They both sat together on the swinging bench, their shoulders hunched and eyes down. The only sign of another person nearby was the slight motion. One they each found comforting.

The invisible man never existed. No matter how hard he tried, no one would notice him. That was until one day he sat on the old bench in exasperation. To his suprise a voice appeared from beside him, as if cutting through the fog.

“A rough day?” The man asked. The invisible man peered over. The man beside him had clouded eyes and seemed to be staring off in the distance, yet he managed to place his eyes on the invisible man in some other way, a way that he never felt before.

“Something like that.” The invisible man said. Despite all the previous shananigans that followed the question, he couldn’t help but ask, “Can you see me?”

The blind man laughed, “Can’t you see the fog in my eyes? It blinds me from the shapes and colors.”

The invisible man nodded his head in agreement. “I have a fog around my body, so people can’t see me.”

The blind man kept his gaze focused to the sun. “We aren’t that much different, are we? I can’t see the world and the world can’t see you. Funny how fog works.”

The blind man had never met anyone who could relate so similarly to his issue and fill some sort of comforting feeling in his heart. It wasn’t necessarily a feeling of relief that he wasn’t missing out on all the sights in the world, it was a feeling a happiness that maybe the fog not only targeted him, but others. The fog caged others like it did him.

From that day forward the two would always sit on the wooden swing, seeing each other from the motion of the chair. They sat, mostly in silence but every now and then discussing things that made them feel at home.

The blind man on right right.

The invisible man on the left.

They both sat, united.

No I can’t see Oh really Well I don’t have many friends Why? Because I’m see through.

Maybe I’m a little crazy Because my brain tells me that you’re real Although I cannot see you I’ve made a deathly deal

So don’t let them see me Talking to myself The nurses think they’re right Constantly give me red pills Reassuring me that I’m alright But each night is different Because I visit a diabolical shrink

He says I’m a sociopath One step away from never going back He also gives me drugs that sedate me I’m one more away from fading You really are my friend Aren’t you?

Mr. Invisible man You’ve got that warm friendly voice No one tells me that I have you’ve shown me a detailed map Of this building that we’re in Let me in on your secret Your successful little plan Tattooed on your body Are the blue prints That are grand

You know I can’t see these walls But I can feel it written on my hand I’ve memorized the plans With a pierced needle through my skin An exit, a way out Of this hellish place we’re in

Did you come to break me out Or tell me about my sins Go on and tell the priest That I never killed your friend I only used the name you gave me Mr. Invisible man

That’s why we’re both here Locked away in these four walls No windows to be seen One way in with no way out At least that’s what the doctor thinks

I was born completely blind. No sight at all. Nothing. But I can hear and smell very well. So when a kind guy asked if I was blind I said yes. He smelled good, like morning rain and coffee. He was kind. One day, he told me he was invisible. He asked if I believed him. “I can’t see you. So why would it matter to me. To me you are invisible, but very very important.”

A blind man, an invisible man and a ghost walk into a bar. Two of them go “Ahhhh” and the ghost is fine but on hearing them goes “Ahhhh” in solidarity. I just thought of that… You wouldn’t believe what I’m going to tell you because it sounds like the start of a joke but my story does involve these exact trio… supposedly.

I didn’t witness this myself but it was the blind man who came to me asked for two pints of beer and told me someone he was seating with was hearing voices from a ghost. I asked him when and he said “This night.” I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I could hear you raising your eyebrows.” It’s just, there hasn’t been anyone here other than him.

Then I got thinking, there was a time the door was blown open by the wind. Could that be the ghost?

The blind man continued. The man next to him said the ghost was telling him, the man next to him not the blind man, that he, the ghost, was actually the previous owner of the bar.

“I can hear your eyebrows creasing upwards.” The blind man said. And he was right. The previous owner was my dad and he was dead. A shiver shook down my spine and vibrated my nerves to no end. I braced the counter to keep my balance.

“Can you hear… the ghost?” I asked. This was a perfectly valid question given that he had impressively heightened hearing abilities.

“Nah, are you stupid? Should I continue or do you have any more stupid questions?”

“Actually I do, have a question. Is the man who was next to you still in the bar.”

“Yes, he’s right next to me now.”

I looked and saw clearly no one next to him. At first, I considered that my dad the ghost was actually sitting next to him. But then I shook it off. Ghosts aren’t real. Then I thought, would it be wrong to tell the blind man that he, the blind man, couldn’t actually see the man next to him because I couldn’t see him either. I looked at the two beers I had handed him before and it appeared like he was drinking from both simultaneously but his hand had only ever been on one.

“It’s like you have seen a ghost. Your heartbeat went up but I think you’ve calmed down now.” The blind man stated.

“The thing is… I can’t see the fella you say is next to you.” I replied with scepticism.

