• …
    The year is 1997. A cool breeze is sending a swarm of fallen leaves through the street. A dark silhouette of an even darker being reflects off the surface of the fountain. Inside, a small boy of ten drowns. Several metal clamps were fixed to his hands and feet, holding the boy down as the clamps themselves are attached to heavy, solid, equally metal balls. Within seconds, a light blue bubble of life floats up from the boy to the surface of the water. There it hovers momentarily before exploding and thus extinguishing all hope. In one graceful motion, the remnants of the boy’s life ricochet through the molecules of water creating a ripple the size of the whole fountain. Instantly the water turns a murky red color, and rust begins to set into the flawless skin of porcelain.

    I
    White. That was the first thing her eyes saw, she thought she was in heaven for a few seconds and the phenomenon she was gazing at were the flexible feathers of the purest angel. Suddenly, however, two flies beating their see-through wings frantically swept into her frame of sight. She gasped lightly more from disappointment than anything else.
    Rose was not in heaven after all, the two insects fluttered about generating small gusts of very visible wind wherever they went. It looked like the air particles were following the two, as miniscule faeries protecting the delicate machinery mother nature had bestowed upon these her children. They hurried through the air toward the dim light bulb bulging at the heart of the sky of white. Her aquamarine colored eyes with their small specks of black pursued these movements, similar to a lioness watching her prey and waiting.
    The fly on the left shifted its position quite hastily; she guessed it changed its mind about the direction the two were heading. The lesser fly agreed to this alteration and followed its mate in a circle of escape while the faeries treaded slowly behind. The blonde tried not to blink; memories of science class and the teacher discussing the lifespan of a fly caused her to fear the circumstances of not keep her eyes constantly open.
    Inevitably, despite the fact that she tried her hardest to watch every faction of the flies’ trip, the two gravity-defying creatures dashed into the artificial sun and fell to the ground in the blink of her unblinking eye. Before she could stop them, her legs shot out beneath her and numbly dug into the supple carpet to save the individuals now lying there. Rose watched the pale hands lift one by the fragile matter that is the wing, fingers strangely elongated to turn the head. A hundred or so eyes dulled underneath her own, life gone only a moment longer than it had been. Cautiously the hand lifted the other small corpse to place it safely next to its counterpart on the palm. She stood waiting for the numb shock to leave her so that she could calmly cross to the window that even a day later remained open.
    The idea her tired mind discovered earlier had vanished and in its place, an empty gap standing out like a black stain on a white prom dress. Her memory seems to be coated in these, a patchwork left unfinished by its indolent possessor. The hand hovers over the window before the flies float out and swirl in the morning air, their dead shells once again soaring with their overprotective faeries. She feels a smile etching its way onto her face, a wily spy to the happiness available in the rest of the world.
    Just as slyly as it appeared the smile fades, she closes the window with a sharp thud and turns back toward the door. The death had given her day a grim start, while she did not mind witnessing the end of God’s miracles now she was not sure what could possibly top that. She dragged her feet to the kitchen, coffee has always been a vital part of her waking process; Rose had used the same black mug for so long that a permanent discoloring had attached itself to the bottom. Bleakly she watches the water splash onto the mark, fill up and overflow to create a small waterfall of the 21st century.
    Using her second hand to turn the round knob and bring to an end to this commotion, she absentmindedly looks about; the pea soup walls send shutters through her body. A small television stands in the middle of the living room, hidden in plain sight by a heavy layer of dust, the on button deficient like a scar from a war no one living could have noticed. The old veteran of a phone grumpily occupied the space above it. A few feet away lays the kitchen, a simple section of the main room with a small refrigerator and a microwave, the floor is covered in flour that Rose can’t seem to recall using and old boxes of Chinese feeding her neighbors, the roaches. To the left is the door to the outside world, one she only ekes her way out to once a month to buy groceries. The rent is fully paid for, what with her globetrotting father owning the apartment building and the people inside. To the right is the door to what she considers as solace, her bedroom is different from the rest of the dwelling. The paint is still fresh and smells just so, the bed is a mahogany canopy of lush pillows and flowery blankets that hold in the warmth of an imaginary cup of cocoa from her childhood.
    Several minutes later, her cup of coffee is done and nestled safely in the shelter of her palm. The warmth runs through the area and up her arm, somewhat like the speed of a virus through an unprotected P.C. She always wondered about viruses and if the computer ever knows, it is being eaten and devoured from the inside out. Soon her cup is empty and her arm once again devoid of warmth. She places the mug into the already full sink, just another chore to be done. Eyes wandering, she looks down at the same outfit she wore yesterday. Seems too much work to change, nobody’s seen me anyway. Her eyes shift once again, spotting the fading leather wallet resting snugly on the floor. She gets on her knees and lifts it into her lap, only thirteen dollars, while it wasn’t the tenth of the month (her usual shopping day) the wanna-be authoress felt a strong urge to “hit the town.”
