I’m jus like a tissue I hold and gather up stuff , but that stuff wasn’t enough before u left me in the dust , see my love is like a glass fragile easy to break , see my mind is like a paper running out of space , time hard life hard but i never gave up I see people out here begging for trust , see people leave and always think they can be the one to come Back , if you ever had you heart broke you know that that was all a sign , youu leave go somewhere leave wats in the past left behind, see the past is always the past , but not always wat youu have to keep in your mind,

I say my heart is broken wondering where should I go , see people say their a home but it never feel like home , I say people don’t have someone to look up to but see me I’m always down , when I’m around people I always have to fake my smile , people see me as I’m so happy but deep down I’m not , my mind is outta control I don’t know wen it’s gon stop , be who you are they say but that’s some I can’t be , see people expect youu to be so perfect when it’s time for that being it’s don’t really feel right , you never knows how someone feels cause they are in them tight, see people feel lonely, tired of living In life

I didn’t put them on until later that night. And when I did, I almost screamed. All through the house was brightly colored wisps of air. I looked closer at one of them. And what did I see? Memories. Some were mine and my friends. Others were from 20, 30, 50 years ago. And now I have a problem. I could no remember you had given them to me. I really needed to find out.

For my 23rd birthday, I didn’t expect much. A quiet dinner with my family, a few calls from friends, maybe some new books. But when my grandfather handed me a small, worn-out box, something inside me stirred. His eyes twinkled behind thick glasses, and a mischievous grin crept up on his face.

“Happy birthday, Emma,” he said, patting my shoulder.

I smiled, peeling the faded paper away. Inside the box was a pair of vintage spectacles—round, with thin golden rims. They didn’t look like much, but they carried an odd weight, as though they held something more than just glass.

“They’re special,” Grandpa whispered. “Put them on.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Special how?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink.

I shrugged, sliding them onto my nose. At first, everything seemed normal. The living room was just as I’d left it: the old leather couch, dusty bookshelves, my sister’s half-eaten slice of cake on the table. But as I glanced toward the corner of the room, something flickered—a shimmer in the air.

I blinked, adjusting the glasses. In the corner stood a tall, shadowy figure, watching me silently. My heart pounded. I whipped off the glasses, and the figure vanished. When I put them back on, it was there again.

“Grandpa… what is that?” My voice wavered.

He chuckled, settling into his armchair. “Ah, so you’ve met your first one. They’re always around, you know—things hidden in plain sight. Some call them spirits, others simply echoes of time. These glasses let you see what the rest of the world ignores.”

I was speechless. My entire world felt like it had shifted. Ghosts? Spirits? What else had been lurking just outside my vision all these years?

Over the next few days, I tested the glasses in every way I could think of. I wore them while walking through the park, while grocery shopping, even in the quiet of my own room. Everywhere I went, there were hidden things—creatures or beings I couldn’t explain. Some were small, flitting between trees or peeking out from behind buildings. Others were enormous, standing in the middle of crowds, completely unnoticed.

At first, it was thrilling, like I’d unlocked some secret dimension. But soon, it became unsettling. Some of these things were benign, like the spirit of an old woman who floated down the street, humming to herself. Others… weren’t so friendly. One night, as I lay in bed, I put the glasses on out of habit. In the dark corner of my room, a pair of glowing red eyes stared back at me.

My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I slid the glasses off, and the eyes vanished into the darkness.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that the glasses weren’t just revealing the hidden—they were making me a part of it. These beings knew I could see them now. Some ignored me. Others… followed me.

One day, I went to visit Grandpa, desperate for answers.

“Why did you give these to me?” I asked, holding the glasses out to him. “Why me?”

Grandpa’s face softened. “I thought you were ready, Emma. I’ve had those glasses for most of my life, but I’m getting too old to deal with what they show. I thought maybe you’d be strong enough.”

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“What happens if I stop wearing them?”

Grandpa sighed. “You’ll go back to the way things were. Blissfully unaware. But remember, once you’ve seen them, they’ll always know you’re there. Some of them might not leave you alone so easily.”

I stared at the glasses in my hand, unsure if I could handle the responsibility.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Grandpa’s words, but I was determined to test the theory. The glasses lay on my nightstand for two days, untouched. I tried to settle back into normal life—work, calls with friends, going out for coffee—but a creeping unease followed me everywhere.

