Marcos woke up to the sun setting around him, people milling around, seemingly not paying him any attention. He looked up to a passing couple, “Excuse me?” No answer. Not even a glance in his direction. The bustling city around him full of people. Stores, marquees, and restaurants lined the sandy streets.

   He rubbed his face, only to be met with sand and grit scraping into his skin and eyes, making him feel even worse than before. He looked down, seeing himself in only a pair of shorts and a dusty wife beater. He didn’t even have shoes. He got up, stumbling a bit. He couldn’t remember anything from before, like he was a blanked mind, new and naive, he was lucky he knew his own name.

    He looked around confused once the surroundings came into focus. A desert town. He tried hard to think. Getting a headache, fighting the fog in his brain. He wanted to scream in pain, but he didn’t want to seem insane, not like anyone was paying him any mind. The hustle and bustle of cars and people was even more confusing. 

 Suddenly it hit him, he lived in Arizona. Yet, he knew where he lived wasn’t heavily populated. In fact, it was barely a town, just a place people passed through. It used to be a rich town, heavy with tourism as people passed through towards California, Nevada, New Mexico, and Mexico, but that all stopped when the fires broke out. It destroyed several communities and raged for days in the wild brush. 

  The communities were devastated, united in trying to rebuild, but without the tourism, the money ran out, the government didn’t see fit to help restore the city. Eventually, they gave up. Moved out, forced out, passed on. It was emotionally hard on who was left in the community. 

     It became a ghost town, Marcos was so young, he only remembered the barren landscapes, the half burnt reminders of industrialism, of wealth, of an illusion of eternity. 

   People were persuaded by the idea that the place could still be attractive enough to bring in a niche market, but it never happened. He spent his childhood biking around what was once a stunning town, but was now just a wasteland. A sad reminder of the dreams people had to leave behind. 

 He began to walk, the sand under his feet felt odd, hard? He looked down, it wasn’t just sand, but concrete, as well. They didn’t have concrete in this condition in his area? But the terrain was the same. 

   He felt odd as well, as if he was going to be sick, but not due to heat or hunger, as if he had chugged a bottle of alcohol, but without the intoxicating effects, just the dizziness and distorted mindset. What happened to Marcos? 

  A man on a bike was passing through, “excuse me! Sir! Excuse me?” Marcos begged out. 

  The young man stopped, got off his bike, while unstrapping his helmet. “Can I help you sir? Do you need me to get you someone?” He looked at Marcos with concern. “Is everything alright?” He handed him an extra water bottle from the side pack on his bike. Marcos drank it greedily, hoping it would help something in his brain. 

  He stumbled on his words. “What town is this?” He was scared. For some reason he couldn’t understand, his fear felt primal, like he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

  “Well, you’re in Mineshaft Creek. Do you remember how you got here?” The man asked him. “I’m Andrew, by the way, it’s nice to meet you, what’s your name?” Andrew felt something towards this man, not an attraction, but a feeling he knew him. 

  “Uhm… I’m Marcos. Wait, Mineshaft Creek? That can’t be possible, it burned down in ‘88?” Marcos replied incredulously. 

  Andrew, Mineshaft Creek, the Bridge Town. His brain began to hurt again, like it was fast forwarding and rewinding at once. Memories flooded his mind, so much to a point it nearly brought him to his knees. He knew that name, but how? He gritted his teeth and looked past the pain, confusion being at the forefront of his mind, he needed answers. 

  “Like 1888? It’s only 1979, sir. Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Can you tell me what year you think it is?”  Andrew began to feel uneasy. Like something was happening that wasn’t meant to be. 

 “No, that can’t be possible. it’s 2011, this place is a ghost town. Wait. Andrew? May I ask your last name? If it’s not a bother to you. Of course.” Marcos racked his brain. Who was Andrew to him, why did he….

 “Baxter, I’m Andrew Baxter. I was actually on my way to pick up dinner for my girlfriend, Diana, how bout I stop and grab you a pair of flip flops and we can walk to the shop together, please let me get you something to eat, maybe I can phone Diana at the restaurant and see if she can bring the car round.” He said quickly, trying to make sure the man didn’t leave yet. He had questions himself. 

  Marcos almost let his mask slip. Diana. Andrew Baxter. It couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream. 

“Uhm, yeah that sounds very generous, I really appreciate it, sir- Andrew, I mean. I’m lucky to have met you on these streets.”

“No worries, I would do it for anyone.” As Andrew spoke, Marcos’ heartstrings tugged, a part of him knowing there was so much truth behind his words. So much. 

  They began to walk together, shoes on Marcos’ feet. He knew for some reason the time would be short together, Andrew delicately trying to probe into Marcos’ life, but finding answers in a man who could barely recall his own name was rather difficult. At the restaurant, Andrew phoned his girlfriend, Diana, who was a complete sweetheart to the world around her, who happily agreed to pick them up. She was excited at the prospect of dinner with a guest, as she spent most of her time studying alone. 

