For those who quesition authority, Without whom my life would have been devoid of answers

August Concrete Stars The Suits were staring. But they were always staring. Jim brushed them off. Like monkeys who locked their own cages with ties and dresses. Jim was surprised they didnt use those ties as nooses instead. They attempted to hide from the world and yet pretended they are the world. Society seemed to be in some church induced euphoria, and used the holy writings as an establishment for widespread war. The cities alleyways overflow with spilled beer and cocaine, but all the Suits ever bother to do is straighten their jackets and take care not to tread in the puddles of blood collecting at their feet. It was raining, maybe trying to scrub at the disdain and malcontent, but if so it left no impressionable mark. It only barraged the Suits hats, the buildings roofs, and Jims untidy black hair. His bangs grew so heavy that on several occasions he had difficulty brushing them out of his eyes. The silhouette of the inner city was a dark black against the purple sky, a blotch of ink waiting to be written with, sculpted into something more than the asylum for a dying city. The madmen watch like gargoyles, perched up on their thrones, drenched in the rain that runs over their stone hearts, a twisted smile carved into every face. Jim glanced around him. To his left, a broken down motel, the neon lights reading only M T, the O, E and L simply collecting the cold rain as it showered the city. At the foot of the motel stood two women wearing scandalously short plaid, each cowering behind their painted on smiles, the thick layer of makeup a mask in which to cry behind as they sell themselves. Jims beige duffle bag bumped into a Suits elbow as she raised her cell phone. Jim just hiked the bag up on his shoulder. The Suit he had hit turned to glare at the back of his head, the ever-voracious eyes of society following him as he walked down the sidewalk. The railway passed overhead, gliding on its suspended bridges, flitting between the buildings, looming over the public walking below. It had become the preferred choice of transit for many areas. The streets were the storefronts for the cigarette pushers, the bootleggers, the rumrunners, and the drug dealers. Jim stepped under an awning, wiping the water from his jeans and propping up the collar on his black jacket. He turned the corner. Immediately affronted by the smell of stale smoke and spilled beer, Jim drew up his collar even more to cover his nose. He stopped at a vending machine, deposited a few coins, and went to withdraw his Cola. Stupid thing didnt work. Jim smashed his hand against it. A slight thunk. Jim went to retrieve his soda. He opened it with the top facing away from him, and waited as a spurt of foam ran along his knuckles. Jim yawned loudly. He dug his hand into his pocket. A man walked by with an eye patch and a lit cigarette stuck behind his ear. Yet it was news to him as someone exclaimed that his bowler hat was on fire. The mass of people convened around the witless man, most out of amusement rather than worry, and the whole ordeal was soon out of Jims view. Drunken and braindead, they were all sorry excuses for Suits, but they still shuddered as they walked by him and they all wore the church insignia. So to Jim, they were still Suits. His hand deep in his jeans pocket, Jim groped for his railway pass, the tiny slip of paper crumpled into an unrecognizable pulp. Jim pulled it out, unfolding it and smoothing

it against his black jeans. A Suit deliberately crashed into his shoulder, trying to send the freak a message. But Jim just did what he had taken to doing a lot lately, and ignored the guy. The crowd behind him grew increasingly bored with the burning bowler hat, and returned to their business. A few disembodied catcalls arose from the streets, likely directed toward Jim. Freak. Get a job you degenerate. Get ouffa the sidewalk! Jim curled his hand into a fist, and as he did so he could see society curling its mouth into a twisted smile. Jim jabbed his elbow into the last one, a drunken slob (either intoxicated off alcohol or his own dim-witted idea of power) who had decided that Jim, is just another low-life bum trying to find himself. Hippie. Jim slipped into the alley. The alleyways were quiet-most of the bums had passed out already-but the few scavenging mice kept the treasures of the sluts and speak-easies rolling about the floor. One or two paused to stare at him. A tomcat was rummaging through an empty cardboard box. As Jim walked by the cat scampered, fearing that Jim was a dog. The cat fled into the shadows, but upon Jims appearance peaked its head out of the shadows. Half of its left ear was torn off from daily brawls with other animals, all of whose lives have been shortened due to the citys restless leg syndrome. The Suits invariably felt as though it were their duty to continually move contrary to people like Jim. Or perhaps they moved contrary to the Suits. Either case Jim and the Suits werent cut from the same cloth, and he wasnt in a rush to involve himself in their sordid affairs. The rain was thickening now, the few strangling Suits rushing to take cover under umbrellas and railway tracks. Jim climbed over a fence and cut his hand on the way down. Blood splattered on the floor; leaving a dotted trail leading away from the alleys, through the empty streets. The red was quickly washed away with the rain, dissipating into the pavement, just another mark on the citys foundation. Jim ducked quickly under a particularly beat up section of track, the railway occasionally thundering by with its inhabitants blissfully unaware of the rain, refusing to merely glance out the window. His Cola was shot now, the tainted rainwater that ran off the gutters and dripped from the gargoyles open mouths having splashed into the hole on the cans top. Jim chucked it at the nearest rubbish bin, not bothering to notice it as it flew past its target, falling to the floor and spilling its contents. The murky soda soon mingled with the water and formed a putrid runoff that was sucked up by the storm drains. Beer and smashed open vials of drugs dripped into the solution too, making it an effigy to the society the world was consumed in. The society that prostitutes itself to any power hungry psycho, shaping to be in their image and throwing the rest of humanity aside. Jim waited for the rain to slow, and when it did made a break for the nearest railway station. It curled up from the earth, humanitys anxiousness to fill every orifice of the planet with metal and synthetics now extending to the skies. A hive of cameras scanned the area, and Jim thought he saw one or two pause as they swept by him.

The cement walkways were bare. Signs labeling places of work, or otherwise just instructions for various everyday occurrences, were all systematically lowered into place, as they were every week. First, as always, was ROWES & DAWD, a bank whose first proprietor, Frank Rowes, was long deceased. Next was both FLORETIAN ICE-CREAM, and RUDOPHOS the sweet shop. They always disputed who had theirs ready first. One or two straggling Suits walked past, all averting their eyes and holding their loved ones closer. Probably a retard honey, dont go near him. I hear its contagious, he heard one say to his girlfriend. Finally the train came, and with it his chance to depart the disapproving watch of societys faithful hounds. He entered the train, the few remaining passengers looking disparagingly as he tracked water across the floor. One kindly looking lady (a Suit nonetheless) gave him a slight smile before shifting her view to the magazine in her lap. Jim could hear her muttering things about him being a confused lad, or otherwise a good kid, in a quiet Irish accent. Jim leaned his head against the window, the web of raindrops reflecting on his stiff cheek. They cascaded down, the raindrops, in curved paths, waiting only to merge with another droplet, and other, and finally slip off the window altogether and continue its journey to the earth. Which Jim thought would be hard because the city had paved over it with asphalt and concrete. Hows Charlotte? Jim heard someone ask. Shes not getting any better. Not with that psycho on the loose. I dont know why we bother institutionalizing those nut jobs. Just put em down like animals, replied a tired voice. I hear the last one blew up the New York bank. Killed four people. The stewardess came by and reprimanded the first one for smoking in the train. He shoved the stick against the sole of his shoe. Do you think shes going to make it? the tired voice continued. Charlotte? Maybe. Shes holding up. Most people in a hostage situation suffer for months after- Its been six. And she still wont talk. They wont Take her for that. Too many real psychos to worry about a trauma patient. Like the Secretary of Defense? he ventured at a joke. They laughed tentatively. Yeah, maybe. Thatd solve a lot of problems. The stewardess came back, bringing each of them a drink. She stopped at Jim. Would you, er, like anything? It was obviously killing her. Jim shook his head. The two men grabbed up their newspapers and departed at the next stop. An older guy walked in and fell asleep with the newspaper over his face. There were a few strangling hobos wandering the tracks, occasionally throwing a stone across to see if they could still hit the other side, or if they had sold so much marrow that their arms could now only lie limply at their side. The Suits tried to ignore them. They tried to hush them up. But without the revenue to support a dying country the Suits eventually let them live their lives in the tunnels, or take a couple malnourished naps in the alleys.