It felt like I was constantly being watched. I couldn’t prove it, and without the glasses, I had no way of knowing for sure. Still, whenever I turned a corner or glanced over my shoulder, I swore I saw flickers of movement out of the corner of my eye.

On the third night, as I lay in bed, the feeling of eyes on me was unbearable. I had been tossing and turning for hours, heart pounding, skin prickling with the sensation of being observed. My hand drifted toward the glasses. Don’t do it, I told myself. But the dread was too much.

I slipped them on.

At first, I didn’t see anything unusual. The room looked the same: my dresser in the corner, my desk with piles of unfinished work, and the soft glow of my lamp. But then I turned toward the window—and froze.

A figure stood in the shadows by my bed. It was tall, with elongated limbs that stretched unnaturally. Its eyes glowed faintly, a sickly green light. I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. The figure didn’t move, didn’t blink—it just watched.

I yanked the glasses off, heart hammering. But the figure’s image was burned into my mind.

After that night, things only got worse. Every time I put the glasses on, the figures became more frequent. They weren’t just in my house anymore; they were everywhere. At the grocery store, in the library, walking down the street. Some followed me, hovering at a distance like silent sentinels.

I went back to Grandpa.

“They’re getting closer,” I told him, the panic clear in my voice. “I can’t handle it. I don’t want to see them anymore.”

Grandpa looked at me with sad, understanding eyes. “I warned you, Emma. Once you’ve seen them, they know you’re there. But there’s more to it. The glasses don’t just reveal—they also attract. They sense the power in you.”

“Power?” I echoed, confused.

He nodded. “There’s something about those glasses that draws them in, yes. But it’s also about you. The reason I gave them to you is because I knew you had potential. These beings… they’re not all harmful. Some of them are lost, others curious. But there are others—dangerous ones—that seek out that power. That’s why they’re coming closer.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait until they… what? Attack me?”

Grandpa shook his head. “No. You learn to control it. The glasses gave you sight, but now you have to learn to guard yourself. There are ways to protect against the dangerous ones, but it takes time and knowledge.”

He reached into a drawer and pulled out an old leather-bound journal. “This was mine. Everything I learned over the years is in here. Read it, and you’ll start to understand. But you need to be careful. Don’t use the glasses unless you have to.”

I took the journal, feeling its weight. The edges were worn, and the pages inside were yellowed with age. It felt like holding a piece of Grandpa’s past, a guide through this new and terrifying world.

As I left his house, I realized that the glasses had opened a door I couldn’t close. Now, I had to figure out how to navigate the shadows I had let in.

That night, I sat on my bed, staring at the journal. Part of me was tempted to shove it into a drawer and pretend none of this had happened. But the other part—the part that had always been curious, always seeking answers—knew I couldn’t turn back now.

I opened the journal.

The first page was a sketch of a figure, one of the shadowy beings I had seen with the glasses. Next to it, Grandpa had written: “Not all that is hidden is evil. But some will be.”

I swallowed hard and flipped to the next page.

It was going to be a long night.

I always looked up to you, a true role model, But it was your eyes and smile that captured my soul. When you replied to me, I felt pure delight, But I couldn't always respond right, and I'm sorry if it seemed impolite.

My intentions were pure, never to disrespect, I just couldn't express my feelings in a clear aspect. I have dreams to chase and goals to meet, Responsibilities that keep me on my feet.

You might think I’m always meeting new faces, But the truth is, I’ve cut ties with most places. I’ve distanced myself to focus on my quest, Because dreams outlast the rest.

I work tirelessly to achieve my dreams, And party harder, or so it seems. I wished we could meet, just once, in an easy way, But my heart would race, feeling out of place.

You’re so far ahead, it’s clear to see, I feel out of reach, just being me. So, from afar, I’ll admire as a fan, Liking you always, as best as I can.

_I lay an wait _ _For a new tomorrow _ _For today is done _ _And no actions could relieve the sorrow _ I understand to hear sincerity _I miss what I cannot change _ But I will try to enjoy what I cannot control _For I can pray for a better tomorrow _

We had just moved into an old Victorian house, and we were still unpacking when my birthday came around; the occasion was bittersweet as the whole house was preoccupied with chores and unpacking boxes. I'm pretty sure that, with all the chaos, my family forgot it was my birthday. As the middle child of four kids with parents who never stop working, it's easy to be overlooked; Massie left early this morning, stealing the car and leaving, probably to drive three hours to see her boyfriend. Mom and Dad were livid when they woke up this morning to find that one of their cars was missing; they ran out of the house, taking Amy and May, the twins, with them, leaving me in an unfamiliar place. In their haste, they forgot I was still eating breakfast at the kitchen table. When they finally noticed, they just sent me a text saying how sorry they were; I didn't bother to reply, rolling my eyes and placing the phone on the table. And once again, I'm stuck being alone.

