I didn’t mean to stop and stare like that - but I couldn’t help it. It was… hypnotic, to say the least; every word rang out harmoniously, every note resonated vigorously - yet, despite all that colour, it remained calm in nature, his words eloquently cutting away at my worries and distractions till all I could do was focus on him.

Alas, it didn’t seem like the world wanted me to feel such peace for very long. My phone, its vibrations dragging me right back to the present moment, rang out in rude defiance, reminding me why I was here in the first place.

“It’s about time you picked up, Serah,” his sly, mocking voice pinged in a distorted tone, “I’ve been waiting.”

It was hard to hide my frustration at hearing his voice and a sigh escaped my lips against my will, “Just cut it out Sebas. I’ve brought the money so tell me where we’re meeting.”

His stupid chuckle made me want to be sick.

“What’s the rush, hun? I’m not going anywhere. This is a cause for celebration, don’t you say? How many generations has it been - three? Four, even? Finally, you guys have decided to end this feud.”

His words made me shudder, which I guess he must’ve heard, since he began cackling animalistically.

“Well, I say ‘you guys’, yet really it’s just you, isn’t it? Ah, this is truly golden - all this just to hide one measily secret from your family.”

“Disrespectfully, go fuck yourself.”

“Feisty one, are we? Careful now - you wouldn’t want the price of my silence to rise, would you?”

I bit my tongue at that, less to keep silent and more to find some sort of outlet for at least a tiny portion of of the bubbling pot of frustration I was feeling.

As if to make it worse, the man was packing up his equipment now - I never even realised when his angelic voice ceased to paint my background in hues of pink and orange. I walked over to him, blending in with the crowd of people he seemed to have summoned around him so naturally, and slipped a tenner into the cup I saw.

It was an intriguing cup; it seemed to be a simple paper cup at first glance, yet the more I looked at the cup, the more I felt uneasy - like watching a moth get closer and closer to an open flame, idly floating towards it with blissful ignorance to the danger it was putting itself in for the sake of sneaking one extra look, closer and closer until it inevitably—

“… Miss?”

His voice dragged my focus almost immediately away from the cup, snapping my head upwards with stirred ferocity, only to fling it right onto his poor chin, sending the both of us clutching for our faces in pain.

“I - I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me—“

“Don’t… don’t stress it, Miss, it was a simple mistake. Are you okay?”

He looked even better up close.

Stopping my jaw from hanging like a limp arm was a conscious effort; everything from his deep, polished mahogany eyes, to his chocolate-smooth skin. Not to mention his voice; here I was praising his singing, not even wondering just how refined his speaking voice could possibly be.

Jeez, I sound like some desperate fan girl.

“I’m fine, really… oh, right, have this,” I finally put the tenner into the cup, followed by his genuine gratitude, “Your voice really is something else… you should make a career out of this if you can.”

“I’ll definitely keep it in mind. It’s a shame how family and responsibilities can get in the way of your freedom though.”

Never has a sentence resonated with me on such a deep level.

I gave a general, people-pleasing laugh, realising o didn’t have time for any more small talk. Try as I might, there’s no avoiding the harsh reality of my situation right now.

It was a lovely café all in all - it’s a shame this is where I have to make such a one-sided choice. The money doesn’t even guarantee me his silence, it just buys time for me to get my mess of a family together and stop them from destroying themselves from the inside out.

Who knew time could be so expensive.

“Ah, you came after all. Have a seat - I made reservations.”

I turned around to meet his narrow, slit-like eyes goading me to sit down. The only thing stopping me from putting a foot through that stupid skull was the fact that it was a pretty public place - as well as the fact doing that just wouldn’t benefit me in the long-term.

Reluctantly, I sat across from him, my heart beating for all the wrong reasons. I took the envelope out of my purse and slid it across from him, “You’ll keep your promise, will you not?”

“Telling you I will won’t change the doubt you have, so just see this as a temporary contract if it helps you better,” he laughed, irritating me that much more.

“Before we part though, there’s someone I’d like you to meet; I’ve figured you might go behind the deal and report me to my family Patriarch, so I’ve decided to bring him here to show the officiality of this deal. How about that, Sarah?”

My heart stopped.