Jim leaned back in the chair. Outside he heard the hurried footsteps of someone about to miss the train. The doors began to close, and Jim saw a gloved hand stick between them and a young woman, about his age, slip through. The kindly woman gave the same wavering smile to the new passenger, and continued muttering under her breath. Jim looked back out the window, paying her no attention as she sat beside him. Youre dripping blood on the seat, the young lady said in a soft voice. Huh? he looked down. His left hand was still cut open from his flight over the fence. Ah great, he mumbled, unzipping his duffle and rummaging through there to mop it up. The blood, previously unnoticed, had fractured much like the raindrops, creating a spider web on Jims leg that ran down onto the seat and then the floor. Jims hand stopped moving in his bag when he felt a soft cloth placed in the other. My names Elliot. Uh, thanks Elliot. She wrapped the cloth around his hand, stopping the blood from pouring out any further. Dont you want to wipe it up? she asked, pointing to his knee. Jim shrugged. Rainll get it. For the first time he got a good view of her. She was shivering under a thin grey tee shirt, and rips broke her blue jeans at the knees. Jim shoved his finger through his own rips fondly. Her light blond hair had a green streak running off to one side, and her bangs covered one eye. Whats your name? I dont know- You dont need to, he cut her off. Names mean nothing. Theyre just prisons. Words meant to encumber. Useless. Then what do I call you? He had never really thought of that. No one had needed call him anything until then. What was he? A prisoner of popular tyranny? A revolution? No. He was a gospel without a following. Call me a concept. He stuck out his non-bandaged hand. She shook it cautiously. He turned back to the seats where the two men had just vacated. The one had left his box of cigarettes. Jim watched as the stewardess picked them up. Elliot drummed her fingers on her leg, glancing around with her bright blue eyes. She continued to shiver. Do you need a jacket? No. Sure? I dont need a jacket. But as she said this, her teeth were chattering. Jim took of his jacket and threw it at her. She muttered something that resembled a word of thanks, and put it on. Now feeling the cold grip of the night air, Jim reached once more into his pockets. He dug out a lighter, a phoenix in flight on a black backdrop painted on the face. He clicked in open. The flame arced up and spiraled about itself. Jim stared at it intently, feeling the coldness leave him as the fire lapped at the black metal. The fire reflected in the ocean of Elliots eyes. She seemed slightly afraid of the embers, but intrigued and astonished too. Her fingers rasped on the seat. Jim, suddenly aware of this, capped the lighter, the cold metal instantly extinguishing the revered fire. Sorry. The next stop came quickly, and Elliot stood, starting to take off the jacket. Keep it. You dont have to-

Were even, Jim pointed to his bandaged hand. Elliot nodded, feeling as though a scrap of cloth wasnt quite worth a jacket. She smiled and walked out. And once more Jim was alone. He leaned back and tried to sleep through the next two stops. The seat was stiff, and the rain kept pounding against the window. Jim turned over, hoping to find more comfort there. The rain kept pounding. He glanced at the rest of the people, most of which were sleeping peacefully. Maybe I just have more on my mind, he thought. He sat back up, stretching and retching as he saw the once uncomfortable stewardess perfectly delightful around everyone else. The rain finally stopped. Jim stepped out of the train as it pulled to his stop. The night was empty. The sun was low. Luckily Jim had visited this city before, and could navigate it in the dark. Possibly. After groping the street corners, Jim made his way through the slightly damp streets. He knocked on the wooden door. It opened, seemingly of its own accord. Jim stepped in carefully, closing the door behind him. How many staying? One. The hotel manager eyed him, before smiling-showing that he had two too few teethand handing him a key. No charge mate, any friend of Fredricks is a friend of mine. Jim nodded thanks. He glanced behind the managers head, where many pictures of what Jim guessed to be old accomplices. Jim turned to the steps, murmuring something about the managers generosity as he walked up to his room. Off in the distance he could hear the manager muttering fond memories about Fredrick, telling the various pictures about how Fredrick had pulled out of a tricky spot with the Red Police once. Jim could almost see him point at his two missing teeth. The key turned rather reluctantly in the lock, and the most of the room was taken up with the cot. The rest was immediately filled with Jims duffle. Still, it was free. Jim laid back, threw his shoes off and pulled his shirt up over his head. Hed be gone in the morning. The rain started up again, but this time it was soothing, a soft drumming against the roof that lulled him to sleep. Hed be gone in the morning Soon he was alone, surrounded by a light mist. Even then he knew it to be a dream, the idea of absolute solitude was to good to exist in this reality. But what was this reality? As he thought this, an image appeared, as if projected onto the mist. It showed a straight jacket lying on a therapy chair. He laughed. No, I dont think thats it. It flashed a new image, one of a pile of Suits, all towering over a voodoo doll Jim. It sobered Jim up. You dont have to be that harsh. The image went blank, as if it was thinking. Then it flashed the anarchy symbol, spray-painted in red on a brick wall. Yeah, yeah thats it. When he awoke, he had pushed the dream from his mind, still sure that he had not dreamed since 2003. No one else was up, so he left the key on the managers table. The sun couldnt reach over the crows nest of metal skyscrapers. The streets were filled with a dim twilight, cast unceremoniously into semi-darkness. It was the time in which most peoples dreams were only wisps of light and dim fogs, and the day brought only the wish to reach up and grab those meager dreams, now floating away. Jim had never