    A newly taken breath lying deeply in her lungs, she stands and begins her search for the keys, both to her apartment and the 2000 Dodge Neon her father had given to her ages ago. She walks around in circles several times, mock pacing, before she sees them by the veteran TV. At last feeling ready, Rose marches to the door and heads out. With a flick of her wrist, the key works its magic. Heading down a number of wooden steps and into the lobby, she keeps her head down to ignore the stares from the staff all knowing the day and wondering what the poor girl is doing out. Maybe a date they joke before continuing what they were doing as if she never passed by at all, they would do the same when she returned; Rose knew that well.
    Her eyes adjusted slowly, so she was glad her head was still down when she got into her car, at least there the windows were tinted. She waits for the purr using the same flick of wrist as before. Her foot weighs down the gas pedal gently and the trees are set in motion. A floating, fluid landscape painted time after time by drivers everywhere. She wasn’t sure where the painting would take her or even why, but now she didn’t quite care. I just had to go she thinks weighting the pedal down more. The scenery twists, turns, and bends until Rose was sure it could go no more. That was when she turned the car off and got out. Minchwich Retirement Center stood out from its surrounding like a very rank stick in the mud. The automatic doors opened letting in both her and the smells of the calm morning air. An apple blossom floated down and lodged itself in her golden hair.
    She strode through like a princess from a land too far away. “How may I help you?” The woman’s voice ricocheted through Rose’s ears, bringing rich African and Irish origins with it. Her hair bobbed atop her head, salt-and-pepper curls with frizzy ends.
    “I’d like to see Ruth Miller,” was the reply.
    The caramel colored nose wrinkled slightly as the deep hazel eyes glanced down at a clipboard hidden from view. The oak counter also concealed the woman’s six-month belly.
    “Congratulations,” Rose mused.
    The woman looked up, smiled and said, “Why thank you, twins.” She patted the bulge smiling once again, “Head down that hallway and turn left. Room 56.”
    Room 56 was composed of a standard military cot covered by a fading blue blanket. Two windows scarred the walls, draped in dreary curtains telling tales of red flowers being stalked by black and yellow bees. The carpet was nothing more than a thin layer of light brown hairs bound tightly together. In the middle of the room, laid a table of small boxes and intricate trinkets from a life Rose knew not of. By the dance of drapery sat a newly purchased rocking chair, in it sat a woman eighty years of age. Age being the active word, she lived her life in between towns and husbands.
    “Grandma?” Rose’s voice dripped into the old ear.
    “Rose, my dear you’re here…why?”
    Her blind smile pierced the air around them with pearly brightness. Rose moved over to the cot and sat down beside and somewhat to the right of her elder.
    “I thought I’d see how you were,” the smile filled the room once again,
    “How sweet of you well here child, take one.”
    The wrinkly, almost transparent hand lifted a bracelet off the table and knowingly grasped it around her granddaughter’s wrist.
    “Thank you, Grandma.”
    She smiled throwing glances at the lavender jewels. The smile was returned warmly, “So tell me what have you been doing lately?” The lucent hands floated through the air, touching Rose’s cheeks swiftly.
    “Lots of stuff, Grandma. I’m writing a book…or, er trying to write a book.” The lined forehead wrinkled itself,
    “Trying? What seems to be the problem?” The young woman hesitated; she wasn’t sure what the problem was so the answer took her a while.
    “Rose, are you still there?”
    She laughed, “Yes Grandma, I’m still here.”
    She took up the hands resting on her face and brought them to her knees.
    “The truth is I’m not sure what the problem is…it’s actually,” she paused to let out a small laugh “why I came here. Mom had mentioned once that you made up stories to tell her and Aunt Meredith when they went to bed—”
    Her grandmother nodded to complete the sentence, “and you were hoping I could retell a few to you, so that you could expand it and buy some food?”
    Rose giggled slightly, even without her eyesight Ruth could see right through her. “Precisely.”
    The older woman nodded once again and stood, the rocking chair creaked beneath her as the form moved breathlessly to the end of the room. She stopped beside the small table; her grey leg warmers unfurled and fell to the floor quietly. Her left hand delicately lifted a piece of her skirt, wild colors of the rainbow on silky fabric swirled while she dropped to her knees. Rose watched with obvious respect, her eyes kept darting from her grandmother’s actions to her face. One of much emotion, cheekbones protuberating above the pale pink lips, eyes sunken yet striking blue. A whitish scar marked her forehead, Rose knew this to be from where her last husband had beat her repeatedly. She was a brave woman, a strong one as well who would gladly lay her life on the line for family and friends.