  She pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later, Andrew still not getting much out of the now much more nervous Marcos. They all piled into the car, the smell of diner food filling the car, the silence, as Marcos sat in the backseat, thinking. 

 It couldn’t be possible, Andrew and Diana Baxter, Marcos Baxter’s parents, were dead, they died in the fires. Based on photos though, his belief was now contradicted, unless this wasn’t a sick joke, and he had somehow come back to 1979. How? How was this possible? 

 Then it hit him like a lightening bolt. The explosion, the experiment, Amber. He suddenly recalled everything. He sat in complete silence, but his mind was screaming. Wailing as time caught up with itself, with the consequences of his actions, with every memory from his childhood to 2011, he remembered. Now he was sitting in the backseat of a car, with parents he only knew for three years. 

 Why had he sent himself here? Realizing he woke up with nothing in his pockets, dread filled him to the core.

 He was stuck here. In 1979, nine years before the fire that would take his parents life. He realized his Uncle, who he was named after, was himself, the person who took care of him, _was himself. _

A man rode his bicycle one time he was headed for work he had but one thing on his mind fortune. fame. glory. he wanted to become rich but in his rush to become great he didnt take a moment and wait as he rode daily through the fog he never truly stopped and saw he didnt take time to stop and notice what was in the fog just beyond his focus. everyday on his way to fame he never looked back on the way he came to see what happened behind the door or to see the girl who layed on the floor bruised and broken she lay in pain waiting and waiting for somebody to notice. and yet the man lost in the fog of his mind never once saw the great crime that he passed everyday on his way to work.

After Reese was kicked out of the town for speaking out about it’s corruption. He decided to leave with nothing but his two wheels that could take him anywhere. He left when the moon traded places with the sun and petaled all throughout the night. Reese was determined to stumble across a community of genuine people, surrounded by love and open honesty. He wanted something new to look at, something abstract and beautiful. As dawn made its way back around, Reese was in awe of the beautiful portrait illustrated across the horizon. The slight misty fog surrounding his legs and the fading of the night sky blending with the sun’s peak. As he rode by admiring the sky’s beauty, he noticed a group of people building some type of structure. Reese’s face grew a wide smile when seeing that group of people working together as one. It deeply resonated with his core, that was all Reese dreamed of having.

There were clattering voices just beyond the horizon. Soul searchers. Seeking Holy ground. Desperate for a touch of healing. I inhaled the cool sweet air of the morning dew kissing my face. It was as if I were stepping into a new realm.

Are we in danger .. Are we safe .

Spontaneous…. Action … Thinking ..

We have control.

Unfortunate … Accidents.. Throughout . Fortunate .. Plans …

Thinking you had it right Now fright

Silly thinking The winking

Could it mean something happy Or lead to a situation, snappy

Knowbody knows Everyone on there toes

Finding peace Hoping no negative release

In a world so unknown You’re grown

“Hey Ma, this looks like a really cool place! Did grandma take this picture?” Timmy asks

“What’s that honey?” she lobs back. He doesn’t respond. “Is that grandpa on the bike?”

Sarah, a/k/a Mom, is in the kitchen wrapping dishes and silverware in newspaper. There are several boxes on the kitchen counter and the spots where appliances would go lay empty revealing a different shade of color than the rest of the room

Timmy is sitting on an oversized recliner that was clearly a throne to someone important in the house.

Positioned directly by its side, a fixed, conservative patterned approach to living room sitting.
Theres a basket with two long knitting needles surrounded by a few different colored balls of yarn perched right by this chair

“What’s that you said honey? Sarah says entering the room.

She walks over to Timmy and looks over his shoulder.

“This picture is so cool.” he says excitedly. “Who took it Mom?” he asks.

When Sarah looks down, she lets out an innocently soft

“Oh my!” as tears well up in her eyes. One of them makes its way down her rounded cheek falling off and landing next to the photograph.

Starteled, Timmy sadly looks up at his mother.

“Mom, what’s the matter?” he asks. “Why are you crying?” he asks

“Oh, its not what you think. Yes, I’m crying but these tears aren’t just sad Timmy. I think grama mixed em with the happy ones. The ones that remind us how much they loved us. All the memories we made together”

“Even love makes you cry? That sucks!” says Timmy “Sometimes honey”, she says “Memories make you cry?”, he prods “Well, yeah, they can do it too.” She says wi “I don’t get it” he says with a puzzled look on his face

Sarah sits down in her mothers chair, easing herself down slowly making sure to feel the fabric as her hands glide over the arms. She smiles as the chair seems to have a soothing nature for her. She inhales deeply through her nose looking for that particular scent her mother used to wear.

