind which lies untold mysteries. It’s out here somewhere in this forest, and I will find it.

…

I lived in a small town called Ituria near the northern forests. Rarely did travelers darken our doors, but on occasion we had visitors. Most of them dreamed of traversing the frozen forest not far from town, but their blindness guaranteed a slow death. And so for years I made a pretty penny keeping them alive long enough to make it back to town, gleeful and wishing to go again. If they only knew the horrors that lay just an arms throw away from where I led them.

When the seasons brought on a more bitter cold, I began turning travelers away. Nights grew longer, and the dangers of the forest grew with it. Most adventurers understood the risks and left me alone. Others weren’t as kind. One man, however, stood apart from the rest. He was neither filled with anger or sadness when I told him I would not guide him through the forest. His eyes were a flame of curiosity.

“Oliver Finn’s the name,” he told me. He was lanky and young, much different from the other travelers I’d met. He told me about a map, and not just any old map - one that revealed the location of an ancient castle forgotten with time. “Legend, that’s all that is,” I scoffed and swigged my ale. “No,” he replied, “it exists - it does! And I can prove it. This map wasn’t just laying around in a field somewhere, I found it in a cave under the Gray Mountains. And it was no troll cave. The walls were hewn smooth and words were carved into them in a language I could not understand. I believe it to be an ancient settlement of the Sinthuls who left this wretched place after their calamity. You must believe me - who knows what treasure awaits us at the end of our journey!”

It was a convincing story, and I believed it.

I was walking down the street. Hands in my pocket wrapped around a small box. Inside held an amazing object I picked out just for today. There was a girl named was supposed to meet today at four.

Sadly she didn’t show up I was left hanging at the restaurant. One of the waitresses noticed my sour mood and started some small talk with me.

It’s been five years since that day and I must say I have never been happier. The field is full of seats sitting a person each. Some a person and a half counting the little people. Scratch that I’m being told by that bizzy brain voice those are my new nieces and nephews. I’m so excited to be the fun uncle. All the joy of kids without the work. Maddy agree to.

Speaking of her the music begins the crowd settles and the beautiful lady who lit up my life after the “incident” walks towards me. She looks so amazing in white. Like a victoion queen she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Not to mention a personality to match. That’s not an comment on her form she is legitimately the nicest person I know.

Anyway here she is. Here she comes. Here she is in front of me. I am the luckiest man alive and as we say our “I do’s” i know the future will only get better

He was my yesterday, my today, my tomorrow He was my absolutely everything When he laughed, so did I When he was sad, I would cry He could make even the coldest soul melt Just as he did to mine.

He still is my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow Because I just can’t stop thinking about him Even though he’s not here anymore He still sends shivers through my core At the mere thought of his sturdy hold and pure love I can’t stop thinking about him, far above But I won’t even try to get him out of my head, The best thing that ever happened to me? And the saddest at the same time.

Mangled corpses and dismembered limbs lined Main street amongst fallen confetti and tussles of tinsel. Such was the aftermath of the bombing of Buffer on their 30th Independence day, a terrorist attack that targeted the massive parade on this day of would-be celebration. Such was the view of Tyrod Jones.

Tyrod Jones was twelve years old when terrorists first struck. He had lost a sibling and a mother; was left to be raised by his father in the remnants of a society that had devolved to a simple refugee camp. His people would be plagued with war for the next six years. Tyrod would lose his father to another such attack. He would move camp seventeen times over those six years leading up to his eighteenth birthday. And he would not lose the cold rage that pierced his core on that day of the first attack.

It was Tyrod's eighteenth birthday today, a day he long awaited. He was now able to join the freedom fighters of his home. Enlightened on the inside but wearing a serious demeanor across his face, he approached the enlistment tent.

"Hello, son. You lost, or are you looking for information?" asked one of the two men in full military camos from behind the desk, sitting in the shade the tent provided from the harsh sun.

"I'm here to enlist." spoke Tyrod in a matter of fact tone, making steady eye contact with the man who had spoken to him.

"Alright, glad to hear. I'm gonna need some information from you, and I'm assuming you have your ID? Do you have your papers on you, your birth certificate?" the same man inquired of Tyrod.

"It's all here." responded Tyrod firmly, while lifting a beige folder in his left hand.

"Excellent. Well-prepared, you are. We'll take your ID, and I'll need you to fill out some forms. Here, take these." the soldier handed the documents over to Tyrod, who in turn handed over his ID.