    “Here you go,” Ruth pulled a small radio cassette out of one of the boxes; she wiped it vaguely on her shirt that had natural colorful wrinkles so that the dust went unnoticed among the hues and handed it to her younger.
    “It’s a tape I made for Meredith when she went on several excursions to Prague,” She smiled sadly, “didn’t want her to feel homesick…now she’s practically living in Prague and the tapes are all I have.”
    II
    “The air was cool with a hint of lavender swirling among the silvery green strands of her hair. Bare feet touched the ground softly, creating a gentle ripple in the sea of petals. The sun, just beginning to settle, acted as a spotlight on her warm complexion. Active eyes darted about like green fireflies looking for a way home. The walls encasing her soul began to tremble with an anticipating ferocity. Lavender gusts shot through the opening protruding out of the rock, the purple tapestries did nothing to protect her.”
    Rose smiled to herself proudly as she scribbled something down on a fading yellow note pad before pushing the pause button on the walk-man. She looked at it for a second, marveling how this small item, which she had bought at a Dollar Store not far from the retirement home, held the power to enchant her willing ears. She realized now why her only goal in life is to become the greatest writer of all time, creativity forever dwelled in her blood. While most of the stories her grandmother told were fairy tales she improvised upon, Rose enjoyed listening to the raspy yet strangely gentle voice. She sighed, feeling a migraine etch its ways into her temples, and placed the walk-man down to stand.
    Her feet dragged beneath her to the refrigerator, she opened it and pulled a half-empty glass of water from the top tray. Two Advil tablets sat in waiting on the counter, Rose glanced at the clock she also bought at the Dollar Store 3:34 p.m. a little late today. She was used to receiving her daily migraines at three; it became a common occurrence soon after High School. As the water covered tablets sunk down her throat, she stared at her carpet. Suddenly it moved back and forth in fuming spasms, her eyebrow shot up while her hand placed the glass in the same place the Advil had been. Instead of staying still, the glass slithered over and fell onto the continuously moving carpet. Earthquake she thought blankly, with the carpet shaking even more vigorously she tried to walk to the doorway.
    Once when she lived with her parents, she saw a movie proclaiming the safety measures needed to be taken during events such as these. Unfortunately, right now she could only recall the talking little house that narrated it. She watched with horror as the walls separating her abode from the bathroom crumbled forward as a private reenactment of the twin towers disaster.
    Thick gray dust filled the air, engulfing everything it touched. She coughed heartily feeling parts of drywall cover her lungs like vindictive tar. As the shaking continued, Rose rolled into a ball by the door and tried her hardest to remain calm.
    “Is anyone in there?” a male voice called, Rose lifted her head through the almost corporeal fog and listened to the velvety voice. She heard it perfectly even through all of Earth’s furious screams.
    “Yes,” the blonde tried to utter beside her efforts it sounded barely human.
    The smooth voice seemed able to tell the difference, “Where are you?” he asked, Rose looked around quickly “By the door I think.”
    She heard him mutter something to himself in the same wonderfully supple voice, “Think you could move? Are you trapped under anything?”
    She shook her head, “No I’m not…hang on.”
    Getting on her hands and knees, Rose crawled through the shaking her goal being the beanbag chair not yet affected by the rubble. Soon the silhouette possessing the voice ran into the door and in the same moment, it came crashing down. Rose took in a deep breath as to prevent taking in another more of the debris.
    “You okay?” he asked. Her hands had gone up over her eyes in that moment and for that action, he sprinted over to her and gently lifted them off. She hadn’t heard a thing, thus surprise was her first reaction. Warmth coursed through her body from the place his hands now rested, ten hot fingers like ten sizzling coals forced her eyes open to gaze upon the face of an angel. Black hair fell over his copper-colored eyes, which stared deeply into hers. His lips deliciously pink opened lightly, to reveal pure white teeth. She stared at him for quite some time, memorizing the small cleft in his chin, the straightness of his nose and the slight edge of his eyebrows. Popping out of a magazine was the only way this beauty could have appeared before her.
    He laughed a crackling and silky laugh, before repeating, “You okay?” Rose looked down, blushing before nodding. Her world continued to shake but not due to any natural cause.
    “What do you say to getting out of here?” Prior to her answer, he lifted her tenderly and carried her seemingly weightless form out of what used to be the door.
    “Who are you?” the damsel-in-distress whispered past his spiky hair toward the twice-pierced ear.
    “Name’s Aion, just moved here when the earthquake hit.” She tried to control her heartbeat but his voice sped it past normality.
    He laughed again, “What’s your name?” Rose smiled; surprised he wasn’t bored with her already.
    “It’s Rose.” She felt him nod,
    “Rose,” he echoed, “what a pretty name.”
    A smile appeared as smooth as his voice that now trickled into her ear. She nodded, gaining a dash of confidence, “Aion’s unusual enough, it mean anything?”