had this problem, for he had lost the love for dreams. The unrealism only tainted his reality, which was being polluted by the Suits, and he wished not for it to diminish even quicker. Jim had lived in the city for three months, using the railway to transit from the north end to the south of the metropolis. And every day it offered up the same thing: pop tarts and a lingering smell of smoke. Today, he didnt even get the pop tarts. Jim passed the orphanage, its sign drooping from yesterdays rain. He was nearing the tunnel now, and with it the end of the road. The masses of Suits seemed to thin as he grew nearer to the tunnel, replaced by fully armored militants in face-less gas masks. They gave Jim a quick screening, before allowing him into the building. The marble floors were cracked in places, and the Leaving line was nearly empty. A sleeping hobo took up a short segment of the roped off line, but it was otherwise free of Suits. Jim walked over the hobo, careful not to step on his sack of items, and proceeded to the customs office. A cold female voice greeted him, and told him to place his bag on the nearby receptacle. She then said Your personal affects will be returned to you after your journey. Jim was scanned, patted down, and clearance checked, before he made it past the customs office. They told him to wait for the next bus, and so he did, his back against the cold brick walls and his eyes focused on a newspaper hed scavenged from the nearest rubbish bin. There was nothing of interest-Jim suddenly understanding why the previous owner had discarded it-and so Jim was waiting, with a useless paper rolled into a tube and beating against his leg in what he thought was a pleasing rhythm. The bus arrived exactly on time, with zero passengers departing and only one-Jim-entering. The bus sped off. The lights illuminating the tunnel flashed by the windows. Jim knew that overhead were the rushing waters of the Delaware River. He stuck his head out of the window, the wind spinning in all directions around him. One of the militants who accompanied this bus coughed rather loudly, and Jim turned to see the man staring at him. The masked militant shook his head. Very slowly. Jim pulled the window shut and sat back grumpily. With only the disapproving militia for company, Jim felt at an odd peace. He liked the solitude, the absence of hurried coughs, shuffling feet, and people jabbering away ignorantly. Jim smiled and kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him. Another cough. Another shake of the head. Jim put his feet down. The bus slowed, and the militant began pacing the isle. Jim stood to stretch. When the bus halted, he was subjected to another screening, and then received his bag. It was slightly open, and the contents were all in the wrong places. Jim looked over at a business Suit, who had apparently arrived on the ferry previous. He opened his briefcase, and it looked as though every post-it note was as pristinely organized as before. Happy, the Suit grabbed his pocket planner and hurried off, as Suits were always doing. Jim zipped up his duffle and slug it over his shoulder, making sure it hit the Suitwho was now walking by-as he did so. The Suit dropped his pocket planner and then hurried to pick it up. The Suit went to scowl at Jim, but he was already long gone. There was a time when the tunnel was open to the public, for their use. There was a time where one could take their own car, and put their feet on whatever they wanted. But alas, now was not that time.

Jim walked out the door rather quickly; keen on leaving the building and its hive of cameras behind. This city was cleaner than the previous. It attracted the intelligent of the Suits to its walls, much like moths to a fire. When the re-thinkers entered the grey confines of the brick and mortar, they would watch their ideas and contemplations burn before them. Theyll undoubtedly loose their wings, and fall amongst the other soot covered insects. Jim felt orange. He shrugged this off as one of lifes oddities, and gave no more thought to the emotion of orange. Maybe the Suits were right: maybe he was psycho. If he was, then it was only their fault. Or it was totalitarianisms fault. It created the Suits, who created him. And discarded him, like one of those emails you only write to vent and you never really send. They created him to never really send. An old friend told him that there was free thought in the Constitution for a reason: to express said thought. And Jim told him the truth. Society lynched the Constitution years ago. Since then Jim had set off to find the tattered remains of paper, or the spilled ink on some distant shore. Metaphorically of course. The real Constitution was locked up somewhere, a figurehead and a poster boy for the atrocities its nation commits. No, Jim was looking for a way burn away the Suits vile veil of vilification. Or so he liked to call it, for its main foundation was crucifying the different. And now he wanted some Cheerios. No idea why, Jim thought it an effect of the orange feeling. Cheerios and orange. Maybe he just wanted breakfast. Jim stepped into the nearest coffee house. The Suits that noticed him squirmed. The others continued reading their newspapers. One muffin please. He forced a smile. The waitress pulled one off the rack, her attention never wavering from Jim. She handed him the pastry, and he pulled out the money. Oh, sorry, no cash. She pointed feebly to a sign he couldve sworn was put up after he got there. Well, I dont have a credit card he mumbled. Then you dont g-get the muffin. She gently took it back. Jim nodded, and walked out, the throng of Suits sniggering at his back. Her hair was red. Thats all he remembered, or cared about. His sisters hair was red. But she was dead now. And the waitress wasnt her. His sister was better than that. He took a shortcut through the alleyway behind the coffee house. He should spray paint it. A big red anarchy sign on the back door. He didnt know how he came up with the idea. Jim kicked a discarded Cola can, watching as it arced thorough the dim light, and splashed in a nearby puddle. Remnants of the rain. The shower of pure water, corrupted as it touched the impure city. Jim sighed. He set his duffle down, and rummaged through it. He pulled out a red spray paint, the same color as the waitresss hair, and shook it up. The backdoor opened. The waitress walked out. What? he shot at her. Its my break. You leaving any time soon? Depends. She stopped, and held out a muffin. I felt bad. Manager made me do it. Jim took it hesitantly. I guess in exchange you want me to not paint the Anarchy sign on your wall?

Paint it. Burn it in for all I care. Just needed a place to lie low for a couple of weeks, she snorted. Where are you going to go now? I dunno. Where are you headed after you write over the shops wall? North side of the city. Rented an apartment for a few weeks. The waitress lit a cigarette. Then I guess to the south side of the city. She stuck it in her mouth. She began taking off her work uniform. You mind turning around? Jim put his back to her, and faced the wall. He felt an article of clothing smack the back of his head. A parting present, she sniggered. Jim turned around. As he did, she was pulling on a long sleeve band tee, and her button up was draped across his shoulder. He pulled it of and chucked it back angrily. She caught it. Whats your name? Hmm? Your name. I need to know who Im thanking for the he trailed off, holding up the muffin, which was untouched. Antimony. Isnt that an- Element? Yeah. But its the name I chose so you have a problem with it? No. I just thought it wasinteresting. She blushed, and muttered something that resembled a word of thanks. He threw his red spray paint to her. Keep it. Jim began walking off. See you someday Antimony. See you she realized she had never got his name. whatever your name is. She clutched the spray pain tightly. With a quick few sprays, and she had a great big red A on the back wall. Jim, however, had gone to the edge of the alley, out into the sunlight, and felt it burn at him. Like he was a demon and the presence of light cast him to ashes. She needed a place to stay. Not like she wouldve done it for us. Our sister wouldve given her a place. Well she was a saint. Hard to be a saint in these days. Unless youre a Suit. Then you just need to fabricate the news. Do I detect a hint of sarcasm? I dont know what youre thinking. Im just a figment of your imagination. Unconcerned with the battle raging on in Jims mind, the Suits walked past unnoticing, buried in their cell phones and-the younger ones-their mp3 players. Jim hazarded a guess that the school hours were over. Recently too. Otherwise they would be either shooting each other on the computer or rapidly texting the people two feet away. He took a bite of muffin. The vanilla bread was dotted with chocolate chucks. Jim liked chocolate. He hadnt had any in a long time. Antimony wasnt in the alleyway when he went back. She had only left her work uniform-which was lying forgotten in a puddle-, and a spray painted work of art to remember her by. Jim looked it over. It was missing something. He pulled another can out of his bag and finished the work, thinking to himself of how this was but another example of the woes associated with trusting other people to do anything right. To Jim, you just had to do everything yourself. A cola can soared through the air. It splashed in a puddle. Jim looked up, finding