I hardly get to see my own family Patriarch - let alone the one of our enemy. This could go so wrong, so fast; for all I know, this whole café could be under their jurisdiction, every single person here one of their own, waiting for their Patriarch to give the signal before they do the unthinkable.

I needed to get out of here; and fast.

“Woah, woah, woah there,” he reached over the table, grabbing my arm as I began to sit up, “What’s the rush? Where’s the feisty girl that spoke to me over the phone? Are you trying to make a commotion **here **of all places?”

Chills went down my neck at those words; was I right? What could he possibly mean by that? No, I had no time to think about that - I have to get out of here.

I tore my arm from his grip and hurriedly stumbled out of the café booth, heading straight for the door. I could see him getting up out of the corner of my eye - presumably to chase after me - but I had no time to stop, no time to think, no time to—

**_BAM!

_**I fell onto my back, stunned temporarily as I tried to figure out what on earth just went down. Wiping my eyes, I looked ahead only to see the same guy busking earlier - beautiful face and all!

To say I was confused would be an understatement. He got up before me, helping me up to my feet before also recognising me and breaking into the hottest chuckle I’ve ever heard in my life.

(… I gotta sort myself out…)

“Seems fate decided to have you continuously injure me today, hasn’t it?”

I laughed nervously at that, dusting myself off, “It would seem so, I’m really sorry about all this…”

“I-It can’t be…”

That voice snapped me right back to about 5 minutes before my second run-in with Mr Heartstopper - wasn’t I just running away from Sebas??

I looked back at him, wondering if I had any time to quickly slip past Mr Heartsnatcher (wasn’t it just Heartstopper a paragraph ago?) and make a run for it, but after seeing those sly, coin slot-like eyes so panicked, a sense of satisfaction and confusion came over me.

“… Patriarch..?”

…No, I must’ve heard that wrong. There are plenty of words he could’ve meant; maybe Pastor, Patrician, maybe even just parachute - see? Plenty of words he could’ve meant. I must’ve heard that wrong - no, I definitely heard that wrong.

The silence that rang out was beyond just deafening. I couldn’t tear my eyes off Sebas - I didn’t have the nerve to look anywhere else, nor the nerve to look back at Mr Wifestealer (okay this is getting ridiculous now).

“Sebas… why aren’t you sat with the client? You told me we were meeting someone. I didn’t rent out a whole café for nothing.”

He put his arm on my shoulder, and I swear to you I’ve never been so close to crying. What kind of timing is this? God must be rolling in his golden bed because there’s no way he’s not pulling my leg here.

“Well, about that—“

“Before that,” he interrupted, spinning me around to face him, “I’m very sorry about all this, I’d love to catch up later but I’m currently on some struck business… music-related business you could say.”

“… What..?”

“No, sir,” Sebas quickly interjected, “You don’t understand—“

“Silence, Sebas. Can’t you see I’m talking to a good friend of mine?”

“… Good … friend..?”

“I’m afraid we must catch up later,” he pulled me closer (ohmahgodohmahgodohmahgod) and whispered into my ear, “Just pretend you know me, you kinda got yourself in a sticky situation; under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t allow you to leave, but just promise to pretend nothing happened here; I trust you.”

I nodded, as confused as physically imaginable, and waddled out of there unscathed. The second I felt fresh, free air on my cheek, I sprinted out of there with such efficiency I’m surprised I didn’t break any world records on the way.

… Maybe God doesn’t hate me after all.

It felt like the city that I had come to call home was burning at the seems. As I walked past Flinders Station and into the heart of Melbourne, I was confronted with group after group of protestors. Some were holding placards with the premier’s face blacked out or with devil horns; some were chanting obscenities about the lockdown, twisting the larrikin charm I had once found so attractive into something dark and insidious; and others were holding burning Australian flags and waving them about in a sign of utter defiance. The same flag under which I had pledged my allegiance and my personhood two months to the day.

My friends had scattered some time ago, fearful of what would befall them if they attracted the ire of the protestors. And so I was alone, scurrying through the dark of the night like a mouse, trying not to get trampled on.

I couldn’t go home until I had found a sign, something to show me that I hadn’t made a terrible mistake by becoming an Australian. So I made my way to the state library, thinking that knowledge would save the day, would show me the grand, if imperfect, history of this nation.