Around noon, Dad called, informing me that they were making their way back along with a quick happy birthday before hanging up. I decided to wander around the empty, quiet house, opening and closing doors until I found a door that opened to a staircase. I was about to climb the stairs that could only lead to the attic, but the doorbell ringing made me pause, deciding whether to ignore it or see who it was. I was about to go up the stairs when the doorbell rang again; huffing, I shut the door and made my way to the front door, opening it up to see a mailman holding a package. We both awkwardly stood there staring at each other, "Oh, cool, I wasn't sure if anyone was living here. Well, here's your package. Have a good day."

"Oh. Uh, ok, thanks?" I shut the door behind me with my foot and turned the box around, wondering who sent it, but I did not see a return address anywhere. Shrugging, I just decided to open the box because why not? No one is here, and it is my birthday. Going back to the kitchen to get a knife since I didn't know where the scissors were and didn't feel like going through boxes; setting the box on the table and carefully slicing through the thin tape on top and both sides, placing the knife down making it clatter on the table next to me. I opened the box, removed the packaging materials, and pulled out a fancy pair of 3D glasses. They were heavy in my small hands and twirling them around, they were perplexing; I didn't think they made 3D glasses so… sturdy. The frames were a deep matte black, the material was undecipherable, the glasses were too heavy for them to be made out of plastic, and it didn't feel like wood but had the smoothness of metal. They must have been handmade, but why go through so much trouble to make 3D glasses? Why would someone send something like this, and who sent it? Placing the glasses on the other side of the box opposite the steak knife, I dug through the box some more, trying to find some clues about its sender.

After looking for some time, I found a small handwritten letter: 'Dear current resident, I would like not to frighten you, but the house you just recently started to inhabit is filled with many secrets. Secrets that are hidden within the many walls of the ancient abode. For your protection, I have sent a pair of glasses that, if worn, will enable the wearer to see the invisible. P.S. The beings on the other side can only be seen while wearing the glasses. DO NOT let them pass any barriers. Also, if you wish to adventure past the safe space, make sure you always wear the glasses. Signed A Friend. P.P.S. Happy Birthday!'

I must've read the letter a dozen times, and my brain refuses to understand any of it. But curiosity got the best of me, and I put the glasses on. To no surprise, everything was the same besides everything having a tint to it from the tinted lenses of the glasses, which gave me a headache. Taking them off, I stuffed the glasses and letter in my hoodie pocket. I just decided to return to the attic staircase, not worrying about the mysterious person and how they knew it was my birthday; nope, I won't think about that. Instead, I focused on the attic, wondering if the previous owners may have left some things behind. What creepy stuff would be hidden in an old house?

Here I am again, this time with no distractions. Opening the door, I stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the long, narrow space. Gulping, a chill could be felt around me. A feeling I couldn't place engulfed me, but what was it? Why was I feeling this way? I did not have this feeling earlier. I couldn't move, so I went into my hoodie pocket, wrapping my hand around the glasses. They were warmer than they should be from being in my pocket. It was unnatural. I held on to them as I willed my legs to move, slowly making my way up the creaky steps as the light faded away the closer I got to the top using my other hand and pulled my phone out of my back pocket, turning the flashlight on I stopped on the third step to the landing hesitating for a minute before taking the last steps.

The attic was much bigger than I expected and utterly empty of what I could see. The floorboards squeaked with every step; taking my time across the room, not wanting to fall through the ancient wood beneath me. I went to the front of the attic, surprised to see cardboard boxes stuffed deep in a dark corner. The boxes didn't look like the ones we brought, and I am trying to remember if anyone has been up here. I get down on my knees to inspect the boxes and peel open the nicer-looking one. To my utter disappointment, it was filled with old leather-bound books, pictures, and loose journal entries. I pull the glasses out of my pocket and slip them on. I don't know why. It was just a feeling I had, something telling me I was missing something, and the glasses would help me find it.