Antimony strolling absentmindedly toward him. Oh hey, just thought I forgot something. Didnt look right you see. He didnt nod. Oh, but you already fixed it, she added, looking at the can in his hand. Well, Ill head back now. Dont want to be caught by this thing, she jerked her head toward the wall, when the manager comes out for his smoke. Wait. So you havent lost your voice. I- he didnt know how to ask. I have extra room at my place. If you keep making these muffins, you can stay there. Antimony thought it over, apparently trying to see if it was a joke or not, but there was no hint of insincerity in his voice. She nodded. It was a slow, almost undetectable nod, but a nod nonetheless. Okay then. Ill see you there. He began walking off. Wait. Hm? I still dont know your name. Im Concept. Antimony smiled. An interesting name. Jim rolled his eyes. Well Mr. Concept, we have a challenge before us, and I suggest we start- hello? Are you listening? Jim was down the alley already, one foot kicking at the water. I see no challenge. What about the injustices? What about the totalitarian society? I never did anything before because I thought I was the only one. But now- First rule of being a Punk: Keep your head down. Jim walked away. He stopped only to retie his shoelaces. As he did so, Antimony ran to catch up. So no valiant protests? All ends in jail. Seen it happen. Nothings considered nonviolent anymore. No free speech left. The last word had nothing to do with the rest of the sentence. Jim was merely calling out the next direction. Antimony, not realizing this, started right, and staggered when she realized her mistake. So nothing huh? Nope. Just life and death. If only one could find some happy medium. Not quite sure what he meant by this, Antimony remained silent. Jim passed a broken down railway station. The tracks were sodden with what looked oil. Mechanics pooled around the rusty metal. As they continued on, Jim constantly stopping at rubbish bins to search for newspapers, Antimony grew increasingly restless. She went from tapping her hands on her thighs, to tapping her feet every time they stopped, to humming. All to the same tune. Jim groaned irritably. Having eaten nothing but a muffin for three days tends to put a person on edge. And Antimony continued humming. Jim tried tuning her out, but like the pounding of the rain each note seemed to illuminate an unanswered thought in his head. Jim tried to swat the ideas away. At the seventh rubbish can, Jim triumphantly pulled out a newspaper. Nothing of importance on the front page, Burmese acrobats on the second, something called Damage Control on the third and fourth, and business news on the fifth through ninth. Worthless. Like the edge of the scene on a scarlet stage. Just characters with no lines, trying to fill the gaps. Jim gave Antimony the paper to hold. She stopped humming.

Jim walked around the corner. His stomached moaned incessantly, begging Jim to end the misery. Jim ignored it. A policeman walked by. Jim looked down, motioning for Antimony to do the same. She did, but the policeman stepped into her path, for good measure. She tripped, her long red hair splashed into the mud. Jim clenched his hand into a fist. The policeman took no notice. Jim helped Antimony up. Jim watched as the policeman walked away, whistling and swinging his baton back and forth. Antimony was shaking slightly, as though she was slapped. Jim held her close. He felt two tears fall on his shoulder. Patting her on the back, Jim ushered Antimony into an alleyway. One of the hobos grunted, and granted them passage, quickly moving his blanket before doing so. Jim nodded his thanks, and flipped the hobo a dollar coin. Antimony soon regained composure. She brushed the mud out of her hair, and wiped it from her cheek. Smiling feebly she said she was all right. They reached their room at a quarter to five, and night was falling fast. Jim scratched the stubble on his chin. They stopped at the souvenir shop to buy Antimony some more clothes. She got an I heart New York tee, and some red skinny jeans that matched her hair perfectly. They descended the stairs to their room. It was small, but not nearly as small as the hotel room Jim was forced to occupy a day before. The kitchen was to his immediate left, and the couch was in front of him about nine feet away. Beside the couch was a single bed, and on the wall opposite the couch, and adjacent to the kitchen, was a small TV with a worn remote. Antimony went to take a shower, which was opposite the kitchen, while Jim flipped the channels. Suits, Suits, drugs, more Suits, sex, drugs, Suitsthe television was soon forgotten, the remote somewhere on the sofa and the channel blurring between the Home Shopping channel and an advertisement for a new strip mall. When Antimony came out of the shower, she threw on her new clothes and tried to find the remote. Jim kicked back. Have any food? he asked. She threw him a candy bar. He almost caught it, but let the slick wrapping slip through his hands and onto the bed. As he searched the sheets for it, Antimony checked the channels, unaware that Jim had already done so, and that there was nothing on. Jim, having located the candy bar, nibbled on it slowly, trying to make it last as long as possible. Antimony yawned. She turned off the light and made to sleep on the couch. Jim beat her to it, leaving the bed for her. She cried a little into the pillow. Probably missed her family. Hed have to ask tomorrow. Having shunned humanity for so long, he had no idea of how to comfort her. He just left her the other half the candy bar. He placed it on the nightstand. And closed his eyes. Images of corrupt cops and faceless Suits danced in his head like they did every night. Hed forget it all the next day. He woke to the smell of pancakes. Antimony was out of bed, and his back was stiff. He rolled off the couch. Blinking a few times to adjust to the sudden light, Jim turned his head to the kitchen, where he found Antimony. She was flipping pancakes. Whered you- I had a bit of money before I ran from home. Jim nodded, still trying to wake up.

He stood, stretching his muscles. His hair was all messed up, but thats how he kept it anyways. He sat at the counter. She turned to him. How many? You didnt need to- How many? she said in a commanding tone. Three I guess. She happily skipped back to the pan, and scooped the requested pancakes out, and sat down beside Jim. Do you like them Mr. Concept? Jim took a bite. It was the best thing he had tasted in years. He nodded vigorously. Antimony smiled. While he stuffed himself, Antimony continued. Ive always wanted to be a pastry chef. Jim cleared his throat. Well youd make a pretty good one. Antimony beamed. Jim left her to flip the channels. He perused the streets, still pursuing a newspaper of importance. He ducked into rubbish bin after rubbish bin, but to no avail. As he passed the record store, he paused, wondering if he could buy some new headphones. His last pair was hanging by a wire. A bell rung as he opened the door. The man behind the counter was wearing a the Who band shirt. How much are headphones? Three bucks. His head was rocking back and forth slightly, and Jim realized that he was listening to music at the time. He didnt look at that old. His nametag said Hello my name is Daniel. But Hello my name is had a red line through it. Ill take one. Jim put down the money as Daniel ducked behind the counter. He popped back up to ask what color. Black. The bell rung again as he left. The streets had filled up. Jim continued his search for a newspaper after stowing his headphones safely in his pants pocket. He returned to the apartment empty handed. With no news of the war, their dinner was awkwardly silent. Hey can you take the clothes down to the wash? Antimony asked, poking at the last of her meatballs. Sure. Antimony threw him a bag of clothes. Jim tossed in his dirty jeans and tees. Antimony thanked him as he walked out the door. The stairway was empty. Jim climbed up to the Laundromat. He pumped in three quarters. Checking his pockets for a fourth, Jim drew many stares. He ignored them. Eventually the majority looked away, but one small kid continued to stare at the oddity. Jim shot an angry glance, and the kid backed away, clutching his mothers skirt. Jim found his last quarter stuck in his CD case, between two scratched up punk albums. The clothes swirled around, sliding between foam and water, a jumbled mix of bold blacks and vivid reds. Jim watched them collide, the reds disappearing behind the blacks. Like blood behind a veil. The veil. Their veil. The Suits veil. It was the veil in which the night became a mask, concealing the murder and decay. Jim waited for the washer to finish, and pressed the Dry button. The drier began. When it ended, the moon was fully up. Jim carefully pulled the clothes out. He felt them, most still slightly damp. Cheap washing unit, he thought. He climbed back down the stairs. Another night with Antimony crying slightly into her pillow. Jim felt sorry for her. But there was nothing he could do. Maybe the next day. Hed ask her then. He had even forgotten about his headphones, not taking them out until they jabbed his thigh.