But when I got there, I saw three men surrounded by a pile of emptied bottle beers and stumbling around the giant chess boards that guarded entry to the sanctum of books within.

I ducked down a side street, ready to give up hope, when I heard the gentle strum of a guitar and a woman’s soft, gentle voice. I followed the sound until I saw her, a lone busker standing among the wreckage, playing her guitar and cooing into a microphone. She was so peaceful, as though she was unaware of what horror was raining down around her. Or maybe she was an optimist, believing that her music could soothe the violent masses.

Either way, I was thankful she was here in my time of need. I sat on the steps opposite and focused my attention on her, letting the flames and the yelling and the smell of alcohol fade away from my mind and my senses. Here before me was a beacon of hope, a sign of what I loved most about this city.

It was decided, everything needed to be just like at home, there down below as it once was. High above, the Terran—-heavy, looked sadly at the brown ball rising above the horizon. He didn’t notice the Lunarians, who two centimeters above the tiled floor, gamboled by. He clenched his Underworlder pass and heard a friendly monotone voice ask, “Welcome to the Lunarsphere. May I see your pass?”

He nodded at the hologram in the shape of an angel. The Lunarians liked to think of themselves living in heaven, the home of their ancestors down below—-a hell. Which Davin realized was mostly true. The UN had long tried to hold the alliances together until it all ended in raining fire. Those who lived among the Spheres—-which is what those on the other planets called their worlds—-watched with an uninterested dismay as the last remnants of Earth were mostly gone in a ten minute conflagration. A world wiped clean in what far away looked like fireworks, a celebration of light. Then, it all went dark. Some cities and islands tattered and torn like their citizens remained. The old life of the homeworld limped along. Almost forgotten by those in a higher realm.

But then, there was a new fad. A retro hunger for what had once been. Solar System’s Services Inc. began to build on some of the moons of the gas giants and within the inner orbits upon the rocks of the Moon and Mars, amusement parks. It was billed as ‘The World We Once Knew’ and the reservations soared, the waiting lists lengthened until many of those living among the Spheres had to wait a standard solar year or more. Though their lives in their perfectly controlled environments were without dolor and filled only with pleasure, the longing for the antiquated feel of striving and suffering stimulated their minds. Each amusement park strived to be better than the other. The stockholders crypto-accounts were overflowing.

Then came the most brilliant idea of all. The androids worked well at playing the roles of the Terrans’ tumult and tyranny, but what if they brought live specimens to perform. The Digiposters went up. The pre-ticket sales were a rage. Contracts were made with any of the Underworlders left who could perform in some way. That was how Davin was found performing for thin pennies in the ruins of what once had been a rich city.

They spared no expense. He was scanned and placed in a Revito-tank. His cells were scrubbed of every microbe, every wildly splitting cell that could only lead to his death. His hair was cleaned and cut. His skin soothed and smoothed with a thin laser lotion. His eyes cleared of their imperfections, his teeth brightly whitened and brought into perfectly exact rows. The directors and acting coaches tried to teach him how to smile. It only made his face ache. After all their endeavors, the shuttle had been sent for him. And now he found himself with that pass back in his hand and a quick laser cut on his forehead identifying him as Busker 232 / Juggler.

After being well fed and allowed to sleep an earthly cycle, he was taken to the amusement park: Six Flags Over the Moon. They really did like to keep everything quaint. Davin wasn’t so sure about his clothes, he had never seen anything like it on the Earth. The red tights made his thin muscles bulge, especially in his crotch. It was uncomfortable both for his body and mind. His shirt was so thin, a clear lace gauze that tickled his skin every time he moved. He didn’t want to complain, not even in his thoughts. He was happy to have made it above.

He was brought to the stage by a howdy-do cowboy android. He climbed the steps, each pull of his knees took extra concentration so that he wouldn’t bounce too high. A crowd began to form around him, their eyes and mouths expectantly open. He untied his sack and took out three balls. He whistled a tune to stretch their anticipation. Then with one sweep he let the balls go and off they went—-higher and higher into the processed air. The Moon’s G was just a 16th of the Earths. They hadn’t thought of it—-Spherians tended to be spacey—-and he hadn’t either. But he knew a busker’s obligation was to perform no matter the audience, no matter the circumstance. So, he pushed lightly with his feet and floated to those balls. He took more from his bag and he began to get a good spin on all of them. Almost weightless there was no end to how many he could keep spiraling there. He felt like an angel twirling the stars. An angel, that would be his costume from then on.