When she hits the right spot, her eyes close behind a sweet barely perceptible smile. She knows that the day will come when she wont find it so she breathes it in.

“I really wish I would have known them” “Me too honeyt, but you were still in my belly when they passed. Your Dad and I got a late start. Oh boy they would have loved to meet you. Your just like your grandfather”

“Is the picture one of those memories for you?” he says searching for anything. “What does it mean?” “Did grandma or grandpa take it?”

Sarah starts to tear up again as she answers her son

“Yeah. Pop took the photo. He always loved to do things for gram so when she said it looked amazing, he snuck off to buy an instant camera so he could take a picture and show her later. He was a hopeless romantic”

“I remember when I first saw it. It was probably, what you said, just really cool to everyone else but for me, it just grabbed me. So I painted over a weekend and what your looking at is a picture of that painting.”

Timmy hesitates briefly then explodes in excitement.

“You painted it! Wow!. Where is it? Where’s the place? Is it at the end of the street or behind billy’s house? “No, its not there.” she says with a chuckle “Where is it then?”. Timmy suddenly takes on a confused look and tone. “Wait just a minute Mom!”. “If you took a picture, after you painted it; then where is the painting?”

“Well, we can’t get anything past you, can we?” she asks “No sir ree” he says proudly

“Well, its with them. We all figured it was so special that they should have it; forever. “ “So we had a special box made and we placed it between them when we buried them. This way the special moment would always be with them” she says through swollen eyes.

“I don’t get it.” he says

Sarah takes a moment to dab her eyes then drifts off staring at nothing.

“Mom?” he says for attention

Sarah breaks from the stare, cracks a slight grin.

“ Well let me just explain it you curious little man you.” she says while tickling his belly.

“When two people are really close, when they spend that much time together, what does that tell you?” “Ummm, they love. Each. Other? Like a lot.” he says stumbling through the response.

“Yes. You got it!” she says proudly

“They had a special unbreakable bond honey. You can say from the moment they met, they were best friends and all they wanted to do was be with each other. To spend every minute of every day together. Doing something. Anything. As long as it was with each other”

“Oh.” Timmy says “Like me and my best friend Todd Sullivan?” he innocently blurts out

Sarah burst into laughter.

“Not quite dear. You’ll see some day. When you find that special person.”

She reaches out and cradles his face in her hands.

“Who could resist this sooo cute face.”

“Its a bond so strong that they happily gave themselves to each other for all of their lives. Of course they had friends, but they had each other and that was the most important thing for both of them.”

“That young man, is the gift they left fort us. How to live and how to love another, and hopefully we might get to do the same thing.” she says proudly.

“That’s kinda, sorta sweet Mom. They sound like really nice people and I know I wont get to meet them but can you tell me more; about them.”

“Let’s start with, WHERE was it take? The picture? what time of day…”. Timmy is besides himself

Sarah leans back in her mothers chair, puts her hands on her legs

“Ok, then. Grandma loved the early morning.”

“Especially the early morning mist…..”

I know I am here. I will not wonder why I have come. Something has pushed me into a realm I have never ever felt.

It was very early in the morning, the sky painted with hues of orange and scattered clouds predicting a clear sunrise. A cool breeze chilled my face as I followed my regular cycling routine. Yet, there was something different in the air today. Suddenly, as I turned right onto the desert road of Dunes, far from the city’s clamor, I became enveloped in a very dense fog. Visibility dwindled to mere feet ahead, obscuring my path.

About a quarter of a mile to the side, an odd structure caught my eye—a door, standing inexplicably without a building to support it. Curiosity piqued, I stopped and parked my bicycle behind an old bush nearby. As I approached, the scene became clearer: two open doors, yet all I could see through them was an even thicker veil of fog.

“Well, it can’t hurt to have a peek,” I thought, stepping through the doors, unaware that it would be the last time I saw my bicycle—or the world I knew.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I feel like I’ve always been here and yet I feel like I just got here. I can’t see too far past the fog and the further I try to stray from here the thicker it gets. No matter how much I focus and pay attention I always get turned around and end up back here where I started. I’ve stopped trying. Now I observe. Hoping something or someone will be able to tell me where I am and how I leave. Only my biggest problem is that no one seems to notice I’m here. I see and hear all of them but no one sees or hears me no matter how loud I shout. Their lives go on uninterrupted. Men, women, children, people of all sizes and cultures. They all casually walk or run or bike or even drive by me as if they’re just passing through. Even the animals and the birds don’t seem to notice I’m always here observing them. I wonder if they even see each other. Are we all just lost, wandering, unaware of where we are or where we are going?

I lay far away back as fog covers my Eyes I see, the bright beautiful Orange cream dreamsicle Sunset And through the fog,distance can’t tell if it’s people or Small ants Vivid colorful portrait lies ahead of me The man on his bicycle,enjoying the weather I see