She sniffed twice more, and fell silent. Jim rolled over, burying his face in the side of the couch. Jim shoved the headphones in his ear and reached for his duffle bag. At the very bottom of the bag, wrapped in a pair of socks, was his mp3 player. He yanked out his old headphones-placing them respectfully back in the duffle, despite its obvious wear-and inserted the new ones. He turned up the volume and tried to drain out the world in guitar rifts and drum solos. Antimony started crying again. He turned it louder. But the notes wouldnt stick in his head. They flitted past, Jim unable to keep his focus on the music. He turned it off. Removing the headphones from his ears, he put his mp3 player on the coffee table. He listened to her sob all night. Jim was going to wake up early tomorrow. Make her something nice. He woke to the smell of waffles. He smacked his head angrily against the sofa. Jim checked the time. 6:00. How was she up this early? Antimony leaned over and handed him a plate. Hey, he called out, his voice dry. She looked over. You miss your family? I hate my family. Why do you ask? I just-never mind. I just thought I heard something last night. Antimony went back to the kitchen. Its my birthday in a few weeks. She tried to sound sort of offhand, but was failing miserably. Jim pretended not to notice. I dont want anything, I just- she paused, I wanted to let you know. Jim, having nothing planned for the day, flipped through his CD collection. Antimony looked over his shoulder. She pointed at things she liked, but on all instances the CDs were scratched beyond use. Jim finally pulled out one from a band in England, and placed it in the player. Antimony turned the speakers up, and they both rocked out. Hey you want to dance? Antimony asked. Jim put his hand to his ear. Do you want to dance? she said louder, motioning to the stereo and then to herself. Jim shrugged. Please she put her hands together to signify begging. Jim rolled his eyes. She crossed her arms and sat on the couch, sulking. Jim put on his shoes. Where are you going? Antimony asked, this time turning down the music first. Third times a charm, he answered, referring to his newspaper hunts. Bring me back a CD, I lost my last one. She tossed him ten dollars. Which one? Surprise me. The red rubbish bins were all filled with newspapers today, seeing as it was only four pages long. And two were advertisements. Jim rolled his into a ball and chucked it at a Suit. The Suit pretended not to have noticed. Jim yelled at him. Nothing. Shrugging, Jim walked off, but as he turned his head he felt a sharp pain on the left side of his head. He instinctively put his hand up to his ear. There was blood. A sharp jab to the ribs, sniggers fading out of focus, and he was on the floor. He waited for them to leave, and tried to stand. His head spun slightly, but hed make it back to the apartment. Jim felt inside his jacket for the CD. It had snapped in two. Jim cursed at the nearest Suit. Unsure if she deserved the insult or not, the Suit walked away hurriedly, looking behind her as she did so.

Jim continued roaming the streets, looking for an excuse to return as late as possible. Broken streetlights, rattling railways, and the constant presence of the Veil. New York, New York. A man was sleeping in a phone booth, while it was being torn down around him. The construction crew didnt bother waking him up, just watched as he ran for his life upon feeling the cold steel crumple over him. Antimony was disturbed when Jim told her this. They were going to watch him die? It seemed that way. Does his life mean anything? Obviously not. Hes a blemish on their perfect society. Itd be a plus to take him out and call it an accident. Jim stirred his soup unenthusiastically. Antimony added some salt for him. He took a spoonful. It tasted like hatred. Everything he ate that day tasted like hatred. Needs more pepper, he said. She added a touch of pepper. Antimony took a bite of her sandwich. They had run out of soup, and Antimony wasnt keen on taking the last bowl. She had already the last half a candy bar, and the last bowl of spaghetti in the past two days, and she didnt like seeing Jim not eat. But for Jim, it still tasted of hate. Not all the pepper in the world would change that. Itd just make it very peppery hate. Jim took another couple of spoonfuls, as to not hurt Antimonys feelings. Mr. Concept she started. He looked up. Is it good? She asked very timidly, and as usual Jim pretended not to notice. Very good, he lied. It was easy to lie. Shockingly easy. She smiled, and finished her sandwich. Jim continued eating his soup. Tell me when youre done, k? she yelled from the other room. Jim twiddled with his spoon. Should he ask her? I would, a voice in his head reflected. Never mind whatd you do. Youre a figment of my imagination, remember? Sure whatever. So you dont exist. Thats rather harsh, it said, quite taken aback. Its true. Just because Im in your head doesnt mean Im not real. Yes I think it does. Jim put his bowl in the sink. Whyd you leave home? Jim asked Antimony abruptly. The voice in his head smiled mischievously, sensing a victory. Why not? Im serious. This isnt a good life. Youve already seen that. Depends on what you look at as good. I think being a-a- she paused, searching for the right word. Giving up, she finally said, well, a part of society. Its absolutely repulsive. A Suit. Hm? You were looking for the word Suit. Thats what I call em. Antimony smiled. Okay then Mr. Concept. Ill tell you why I left. She stopped looking for the remote, and straightened up. My ex-boyfriend. I broke up with him, and he didnt take it too kindly. He began harassing me, and when I refused to take him back, he told the mayor that I had a Quran. I decided it was best to leave.