“He told me earlier that he came into the bar and was minesweeping the leftover booze.” The blind man said ignoring my observation. “That’s why I got him a beer and besides, I can clearly hear two other heartbeats. One is yours and one is his.” I stood incredulously. I was speechless.

This was making sense in a strange way.

“Can he speak?…”

“Nah, he said before that if he did, you would charge him for drinks in the future.”

“Did the ghost say anything else… to him?” Him as in the invisible man.

“Yeah, he ” (the ghost) “told him “ (the invisible man) “to tell me “ (the blind man) “to tell you “ (me) “that you should do better to get in more people to the bar than just us.” I just stood there, frozen in place.

“Well?” The blind man said. “What are you doing?”

“He’s just standing there.” Another voice said.

I ran out of the building as fast as I could and you are the first person I’ve told. I’m guessing by your silence, you don’t believe me, I knew it.

“Oh sir, let me grab that for you!” A gentle, deep voice says. Fallen groceries spot the sidewalk where Henry blindly dropped them. Henry’s bag felt heavier and fuller as the mystery man placed his groceries back. “What is you name, kind sir?” Henry asked. The man laughed. “Peter.” “Why did you laugh?” Henry asked, afraid he offended Peter in some way. “No one asks my name, or really anything.” “Why not?” “They just don’t seem to see me,” Peter says. Henry laughed this time. “Well a blind fellow like me can surely see you, Peter. You’re a kind man with a gentle heart. Don’t lose that kindness, Peter, even if people are harsh.” Peter listened intently at Henry’s wise words. Never did anyone ever speak such beauty about his condition. He was truly invisible, but Henry would never know that being blind. “How about we go to the ocean tomorrow; I’ll show you how the wind sings with the sea,” Peter insists. Henry’s face perked up. “I haven’t been to the ocean in years. I would love that.” Then the two departed, one unaware the other was invisible, but still, a friendship formed.

Christine, Esmeralda, Selena, Yujin, and May Lin were in the cultural department, at the prestigious University of Singapore in China, they are studying abroad for a year, to learn more about the history, traditions, culture, and mythology of China. Esmeralda were reading the historical context from a manuscript, she discovered at the library in May Lin’s house yesterday.

The contents reveals, a detailed account and description of the festival, it goes like this:

It’s one of the most important traditional Chinese festivals, known as the moon festival celebrated on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month either in September or October, this festival is a time for family reunions and is celebrated with various customs and activities.

The festival is marked by the appreciation of the full moon, which symbolizes unity, and harmony. Families gather to enjoy moon cakes, round pastries filled with sweet or savory fillings. Which traditionally shared among family members and friends as a symbol of completeness. Lanterns are also significant part of the celebration often lit and displayed and children may carry them in parades.

In addition to the moon cakes and lanterns the festival is rich in folklore, which the most famous legend, being of Chang’e, who is said to reside on the moon. The festival promotes themes of gratitude, reunion, occasion in Chinese culture.

The girls were researching for a upcoming project, for cultural history being taught by professor Xiao Moon, a renowned, and respected scholar of Chinese history, and culture. Selena, Christine, Yujin, and May Lin were sitting at the table listening intently to the words Esmeralda recited to them from the manuscript.

Then May Lin, replies to her friends, they should discuss this topic further at the tea house, “ Emperor’s Room” which is a few miles from the university, which having authentic traditional Chinese cuisine and tea.

“Pardon me, I didn’t see you there,” the older gentleman chuckled, “of course, it’s not like I would see anyone at all.”

“You see me?” Patrick stuttered, “I mean…you…”

“No, I lost my vision a decade ago,” the man said, “can you please help me get to the bank?”

“Um, yeah, of course,” Patrick was caught off guard, “people never even notice I’m around.” Patrick always felt invisible due to his smaller stature and a long list of his perceived imperfections. He felt ugly and ignored. The few times people did notice him, well, women mostly, they laughed at him and called him creepy.

“You’re very soft spoken, young man,” the older gentleman spoke, holding Patrick by the arm, “you need project your voice. Demand attention.”

“I, um, I’m a bit shy,” Patrick protested.

“We’re all shy at first, it’s a part of growing up,” the man continued, “once you get comfortable with being uncomfortable, that’s when things get better.”

“Thanks for the advice, I guess…” Patrick slowly walked with the man.

“I’m Charles, what’s your name?”

“Patrick…I’m Patrick,” it felt good to have someone ask…to have someone show interest in him for once.

“Patrick!” Charles passionately blurted out, “What a fine name! Fine name indeed.”

“Thanks?”

“You aren’t too sure of yourself eh Patrick?”

Patrick shook his head, forgetting that Charles was blind.