Their hands clapped until they were as red as the dust of Mars. Their happy faces and loud ‘hurrahs’ calmed his nerves and fired his talent. His contract was renewed and Busker 232 / Juggler became known on all those Digiposters as ‘The Winged Wonder—-the Spinner of Stars’. From Sphere to sphere, he performed. He was not only a busker, entertainer, Underworlder risen—-no, he also became a Physicist—-learning the G of all those worlds and how to put just the right spin on those balls. He, like a sun, held those orbiting balls just right in their circles. His crypto-account was full so long as that retro-Earth-fad remained. But it is known, nothing is eternal, nothing lasts forever.

Shane used to love his job. It wasn’t the best job, nor did it pay a lot. But the small stationary shop was perfect for him. It was located on a shopping strip that got a decent amount of foot traffic. He loved being able to meet the many different people who would come in. Some were regulars who he had gotten pretty close to over the years. Most were new to the strip in general and would stop in for souvenirs or just for curiosity’s sake. And on slow days he would just watch as people passed by, outside the shops window.

However as time went on shane started to get bored with his routine. He wanted to be one of the many people he would see pass by. He wanted to have someone to go shopping with, and to go traveling. He felt that his life had become stagnant, there was no more excitement in his everyday. His friends had families now and were too busy working to be able to go out the way they used too.

So here he was opening the shop for another day, with no idea how to make his life interesting or enjoy his job again. Halfway through his day, he was people watching as usual when he noticed a young man carrying a guitar case as well as another bag. The man looked to be the same age as Shane, but much more fashionable. The man took up residence at the bench located in the center of the strip, in a perfect spot for Shane to watch him. The guitarist pulled a mic stand and mic out of the second bag he had been carrying. After he set everything up, he finally pulled out his guitar and began performing for the other pedestrians on the street. Shane couldn’t really hear him, seeing as the door to the shop was closed. But he thought the man was attractive enough for him to get up and prop the door open, so he did.

It had been about fifteen minutes before Shane admitted to himself that the guitarist was good. He had a smooth voice that made you feel warm and content. After another ten minutes the guitarist ended his performance and began packing up. Shane found himself feeling disappointed that it was over, but also hoping he would come back. Which the guitarist did for the next month.

Shane eventually decided he would go talk to the guitarist and ask if he wanted to hang out. He thought he probably shouldn’t wait any longer, and it would be a good way to start having fun again. So on Thursday night once he got him, he planned to talk to the man during his break the next day. Hopefully the man would agree to have a drink with him and his Friday night wouldn’t go to waste. The next morning Shane woke up with excitement for the day ahead. He even made it to work earlier than normal, and still had some time to kill after setting up the store. He started thinking of ways he could approach the man, that wouldn’t scare him off.

Soon it was time to open the shop. It seemed busier than usual, but Shane had forgotten that it was a holiday weekend. So he was working nonstop from opening until halfway through his usual break time. Once it had finally slowed down, Shane got ready to approach the guitarist. But he noticed the bench he normally sat at was empty. He looked at the time and thought that the man had left to get lunch and would be back shortly. The shop got busy again after Shane had his lunch, but he made sure to look for the man every fifteen minutes. Before he knew it, it was closing time and the guitarist had never shown up. Shane couldn’t believe he missed his chance. He had finally got the courage to make a change in his life, and he missed it.

Shane decided he would still go out and drink, even if he was alone. He was hoping the alcohol would help him forget how much his life sucked at the moment. So after closing up the shop he headed to his favorite bar. When he entered the building he went straight to the bar, and ordered a drink. While he waited he scanned the room for a possibly empty table, and that’s when he saw him. The man who had been performing in front of his store. Shane thanked the universe for giving him an extra chance. Once his drink was prepared he paid for it, and headed towards the table the man was at and introduced himself.