Did you? Yes. I dont think you have to be Muslim to enjoy the artwork or read the poetry. Besides, what weve begun to do to the Muslims is Auschwitz all over again. The red scarves, the curfews, next well be shooting them in public squares! she ended on a note of hysteria. Is this why youve been crying? She opened her mouth to answer. I just thought he was the one, you know? I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. Wed gone out for three and a half years. He was so nice. Until he beat up a fourth grader. Said he looked at him funny. I ended it then. Tears were building in her eyes. She sniffed. I didnt want to believe it. I- She started crying. Jim ushered her over to the couch, where she used his shoulder as a headrest. She smiled, tears falling slowly onto the ripped upholstery. She put her arm around his neck. So whered you stay before here? Jim asked. My brother has an apartment near my school. Doesnt ask to many questions, doesnt have too many people over. Nice and quiet. Antimony was giggling now. It seems so silly now Antimony fell asleep quickly that night. Jim didnt. He listened to music while lying on the couch. Now he could focus on the lyrics, without Antimonys crying intruding. It wasnt her crying necessarily. Shut up figment. Thats no way to treat a comrade. But anyways, it wasnt the noise that kept you awake. Then what was it? Jim wasnt really paying attention to the voice, but rather using punk rock to drone it out. You felt pity. Jim scoffed, a bit too loudly and Antimony stirred. He held his breath for a few seconds, afraid of waking her up. When it was apparent that she was still sleeping, the voice continued. Its true. You wanted her to be happy so you yourself felt the pain. Well then why cant I sleep now? You still have headphones in your ears. Jim, who had forgotten about this, irritably took them out and turned his back to the couch. He soon fell asleep, the voice in his head still gloating. Jim woke up first this time. He put some bacon on the stove for Antimony, and set the alarm to wake her up. Jim crept upstairs, past the attendant, who had taken to feigning sleep whenever he passed, and onto the streets. Even in the early morning the bars were spewing empty bottles out the windows, and passed out drunks out the front doors. A particular bartender caught Jims eyes, nodded, and rolled an intoxicated man out the door, which was being held open by another bartender. Jim met up with two old men playing chess in the park. He was expected. Sit down, one ordered. Jim sat beside the game, watching them play. You need money, right? Itd seem so. Always give short, indecisive answers to these people, Fredrick used

to say. Well we may be able to help you out there he smiled a toothless smile, and placed his pawn on the eighth row. Checkmate, he added to the other man, almost as an afterthought. He spent the next week and a half doing odd jobs for the two men, seeing as they were not as young as they used to be, and still had jobs that needed doing. Every day he met them by the chess table. The older of the two, although he looked like the younger, was named Charlton. Charlton delegated the jobs to Jim and a hobo that looked in desperate need of a wash. Jim transported goods, delivered messages, and ran everyday errands, all the meanwhile peering into rubbish bins, trying to find a newspaper worth reading. Throughout this Jim constantly conversed with the voice in his head, exploring realms of thought he never considered by himself. However, Jim wouldve preferred exploring those thoughts with someone real, although he was careful not to think that around the voice, for it would become offended and simply refuse to return for hours on end. At two oclock in the afternoon, the younger man who looked like the older, Herb, gave him his money. At that point Jim would take off to the store to buy food for the day. But on the twentieth, Charlton had a stroke and was confined to the hospital. Herb, unable to part from his brother (Jim found this bit of information out on the fourth or so day) stayed in the room with him, sleeping on the guest sofa. Three days later he was admitted for a busted back. Herb requested adjoining rooms. It was the day before Antimonys birthday. Jim woke up early and went up to the lobby. The attendant gave a dreadful spasm, and collapsed in his chair, peeping through half closed eyes, waiting for Jim to leave. Still after two and a half weeks, Jim thought. The man had a long, hooked nose and very blue very squinty eyes. That is, when they werent shut. Jim lingered overlong in the lobby, glancing over things he had no interest in, watching the attendant, waiting for the concentration to break The attendant fell out of the chair, unable to hold himself in the awkward position he used whenever he faked unconsciousness. He stood quickly, fixing his askew reading glances, and glaring at Jim who was now laughing uproariously. Jim left the door wide open as he exited the building, the cold fall air seeping in. It forced the attendant to vacate his post to close it. Antimony soon found Jim in the record store trying to find something for her birthday. I said you didnt have to get anything. She smiled. Come on, I want to talk to you. After buying them coffees from the nearest coffee house, Jims black and hers a latte, Antimony sat down on the curb and motioned for Jim to do the same. Jim squirmed a bit after he sat, seeing as he was directly under a gargoyle. He had problems with gargoyles. Seeing this, Antimony offered to switch seats with him, but Jim refused. He said hed deal with it. What Antimony didnt realize was there was a bigger gargoyle above her. Mr. Concept, theres something wrong. It wasnt a question. I know. I always know. And, I want you to know, that you can talk to me about anything. Sure, he took a sip, whatever.

Im serious Mr. Concept. I saw your face when you saw the newspaper this morning. And how quickly you put it back in the rubbish bin. She took a long sip, seeing if he would talk as she did so. He didnt. Disappointed, she stood and left. Jim kept drinking his coffee on the curb. The wind picked up. It messed up his hair. But it was okay, he kept it that way anyways. Jim finished his coffee, throwing the cup out into the street and watching it get crushed under a shipping truck. Eighteen wheels, Jim counted. And the Styrofoam cup jumped from one to another, like a rubber ball hopping on the asphalt. It was left torn and crushed. Like Jims sanity. Not all the kings men could put either of them back together again. Jim left slightly distraught, but looking for a conversation with the edge of the asylum itself. You there? he asked, unsure whether to speak it aloud or simply think it in the shadowy mists of his mind. Im always here. You just have to come knocking. Should I tell Antimony? Tell her what? Jim wouldve scowled, as if to say you-know-what-I-mean, but he didnt think it wouldve made a difference. Tell her if you trust her, the voice answered, absorbing the message anyway. But do I trust her? His mind was, for once, silent. He never trusted anyone. And he would rather not try to begin trusting now. It was against character. They went to bed without dinner, or at least Jim did, having no clue if Antimony had eaten or not. It was only seven oclock. Nonetheless he was out in a matter of minutes, his dreams plagued with grinning gargoyles and disembodied voices, all reciting mysterious riddles. The backdrop shifted uneasily, before appearing as a black space. Tiny stars began dotting the sky. Their light glimmer tantalized him, the slight sparkle a beckoning he could not answer, the vastness in their numbers a new frontier to escape to. To find a truth long buried away. It was as if their ancestors had locked the world away from them, up in the infinite space, and the only way to reclaim it was to search amongst the novas and galaxies. Jim pondered this, and as he did so the stars watched him, and he longed more than anything to join them. But when he woke, he had forgotten that they had even existed. Jim scratched his chin, and looked to his right. Antimony was still asleep. Jim smiled. He again made her bacon, again set the alarm to wake her up, and again walked out the door, making sure to shut it gently behind him. Hey, you there? he thought. No answer. Maybe hed lost the voice as awkwardly as he had obtained it. The streets were bare, and Jim couldnt remember why. Maybe a pop singer was on TV. The Suits liked any singer that danced around in her underwear, despite what the actual music sounded like. Jim, however, had standards. And apparently so did Daniel. His record store was still open, and he was blasting rock, to what Jim guessed was the annoyance of the neighbors. Daniels eyes were closed, and his head was slightly rocking back and forth again. The bell chiming was somewhat noticeable above the music. Daniel gave a slight tilt of his head, as if to indicate that he knew someone was there. Jim stepped in, surveying the new releases. Nothing good was in his price range. He walked out.