    Now in the hallway, he let Rose’s feet pull her form into a vertical position. The ‘quake had finally ceased and he was now leading her down what was left of the stairs.
    “Umm…” he began, “I think it’s the male version of Aino, which is Finnish for ‘the only one,’ or something along those lines.”
    “Hm,” Rose mused, “Unique…”
    He glanced at her, “You think so?”
    “Yeah…I’ve never met anyone with either of those two names.
    A pause, a slight aftershock rocked the wood beneath them. Ignoring the loud noise, Rose continued:
    “So, I’m guessing you’re from Finland?”
    “No,” he chuckled, “New York actually…but my great-grandparents were.”
    “New York? When did you move?”
    “A few days ago…”
    “Oh? Why?”
    He looked down, thinking, “I wanted a change, life just seemed so---”
    As he elaborated the complicated reason behind his move, Rose watched intently the way he acted as he said certain words, or did different things. Every time he seemed to think about something, he’d scratch his head in the exact same spot: a few inches above his left ear. Anytime he lost his train of thought, he looked at his shoes. Whenever he wanted to know something, he’d look at her so closely Rose was sure he could already see her next words.
    He was now looking at her in this way, she blinked “Umm…huh?”
    He laughed to himself, “You weren’t listening,”
    Reaching the end of the stairs, they walked through the rubble toward the door.
    “Sure I was.”
    Outside chaos ruled. A car was overturned in front of them, and several young children were pillaging the small bakery across the street. A round, fair-haired boy tumbled out of the broken window carrying several chocolate pastries under his arm. Noticing for the first time the wind brushing her hair, she gasped quietly hoping he wouldn’t hear. The more he talked the weaker her knees became.
    “Windy,” Rose said.
    “Cold too,” he whispered before pulling the suede jacket off his broad shoulders. A blue shirt hid underneath, covering many a tight muscle. He placed the garment on her shoulders, even though it looked more like a trench coat on her small form.
    “You won’t admit you weren’t listening,” He chuckled kicking at what looked like a piece of rubber.
    “I don’t need to… since I was listening.” Rose countered.
    “Fine…I’ve learned the hard way not to argue with a determined woman. I just think that it should be known that I know you weren’t listening. But hey…if you say you were, I guess you were…even though you weren’t.”
    Rose shrugged her shoulders, “Whatever…Anything you’d like to know about me, Mr. Knight in Dusty armor?”
    He raised his eyebrow at the last comment, wiping away a mote of dust. He then looked around himself and shrugged slyly, Rose’s body tensed anticipating the electricity his voice like velvet sent running up and down her spine. Sometimes she never wanted him to stop talking, other times she’d give anything to have him stop. This was one of those times.
    “Well…” he rolled the two ‘l’s like a gentle lullaby to dull the rushing wind, “I’d like to know…why we are still just standing here?”
    Rose waited for him to finish, as he was staring at his shoe instead of looking at her.
    “I mean look around…” Acting accordingly, she saw a make-shift shelter for survivors of the quake out of the corner of her eye. Inside and out, people with many bruises and many tears flocked for help.
    “Oh.” She said simply.
    “Guess we should help…”
    Aion laughed and nodded, “Great idea, but first…I’d like to show you something.”
    He took her hand and pulled her past all the people into a dark and damp alleyway. Something gummy trickled down the wall behind her, the stench of urine hovered above them. A dumpster lay on the other side; the place was so narrow Rose wondered how in the world a garbage truck fit back here every week. She could not find a single reason for him to bring her here but the thought was gone when his lips unexpectedly pushed against hers. Rose’s hands draped around his neck, letting his tongue enter past the barricade of her teeth. While she had no idea why he was doing this, the warmth didn’t allow her to care. Her body rose to meet his as he was much taller, and she felt something she never felt before. A strangely bittersweet emotion washed over her, cleansing and desecrating at the same time. Then just as suddenly as he had appeared in her life, he was gone. She opened her eyes to see a volunteer eyeing her cautiously.
    “Uh…what are you doing?” He stood by the opposite wall awkwardly, waiting for a response.
    Rose stared at him staggeringly, before responding with: “I was…yawning.”
    The man looked at her strangely, “Yawning?”
    She nodded eagerly, “yes, yawning...See?” She opened her mouth a second time in the fashion of a kiss and drew in a breath.
    He moved back a few steps, “Right, okay…I’ll be leaving now.”
    “It’s a birth defect,” She called after him, but gave up as the man lost interest.
    What in the world just happened? She thought walking out of the alley. Before she made it half-way across the road, a ’67 Chevy Impala blasted into her. She fell forward as the world was pulled away from beneath her. Immediately, people ran toward her, some burly woman caught her head just before it reached the cement. Her eyes drooped closed and the world faded away.