Pulling books and papers out of the box and setting them in a neat pile next to me, I shuffled through it more, looking for… something. It was like a force came over me, and I couldn't stop until I found it. I was on the verge of giving up and moving to the other box when my fingers grazed over a metal object. Grabbing and pulling the object out to get a look at it, I found that it was a small bronze key. It felt heavy in my hand as I twirled it around. It was cold to the touch, like ice. Placing the glasses on top of my head to get a better look at the key without the distorted color of the glasses. The key was gone, but the weirder thing was that I could still feel the coldness of the key between my fingers. A little freaked, I quickly placed the glasses back, and the key came into view. The glasses really do let you see the invisible; a smile crept onto my face as excitement coursed through my body. What else is up here? My heart raced at the thought of discovering any more hidden objects. I tightly gripped the key in my hand, not wanting to lose it while I explored more of the attic. I realized I didn't need the light from my phone anymore, not while I wore glasses. I turned the light off on my phone, placing it back in my back pocket.

I went over to the other side of the attic after putting the contents back in the box and gently closing it. The other side was darker, hidden behind a separation wall. The attic might have been used as a room at one point. I suddenly stopped and stared at the wall, perplexed at what I saw: a door that shouldn't be there. I move my glasses up and down in front of my eyes and watch in wonder as the door appears and disappears. Stepping closer, I wrapped a hand around the ice-cold handle and tried to turn it, but it didn't budge. Disappointed, I was about to leave when a cool breeze hit the back of my neck. Startled, I turned to see nothing there. Looking down, I noticed the key still tightly gripped in my hand, and a thought passed my mind: an invisible key for an invisible door. A sly smile graced my lips, my heart pounding, my palms starting to sweat, and my excitement getting the best of me. My hand shook as I inserted the key, and a bubble of laughter passed my lips, happy that it fit. Gently turning the key, an audible click could be heard in the deathly still attic. Pulling the key out and placing it in my hoodie's pocket. I tried the handle again, and it turned freely this time. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and opened the door. I stood there, eyes still closed, as I felt the sensation of a cool breeze engulf me, inhaling the fresh salty air. Finally, I opened my eyes; I couldn't wait to see what I discovered. A small gasp passed my lips as my eyes grew wide as I took in the scene before me: a night sky filled with thousands of twinkling stars so close I could touch them. Thick fog covered the ground, making it impossible to see; the billowy cold fog crept in through the open door, snaking around my ankles, making me giggle from the tickling cold sensation.

I was about to take that step into the unknown when I heard a door slamming and heated, angry voices. My smile dropped as I quickly closed the door, locked it, placed the glasses and key in my pocket, and went downstairs. For once, it didn't bother me that my family had forgotten my birthday or that my parents were still clearly mad at my older sister. This had become my favorite birthday ever and the best gift I had ever received.

It was Saturday, six days after my twelfth birthday. Six days after I’d gotten the magic glasses from my fairy godmother—er, fairy great-aunt. By marriage.

Only on that day had I put them on in the daytime. I dared not do so today, not even though there was no school and the other kids wouldn’t see me looking like an old lady.

It was because of what the king of the sun had said: that these glasses and their power were not for my human like. That only a dispensation from on high allowed me to wear them at all—that otherwise I must never put them on again, and hand them over to an appropriate authority to destroy them.

But I knew, somehow just knew, that I was to put on the glasses tonight before I could do that.

I was afraid, not of what I would see, but of what would see me.

What was already seeing me.

After lights out, I put on the magic glasses and looked out my window.

I wanted to take off the glasses immediately and never put them on again. I wanted to destroy them. Why did THAT horror have to be the last thing I saw with them?! I’d rather have seen the lady who was so beautiful that it made me jealous!

At a slug’s pace they came: dim, dull gray things creeping through the sky. It was like seeing rotted corpses come out of their graves and slowly walk toward oblivion.

They moved with full purpose.

They saw me.

I didn’t want to know where they came from. I didn’t!

But I had to.

I looked past them, and if I hadn’t been wearing the glasses, I never would have seen the dim star that didn’t twinkle.

Saturn.

And at Saturn I saw him.