He scraped at the bottom of a rubbish bin, trying to reach a newspaper without sticking his hand in what looked like week old vomit. Jim failed. He wiped his hand off on the nearest wall, smearing the storefront of WALLACE AND HERBERT CLOTHING. He opened the newspaper to page three, where the local news was usually found. New wontons at CHINESE MEGA-BUFFET. Jim angrily threw the paper into the street. No car came by this time. He tried talking to his voice again. No avail. Jim sighed. August was closing on him, the wisps of September floating on the air like the taste of danger on ones tongue. Jim was waiting for September to pass. Every year his nerves calmed a little when the night of September the thirtieth faded to October first. Seeking to rid himself of this bothersome dilemma before Septembers annual onslaught of angst and restlessness, Jim took off for the apartment. Antimony thanked him for the bacon, and turned on the radio. On came the Voice of America, Edward Blaze, a radio host whose hate speech was praised by the government for uniting the country in an uprising of nationalism and pushing the boundaries of American reporting. All lies. Every word. This is America! his voice bellowed from the radio. Night has fallen upon our hearts and it is known as hypocrisy. Our citizens want answers yet are increasingly becoming ignorant- Talk about it, Jim thought. Ignorant of their duties to this country, ignorant of the harmful and blatant insubordination this nation faces. Rebels, rethinkers, homosexuals. The very words sicken me. And the notions behind them are worse. They will kill our ideals and hang our ethics. People, who advocate for these menaces are no better than them. We have fought for ages to ensure our freedom and it is now being stolen from us under cover of darkness by the desperate. The modern thinkers attempt to pilfer our values and steal our achievements. They are the monsters in this satanic realm. Only by purging our society of these abominations can we bring God back to this land. Why were we punished with the great flood? Blasphemy in the form of radical ideas. If I had a farm, Id bet it. The radio cut out. Where there was once the ringing noise of a furious rampage was now the subtle hum of static. The bacon, half eaten, was resting on the table. No one was in the room. Did you hear that idiocy? Jim nodded, taking a voracious bite of his burger. Ketchup dripped down onto his shoe. A mutt who had found shelter in the alleyway licked it off. Jim didnt care. One less thing for him to do. Sad thing is he has a following. Almost all of the Suits nowadays listen to him. Nine oclock, AM and PM everyday. They listen on their way to work. And while eating dinner. And he broadcasts from his house so even when hes sick hell spread his plague. I bet once hes dead, therell be a national holiday. Antimony dropped the rest of her burger for the dog. You shouldnt do that. Itll just follow us to the apartment. Maybe I want it to follow us home. She smiled, petting the dog behind its ears. It pushed its head into her hand. Whose a good boy? Jim groaned. The dog didnt follow them to the apartment, which left Antimony thoroughly disappointed but Jim inwardly thankful. He didnt want anything depending on him. Antimony could look out for herself if she needed to, so having her around, while at times tiresome, wasnt a problem. If he was forced to jump town, and had to leave the dog here It was better if the dog found some nice hobo to watch after him.

Hows dinner coming? Antimony called from the couch. Jim, who was admittedly used to skipping meals due to his lack of culinary expertise, had three eggs scrambling on the stove. Two were smoking. Antimony ate the non-burnt egg, while Jim attempted to salvage edible pieces from the other two. We should order out tomorrow, Jim thought, as he picked through blackened yolk. He managed to find a mere mouthful, and fell asleep with his face in the pillow and his left arm dangling limply over the side of the couch. He did not dream of stars that night, but if he had, he most surely would not have remembered them by morning.

September Burning Away The last few days of August were choked out, none of them containing much excitement, nor conversations of an interesting manner. Antimony began working again, however not as a waitress but as a shelver at Daniels record store. She decided that she was going to stay in the apartment, and bid Jim farewell as he made to leave through the front door for the last time. The voice in his head still wasnt back. Jims leg was shaking. It always shook when he was nervous. He sighed, realizing that he had to make the decision himself, and however annoying the voice may have been it proved useful in the short time it existed. Seeing as it was now her apartment, he asked Antimony if he could stay for a few more hours. They talked. They had lived together for the better part of a month and yet they never really gotten to know each other. And now, despite it being utterly pointless-and in all senses it was-they decided it was best for them to confide in one another, creating a safe for long buried memories, a safe that they would cast away and never see again. I used to have this rag doll, Antimony began, back when I lived in Manhattan. And I called her Elena. I call her Elena, she corrected herself. Well, when I had to leave, she stopped, a tear forming at her lash, I had to leave Elena behind. You dont understand, I love Elena. My parents never listened to me. Elena did. Whenever girls would tell me to crawl in a hole and dieI would talk to Elena. Thats why the mayor wasnt surprised I had a Quran. He knew I was weird for still k-keeping a d-doll. She was stammering now, unable to finish. If I find myself in Manhattan, Ill keep my eyes out for it, ok? Antimony smiled, and nodded. And Ill know where to find you. She hugged him. His chin came up over her red hair. Jim was going to tell her, he truly was. But he couldnt find the right words. So he left. He left without telling her of his childhood aspirations, of his yearning to feel the emptiness of space between gloved fingers. To watch the world and its inhabitants slowly shrink in the distance, and to travel to a world or worlds without the societal boundaries that impede him so. He kept to himself all of the sleepless nights he spent watching the night sky, wondering what was up there. Wondering why he wasnt There was a truth hidden in the deepest corner of space, a locked box where his disdain for humanity was the key. Some recompense for all his suffering, or an answer to all his questions. Or both. Jim was the one who knew that anything and everything could be outside Earth, outside humanity, and during a better time, he wanted to be the one to traverse through it all. To find an inner peace that was beside himself. Something for the world. He was so nave then. To dream of a peace. There is no peace. Only unrest. Now Jim gazed up at the stars, and watched them frown. Frown upon the society, frown upon his own incredulousness. But now, Jim didnt care. He wanted the stars to burn away into an ashy eternity. Maybe then he could stop hoping. Maybe then hed get a good nights sleep. Jim yawned as he walked up the stairs. Antimony had asked him to put a load of