Tyrod scanned the documents silently and began to fill them out. The soldiers behind the desk examined the ID, then switched their gaze to Tyrod and studied him. Finally, the other soldier spoke. "Happy birthday, recruit. Might I ask, why are you enlisting today, on the very first day of your eighteenth year?"

Tyrod looked up from his forms. "For the people of my hometown, sir."

"It is too late to save them, son. We've no room for anymore hero types."

Tyrod stared at the man coldly. "I'm not here to be a hero, sir. You speak true, it's too late for saving. But the time is ripe for revenge."

My feet crunch as I make my way across the living room floor. The shattered ornaments almost look like confetti that had drifted gracefully to the ground, scattered there peacefully on the floor. Everything here indicates a party, the lights, the gifts, the food. Or at least it did. The string lights now look lie in a tangled mess in the corner, still glowing like fireflies. The gift boxes have caved in, and the paper that wraps them had somehow lost its shine. The food, however remains untouched, and still sits perfectly on the table. One glass of wine knocked over. I know that I’ll always remember how the air smells. Pine, cinnamon, fireplace, and fresh dinner rolls. What I try to ignore is the taste of salt on my checks and the rawness of my throat. I try to ignore the soreness in my wrists. Christmas was so special when I was younger. Now I look at the ornaments shattered under my feet and my happiness turns to ash in my mouth.

——————

“Do we really need to bring this up today?”

“I just think the holidays would feel more special,” Will muttered to himself as he hung an ornament on the tree.

“Will, I don’t want to have this discussion again. Not today.” Rachel was pulling the small ham out of the oven, feeling the steam make her eyes water.

“Rachel, listen to me,” Will pleaded as he came around the counter and took the dish from her hands and set it on the table. “Can’t you picture it? A little kiddo running around getting excited about Santa coming? The reindeer too, and we can eat the cookies.”

“That was never our plan.”

“You’re so stubborn! Just say you’ll think about it!”

“I have, and we decided that it wasn’t want we wanted. I don’t want to be a mother, Will.”

The decisiveness in her voice made Will start to breathe harder. “That’s selfish.”

Rachel scoffed, “hah, well now I’m selfish for standing by what I’ve always known was right for me! You’re the one changing your mind!”

“I’ve grown up, Rachel.”

“Then stop acting immature.” She watched him walk away. “I won’t give you that, it’s not what I want and you know that.”

Will returned to the tree and picked up the box of ornaments. “Fuck!” He threw the box on the ground, the shatter sounding from inside the box.

“Relax. Can we just eat and finish this conversation another time? It’s Christmas.” She walked to him and picked up the box, setting it on the coffee table. She reached for his arm, but Will pulled his arm up away from her, too fast. His fingers brushed her eye, and it started to water immediately. “Agh!”

“Rach—“ he began as Rachel shoved him, a bit too hard away from her.

“Just leave me—“ he shoved back, and she stepped back into the tree, sending a few ornaments to the floor, fracturing around her feet. Rachel looked up at him, shocked and pushed her arms out to shove him back, but he grabbed her wrists, twisting them until she gave way underneath and sank into the tree with a yelp of pain. More ornaments fell to the floor and crashed around them in pops. Her foot stamped on a gift, and her ankle turned, sending her into the area under the tree. She landed on their pile if gifts, and heard the framed photo she had gotten him shatter beneath her elbow.

Will fell too, and careened down toward Rachel. The tree decided to go as well, and took the string lights fixed to the ceiling down with it. Will rolled over and his back crashed down on the floor of ornaments, turning them to fragments under his weight. Rachel, under the tree, sat gasping, “Will?”

He tuned into his side and watched from a distance as Rachel pulled herself from the bottom of the tree. Then they were sitting face to face on the living room floor, panting and seeing each other for the first time through pained eyes.

“I’m not having a child, Will.”

He nodded. He felt his palm open up to the glass in the floor as he pushed himself up off the floor. He did not look back at Rachel when he grabbed his coat, put on his boots, and walked out the front door on Christmas Eve.

She used to wear beautiful bangles of silver. Now ruby red cuts bracelet her wrists. A crown of gold used to rest upon her curled locks. And now scars are inlaid in her scalp under her matted hair. Pristine dresses once hung from her shoulders. Now dirty rags hang there in mockery. Her skin used to smell of fresh flowers. Now bruises bloom where the scent no longer lingers. Her eyes that used to sparkle with joy now sparkle with tears of pain. Necklaces of diamond once draped her throat where necklaces of rope now lay. Beautiful notes once flowed from her throat where screams of agony now exit. Blinding smiles once graced her face, now replaced by grimaces. Her soul once purer than an angels’ now blackened with the ashes of her past.