“Hi. My name’s Shane, mind of I join you?”

“Stand clear of the closing doors please”

It was reaching dusk When meli realized she was At her stop

“Oh! Sh-ieeeet” she said Clumsily hurrying off the train

Commuters like her, Had either falling into a deep abyss Or stood hovering over Seated passengers Scrolling up and down their phone Screens She was one of the seated victims Who sqoze through Zombie-like bodies Just to get off the train

New York crowds were no different At dusk than they were at dawn She observed taking the same Route for 4 consecutive days. She had mentally vowed to dedicate Mornings working on a Novel she planned To release the upcoming year And spend the rest of the day Exploring the city

After getting off the train Meli shifted her bag More comfortably And immediately felt a different Energy on the platform from the prior nights

A serene Unforgettable Melody Molested the air Sitting still on top Of anyone who Was taking the Q or B line to get to their Destination

Meli followed the Rhythm Letting it move her Even whilst Having a leather messenger bag over her chest

Having danced all her life Her first love was spotted Easily

Moving her way closer And closer She reached the crowd and Stood in close Proximity To a busker Who was responsible For showcasing Such a alluring Performance

He stood there attractive In every way Meli could imagine He wore all black With a aura Of green orange And red His lion eyes Pierced hers as They both made Eye contact

He smiled Continuing to keep His pace And Meli found that even more Attractive

After he finished his song, Commuters applauded, Gave money, and kept it Moving

It was Only so long New Yorkers could Be captured in moments Luckily Meli was stubborn And from the Midwest

She found a spot to slip Behind And waited for the scene to clear To talk to him.

It was a innate introversion to dancers that she had noticed From her team In college and in that moment She kind of felt it was the same for artist As well. She observed him in a meditative State for what felt like 30 minutes but was Only 4 and after breaking it with a drink of water Meli walked up to him...

Sipping her coffee, looking around the city, she finally relaxes. It took a long time, money, and lies to get here, and she still wasn’t know if she made the right decision.

No, she cannot keep second guessing myself. Second guessing and doubt are what trapped her in that relationship. Oh sure, they say “just leave,” as if to was that easy. Every time she tried, she was promised change.

Change never came. Hell, even the seasons were the same. She missed the crisp leaves and scent of pumpkin of my youth, but the role that she was “destined to have” required her to stay in one place, the compound and labs. Day and night were the same, They controlled it. Why did she believe Their lies?

But here, change is everywhere. People wander around, they all look so different, so...human. There is a large slam, and she jumps, fearful. She feels her arm for where the device was, but it is gone. Just an ugly scar. She removed it herself when she saw the truth, before she fled. They will not find her. It was just a car door anyway, a couple shouting about parking fees or something.

Her thoughts drift, and she thinks of her old life at the Place. She was promised a future, if she complied. The promise of being the made to be a perfect being, the promise of salvation and perfection. The device, the rituals, the tests...all gone now. She missed her friends she left behind, but she cannot return. She must forget them.

She finished her coffee, tips well, and walks off to her new life. She drops a fiver in a busker’s case.

He watches her leave, and touches his arm, “Found her.”

I was rushing towards the exit when I saw her. She stuck out because she was out of place. Head to toe clad in some garments which looked tattered and torn. Shoes in her hands. Mascara running and hair drenched in rain water. Was it a wild night out that did it to her? The sea of people were flooding in and out of the modern tube lit by contemporary art and collage work. There were hues of red, yellow and blue. The marble floor was cleaned by the soles of dirty shoes and I could see her depressing shadow reflecting back. It was a split second. I didn’t stop. I walked on as all the others. But the image got stuck. It never left me since. There is a vague memory of a busker singing an upbeat song at the bottom of the escalators and I thought how odd the tune was. Like a badly edited movie compared to the tramp lady. She was not young or old. She was at that non-descript age. What was her story? The inquisitive in me still think about it when I pass through a ridiculously lit underground station.

Orange begins to flood a warning through the sky as the suits began their descent to their offices. Just 20 minutes before, the morning birds were my only audience and now I can set myself up to be ignored. The streets are darker than normal, dirtier even. The same dark malevolent buildings tower over me, cold and distant like the people inside them. I’ve been here for a year, as of yesterday. This is my spot, my site, my office if you will. I only leave to sleep, wrapped up in my blankets inside my two man tent, but yesterday I brought my blankets with me to work. Yesterday was a cold day.