“It’s alright, that’s something you can learn, my boy,”

“Watch your step, we’re crossing the street,”

“Ah yes, quite. Thank you.”

“There are two banks on this block,” Patrick looked around, “a Chase, and a Bank of America.”

“Lead me to the Chase if you would.”

“Sure.”

“So Patrick, indulge an old man, tell me about yourself.”

“I dunno where to start,” Patrick was still shy, no one has ever been the slightest interested in him.

“How about you start with your age.”

“I’m 24.”

“Why you’re still a baby!” Charles laughed a hearty laugh, “Oh were I that age once more!”

“I wish to be older,” Patrick bemoaned.

“Oh? But why? Youth is a wonderful thing to splurged on wildest of adventures!”

“Yeah…I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked, “When I was your age I was quite a cocksman!”

Patrick giggled at the term.

“Oh ye of little faith. There wasn’t a girl in my hometown who I haven’t bedded back then.”

“Lucky you. I’m not very handsome. Or rich. Or anything really.”

“Boy, I’ll tell you what my father told me… you don’t need looks, or wealth, or anything but yourself.”

“All I ever am is myself,” Patrick sighed.

“No, you are not,” Charles sucked his teeth, “you are afraid to be yourself.”

“I’m not afraid,” Patrick protested, in his meek way, “I’m just…not the type of guy.”

“What was that?” Charles stopped and leaned his ear closer, “I couldn’t here you.”

“I’m not afraid?” Patrick repeated.

“Are you asking? I still can’t hear…”

“I’m not…”

“Louder, Patrick!”

“I’m not…”

“Louder! Howl like the wolf!”

“I’m not afraid!” Patrick raised his voice, visibly annoyed.

“There you go,” Charles smiled, “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Patrick blushed with embarrassment. He looked around as other pedestrians stopped and stared at the two men walking.

“Well?”

“I…” Patrick stuttered.

“Say it with me,” Charles nudged the younger man, “I’m not afraid!

“I’m not afraid!”

“Once more now!”

“I’m not afraid!” Patrick shouted, growing more confident, “I’m not afraid!”

“Notice how good it feels to rebel against your fears and anxieties.”

“It feels…” a sudden smile crossed Patrick’s face, “it feels incredible!”

He looked around at the strangers giving him askance glances as they passed. And it didn’t matter. He felt seen. He felt powerful!

“Are we at Chase?” Charles asked.

“Yes, we’re here,” Patrick held the door open to let Charles pass.

“Come in with me,” Charles requested, “I could use a fearless friend.”

“Sorry, it’s crowded in here today.”

“No problem, the seat across from me is open. Let me shift my coat.”

Tapping the cafe table’s edge lightly with his cane, Ned manuvered on the chair. Molly, his seeing eye dog, curled beneath the table.

“Terribly kind of you to share your table. Don’t let me disturb you. I can tell you were typing on a laptop and listening to Mozart on your headphones. Classic signs of intense work.”

“Yes, if Salzburg Symphony No. 1 doesn’t move me to finish this article I’m doomed. May I get your order from the counter. There’s a backup at the drive-thru and the undercaffeinated are cheek and jowl at the pickup area.”

“Natives getting restless, huh? The neighborhood is changing, you know. Wrong sort swarming in. No, don’t trouble yourself the boy will bring it. I’m a regular.”

Glancing the stranger over, Jamal returned to his screen. The barista approached with a honeycrisp oatmilk shaken espresso and a warm chocolate croissant.

“Hello, sir, here is your coffee and croissant. Sorry for the delay. ‘Sup Jamal I just wanted to thank you for that book suggestion. Ralph Ellison was dope.”

“Told you brotha some of these old heads be bussin’.”

“Aight, catch you later.”

Turning away, the barista headed in the fray of incorrect orders. Jamal tapped his keyboard’s volume button to slip into precise structure of Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Tight-lipped Ned drank his coffee in silence.

I hate that I can’t see what people are seeing I thought it was over no friends for me I hate that I can’t see normal things I miss the life I use to have When I would smile and I could see people smile back

Until one day I walked out my door Feet shuffled against the concrete floor Ready for another day of “do you need a hand?” “What can you see?” I hear someone crying around the Corner No happiness left in them I walk up to them and say “hey you okay” I don’t know if he did but I could feel the presence of a smile

He reply’s saying “you can see me?” I think oh great here goes another assumption I say “no I can’t but I can hear you tears and your pain” once again I can feel a smile presence He says “oh I’m sorry I just am Suprised you recognised me”

We walk along the roads Arms interlinked We sit down for a tea He says “can u order for me and I’ll pay I just don’t think they’ll be able to see me” I agree and go order And there we are drinking our drinks not caring abt how popular eachother where Not caring how we looked or how eachother looked just 2 friends drinking tea