I wanted so much to take off my glasses, but it was like they were glued to my face, and my arms hung limp at my sides.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

The oldest man I had ever imagined possible. Had he ever been young? Like, EVER? His wrinkled, spotted skin hung off his bones. He was balding, and his long thin white beard fell to his knees. What was holding him together?

He held a telescope.

Please don’t look at me, lease don’t look at me! I’ll die if—

Too late.

I froze.

I felt like I was made of ice. So cold, so stiff. Was I breathing? Was my heart beating?

His jaw creaked open and ideas entered my head. Ideas of old age, of hair turning gray and falling out, of skin wrinkling and spots appearing, of joints stiffening, of slowing down; ideas of sickness, of germs spreading to every cell in my body, of never getting healthy again; ideas of death, doom, the tomb.

Ideas of the flesh rotting off my bones. Of flies laying their eggs in my rotting, stinking flesh. Of maggots hatching and gnawing away at my decaying, foul-smelling flesh! Of my bones being exposed until there was nothing left of me but a dried skeleton.

Ideas so horrifying I wanted to wake up from this nightmare—but I was awake.

…Ideas of something beyond.

Ideas of time, of the movement of the stars and planets. Ideas of contemplation.

Of rest.

Final, eternal rest.

My eyelids drooped.

I kept nodding off.

Sleep.

Would I ever wake up?

Did it matter?

My great-aunt, the fairy, wouldn’t hear of my destroying the glasses, but I was resolved never to put them on again. They must be destroyed, like the One Ring.

Without telling Great-Aunt Morgan, I left the house at dawn with the glasses.

I went to the graveyard, and buried them deep.

I haven’t seen them since, and if I never see them again it’ll be too soon.

When Great-Aunt Morgan found out, she shrieked like chalk scraping on a blackboard, and ground her teeth until there was nothing left in her mouth.

She stamped her foot so hard, she drove it right through the floor! She yanked on her leg as hard as she could, and she split herself in half—right up the middle!

The two halves of her burst into green flame, and exploded. The sparks buried themselves under the floor.

I don’t know how I got any sleep that night. But sleep I did, more peacefully than ever before.

It was Friday, five days after my twelfth birthday. Five days after I’d gotten the magic glasses from my fairy godmother—er, fairy great-aunt. By marriage.

Only on that day had I put them on in the daytime. I hadn’t dared to do so the previous day, and not just because they made me look like an old lady and I didn’t want the other girls to laugh at me.

It was because of what the king of the sun had said: that these glasses and their power were not for my human like. That only a dispensation from on high allowed me to wear them at all—that otherwise I must never put them on again, and hand them over to an appropriate authority to destroy them.

But I knew, somehow just knew, that I was to put on the glasses every night that week.

I was afraid, not of what I would see, but of what would see me.

What was already seeing me.

After lights out, I put on the magic glasses and looked out my window.

The most beautiful copper-green lights swam elegantly through the sky in a delicate ballet!

They moved with full purpose.

They saw me.

Where were they coming from?

I looked past them, and if I hadn’t been wearing the glasses, I never would have seen the brightest star in the sky.

Venus was too close to the sun to be seen at night, but I somehow I saw her.

The most beautiful, feminine lady I had ever imagined possible! She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her, and not just because I felt like an ugly stepsister compared to her beauty.

Her red-brown hair wove from her head all around, framing her face perfectly and flowing down to her waist. Her brown eyes sparkled like stars, framed with long, thick lashes. Her nose was so soft and petite. Her lips were sweet as honey. She had a full chest of the most perky breasts I’d ever thought possible, and milk poured from them.

And—

—was she PREGNANT?!

I couldn’t tell; all I knew is that she was NOT fat. Or if she was, she wore her fatness in beauty. No worries for her whether her gown made her look fat!

She had long, shapely arms and legs, and the softest, brightest skin.

I looked like a man compared to her beauty. I was so jealous—and I was ashamed at being jealous.

Her mouth opened, and ideas entered my head. Ideas of true love at first sight, of courtly romance, of marriage, of sexual intercourse, of pregnancy and childbirth and motherhood; of sweetness and honeyed tongue, and beautiful speech.

Of a far-off western garden of golden apple trees whose fruits made you live forever and never grow old and ugly.

I cried in shame. Could I ever hope to be as beautiful as her, to be loved for my own self by a man, to be proposed to? To be a bride and wife? To let my husband come into me and sire a child in me? To be a mother, and nurse my child with my milk?

I think I died inside.