I haven’t moved for 24 hours now and my violin has stayed silent. There is only so many times you can stand on the same spot without any human interaction before you start to despair and yesterday I’d made the plan to pack it all in. And so I did.

Today, I sit in this spot justifying my decision. Will anyone notice me today? Did I make the right choice?

It’s colder today, and the streets seem busier than usual. My optimism rises and I begin to hope today might be different, that I might be wrong. Voices are getting louder around me as people pass by at a more regular pace and the crowds build; still nobody looks this way. Except for one. One little girl tugs at her mum’s sleeve and is brushed aside. Her blonde pigtails reflect the fading orange of the sky and her red coat contrasts sharply against her mum’s purple. She tugs again.

“What?” Her mum snaps, in a rush. The girl tugs again and points my way.

“It’s quiet,” she says. “It’s never quiet...”

She drags her mum over, and I tense up. Is this it? Their footsteps grow louder, her heels tapping on the pavement in sharp contrast to the girl’s shuffle of her trainers. As they get closer the girl pauses, nervous. Her mum takes the lead, getting closer and peers down into my hood, catching my eyes. I see her visibly flinch and hide her daughter away, shielded from the sight before her.

She reaches down, two fingers to my throat, holding them steady, still. The seconds tick by until finally she engages with me, and says, “honey, call 999 for me...”

The busy rush of Tokyo's station has hit hard this morning, crowds amongst crowds of people walking through in a haste to get to school or work. Pushing and pulling their way through the station without a blink of acknowledgment to any buskers, especially nineteen year old female me.

My fingers dance across the familiar piano keys in soft presses, gentle thrums against the heel clicks against ground. I lean forward to continue the song, singing into the microphone with breathiness as the song continues on in melody. I swivel my eyes around the space in front of me, the swarm of people still continuing their way to the scheduled trains awaiting, not one person giving a second glance back to my watchful eyes. 'It's fine,' I seem to remind myself, 'you have at least performed here, you don't need an audience to continue a passion,'. But reminders can ever go so far.

My fingers thrum with an energy as they come to the instrumental piece of the song, my eyes train over the keys in focus, careful of each note but still smoothly played to the ear. I glance back up again out of habit, to which my eyes stop over you. Your stationary form pushing against people's rip. I couldn't help the small smile turning up my lips before turning back down to focus on the piano. When I lift my head up again to reach the microphone, I catch your eyes watching me intently, piercing into my soul with intensity. But you aren't judging me I don't think, you watch with a soft expression one of contentment and comfort. It fills a warmth in my chest.

As I place my fingers on the ending keys, you smile with a beautiful grin and clap your hands. The claps bound against the walls of the station, people turn to see who seems to be causing such sound before turning back to their days. I bow my head in thanks, and prepare for my last song of the morning. I didn't expect you to stay, but you did, you stayed standing in front of me despite the few annoyed looks of people who try to pass through your still form.

I start my last song, the sounds all coming into my head in recognition of the original songs. I lift my head to sing, and I still see you. Black hair softly hits your forehead in gentle waves, your dark eyes watch so carefully. Your lips tainted pink, curl up at the edges while your tall stature waits patiently through the song with your arms hanging loosely on the sides. When the song comes to an end again you don't hesitate to clap with enthusiasm, encouraging somewhat of a giggle to course through my body.

I smile at you, hoping to emanate my thanks and happiness that you stayed. I didn't really ever expect someone to stay, but you stayed, and I didn't expect you to listen, but you listened.

I began busking 10 years ago and still am busking to this very day I’ve been busking so long that I remember when happy was synonymous with gay I am now 40 years old and I still busk in the streets I I beg and busk at the people’s feet’s Sometimes my tip basket is full Sometimes it is empty But I love all for love there is plenty I used to write women poetry But then my love broke up with me So I convinced a local girl to fall in love with thee Now I am broke as a California wild fire tree I have finally saved up enough money from busking I think I’ll have enough to marry my love I think I’ll have enough for husking.