One day left in the week. Would I make it?

It was Thursday, four days after my twelfth birthday. Four days after I’d gotten the magic glasses from my fairy godmother—er, fairy great-aunt. By marriage.

Only on that day had I put them on in the daytime. I hadn’t dared to do so the previous day, and not just because they made me look like an old lady and I didn’t want the other girls to laugh at me.

It was because of what the king of the sun had said: that these glasses and their power were not for my human like. That only a dispensation from on high allowed me to wear them at all—that otherwise I must never put them on again, and hand them over to an appropriate authority to destroy them.

But I knew, somehow just knew, that I was to put on the glasses every night that week.

I was afraid, not of what I would see, but of what would see me.

What was already seeing me.

After lights out, I put on the magic glasses and looked out my window.

Bright lights struck out of the sky and to the earth like silent trumpet blasts! A parade?

No, much more solemn than that—and yet, much more joyous as well!

The shining trumpets moved on their own. They were alive.

They saw me.

Where were they coming from?

I looked past them, and if I hadn’t been wearing the glasses, I never would have seen anything but a bright star that didn’t twinkle.

There was a man, seated on a kingly throne, dressed in the most regal splendor I had ever thought possible! He was so majestic that I would insult him if I didn’t curtsy—and so jolly that he seemed happy to be anywhere, with anyone, doing anything!

It was like Santa Claus in his sleigh, except dead serious. He laughed heartily with pure joy, and his laughter was like thunder.

An eagle rested on his shoulder, and he held a compass—one of those things for drawing circles, you know?

Oh, this had to be the high King at last!

I hadn’t spoken my thought out loud, but now his roaring laughter seemed angry. He was NOT the high King, but he forgave me for thinking he was. Most do. But there is One higher.

His laughter spoke of justice, of righteousness, of royalty, of surveying the land; of birds in the sky and fish in the sea; of fathers.

Of my father.

I felt horrible for how I’d treated my father—not for what I’d done to him, but for what I hadn’t done that I should have.

I was a horrible daughter.

Jupiter’s compass measured me, and I didn’t measure up.

Two days left in the week. Would I make it?

It was Wednesday, three days after my twelfth birthday. Three days after I’d gotten the magic glasses from my fairy godmother—er, fairy great-aunt. By marriage.

Only on that day had I put them on in the daytime. I hadn’t dared to do so the previous day, and not just because they made me look like an old lady and I didn’t want the other girls to laugh at me.

It was because of what the king of the sun had said: that these glasses and their power were not for my human like. That only a dispensation from on high allowed me to wear them at all—that otherwise I must never put them on again, and hand them over to an appropriate authority to destroy them.

But I knew, somehow just knew, that I was to put on the glasses every night that week.

I was afraid, not of what I would see, but of what would see me.

What was already seeing me.

After lights out, I put on the magic glasses and looked out my window.

At first I thought I was seeing a meteor shower—but the meteors were going WAY too fast!

And—were they some kind of liquid? They kept running into each other and then splitting up!

And yet they moved with purpose. They were alive.

And they saw me.

Where were they coming from?

I looked past them, and if I hadn’t been wearing the glasses, I never would have seen.

The planet Mercury was below the horizon, too close to the sun to be seen at night. And yet, somehow, I saw it.

Who was at Mercury? Was it a man? Or a boy? I couldn’t get a handle on his age because it just wouldn’t hold still!

Or was there two of him? Or three?

No good. I was getting dizzy just trying to see. I stopped trying.

But somehow there was a method to all this motion. It was a sprightly dance, like a fairy dance (I know; I’ve seen my great-aunt dance).

And somehow the sun and the moon and all the stars and planets seemed to join the dance! Not just those you can see from earth, ALL OF THEM!!!

The dance lent ideas to my mind: ideas of ambition, of cunning trickery, of speed, of heat; of horse breaking and boxing—but most especially, of words.

I heard Mercury speak to me, but not with my ears.

He said that he was not the King of whom the lord of the sun spoke. There was One higher. It was He who was the choreographer of this dance.

I had never felt so slow, so sluggish, before. I was retarding the dance. It was as if someone had sewn heavy weights into my skin.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out—just barking, like a dog.

Did a tall tower just fall to the earth and crumble? I didn’t hear it—did it make a sound?

I never was one for logic puzzles.

Three days left in the week. Would I make it?