her clothes in the wash before he left, so he did. But this time, he did not pause to watch the foams, nor to shoot wary strangers angry glances. He really must be on his way. Jim didnt take the railway this time, but rather a taxi. He opened the yellow door, and stepped in hesitantly. Where to? Church Street. It came out before he had even thought about it. Jim wasnt planning on staying in Manhattan, but Jim had really nowhere else to go and he thought he should give a shot at finding Elena. As a belated birthday present. The taxi rolled away from the curb. The driver, unconcerned with Jim, blasted what sounded like the greatest hits of the Hindu Kush. And Jims mp3 player was at the bottom of his duffle. He groaned, and tried talking to the voice once more. Maybe he should stop trying. Jim rolled down the window and stuck his arm out, trying to grasp at the wind passing between his fingers. But the wind was to eager to flee the city, and it could not stop to chat. It did however carry this message: the bombers were high over the world, watching until they saw the whites of their enemies eyes. Everyone knew this. One button to be pushed and simultaneously the pilots would release their cargo, showering the world in an eruption of flames, all arcing about the buildings and spinning in the eyes of the politicians. International policy all depended who could retaliate as quickly as possible, soon taking the world away from itself, parting flesh from bone and humanity with heaven. Jim agreed with the wind. No matter how far you ran there was always the idea worth dying for, and the nonsense you end up dying for. Running from the war wouldnt save anyone from it, and Jim knew that hed end up dying holding his sanity in his arms. War was the only place where a job well done meant the death of millions. And yet no one cared but Jim and the wind. So there he thought, pleading silently with the world to just finish the job already. There was no point living in uncertainty anymore. Either blow up the world or disarm the nukes. There was no other way. Curse you Robert Oppenheimer. The driver pulled up to the curb. Hey, you mind if we take another passenger? he called back. Taxis are short today. Jim shrugged, and the driver took that as a yes. A Suit jumped into the seat next to him. Jim sighed, knowing it was only a matter of time before the Suit noticed that he was sitting there. The Suit pulled out his laptop and began working. The Suits phone rang. He answered. Yes, oh, George, for a second I thought Richard was calling to ask about my economic report. I wont lie to you George, keeping trade open with Chinas going to be difficult. Theyve just raised the prices by twelve percent. A pause. On what? On everything George! Lamps, doorknobs, books, even American flags are made in China. I overheard an economist telling Bill, you remember Bill right? From the accounting departmentyeah that Bill. Well anyways, he told Bill that at this rate we wouldnt even have enough money to keep troops in Alaska and Hawaii by spring. I say sell them both, Russias already moving troops through Alaska I mean its pretty much theirs his voice trailed off. No George. Im already on probation for last weeks Afghanistan column, I cant write that. Id get fired in a heartbeat.

Then get fired, Jim thought angrily. Yes George. I know. But its our job to lie to the public, and by God I think Ive actually grown good at it. He hung up. He sat back, exasperated. Rasping his fingers on the keyboard, the Suit thought for a long minute. He closed the laptop, and hummed a tune to himself. Jim grew bored with listening to the wind howling past the window, and tried to not think of Antimony. She meant nothing to him, yet he couldnt force her out his mind. He didnt love her. And yet he couldnt forget her. She was like a flower growing in the wreckage of a nuclear wasteland. The only of her kind, the epitome of resistance and she couldnt just ask what he knew she wanted to. She wanted to be his friend. He never had a friend before. Fredrick was something of a mentor, but not a friend. And every other person hed had the displeasure of encountering knew him as nothing more as an imperfection, and he knew them as nothing more as a Suit. Antimony was a roommate, but was she a friend? In the end it wouldnt matter. She hadnt asked. So he didnt need to contemplate his hypothetical response. But Jim had nothing better to do and no one better to occupy his thoughts. Hey, Jim, are we friends? I mean we live together and everything, but- I dont know. I was just wondering. It seemed as though you need a friend, shed say. I dont need friends. Never have, hed reply. Jim, have you ever thought that she might need a friend? the voice would interject. Jim would consider this, while drumming his hands on the coffee table. Maybe were friends. Honestly I dont know. I dont really pay much attention to whats anything anymore. Whys that Jim? And hed tell her. Hed tell her everything that he had meant to, tell her that his attention was better spent watching the stars rather than observing the many intricacies of human conduct. And that, honestly, one doesnt need friends in space. But there was no hope for Jim to enter a rocket. Yet he could try. The driver pulled up to the curb. The Suit got out, and pulled his phone out almost immediately after. The cab rolled on. Jim reached into his bag and groped for his mp3 player. He couldnt take anymore of the radio. His left hand moved about the bottom of the bag, but at an instant withdrew, a line of scarlet reopened. He hastily rewrapped his hand, still using the cloth that Elliot had placed in his hand. Reaching back for his player, Jim used his right hand this time. The rest of the trip was a blur of New York streets, music, and sleep. When the taxi pulled up to the curb once more, Jim found himself only barely awake with a distinct recollection of being on a song three albums before. Jim crawled out of the taxi, still slightly sluggish, and stretched. He handed the driver eight fives and a ten. Jim counted what remained of his money. Only thirty-seven dollars. After buying a burger (thirty-four sixty now) Jim wiped the ketchup from the corner of his mouth and tossed the crumpled up wrapper in the general direction of the rubbish bin. It hit the rim and bounced off. Jim walked to the church-it wasnt too far-and watched the congregation amass at the doors. No living among them. All just numbers in Gods armies. Jim doubted half of them had even picked up the Bible.

And the bombers still hung overhead. Jim just knew. As long as society still revered the Veil as the Shroud of Turin, there would be bombers looming overhead. And they were feasting on the corruption of nighttime excursions. Jim bought a sandwich for dinner. Jim took a slice of bread from the sandwich and sat on a park bench, one that was soon vacated by its other occupants. He fed the birds. They flocked to him, the pigeons, and ate the bread he was slowly sprinkling on the floor. The pigeons pecked at each other occasionally, but mostly kept to themselves, scouring the cement walkway for the crumbs of humanity. Give them guns, Jim thought. Give them guns and watch how they blow each other apart, firing upon the earth itself to wrest the soiled crumbs from each others bloody beaks. Then give them missiles. How far would these pigeons go to secure the fragments of bread Jim so carelessly tossed upon their world? Would they burn the park? The city? The world? Humans would. And theyd still search for the bread. Just put a bullet in the chamber and watch humanity shoot the sky, trying to fell the clouds. The pigeons kept eating. Jim took the rest of the sandwich and shoved it in his mouth. Tasted like hate. And there was no Antimony left to add some pepper. Jim stood to leave. Immediately the pigeons jumped from their eating, flapping their wings to fly from Jim, leaving him, like everything else did. He hated them. As Jim left they returned to finish the bread crumbs still strewn over the walkway. Jim wanted to find Antimonys doll as quickly as possible and continue to the freight ship leaving for England in two weeks. He could find a way to sneak on board. And he would finally be rid of America. But would life be better overseas? Probably not. It was all the same. In America they hated the Brits, in England the Yanks. And in Canada the both of them. Jim checked the street of Antimonys old house, Clearview Dr., and the street of her old school. Nothing. Maybe her parents chucked it. If they did, there was nothing Jim could do. He sighed. Jim sat on the steps to the library. It was dark now, only the starlight now showing over the buildings. The moon had been hindered by a particularly large skyscraper. Jim hated the stars. One night, he would tell them everything. But tonight, they were still above his reach, still only a dream, echoing in the vast whispers of space. Jim wasnt even sure what that meant. But he knew that the bomber pilots were oblivious to such whispers. Otherwise theyd go crazy, and crash their planes, bombs and all, into the pavement, just to rid themselves of the voices. Jim wished he were oblivious to such whispers. But no. The truth of spaces infinite void crept into Jims every thought, and the war into that. Smoke escaped from cement stacks, like the stolen breath underwater, just gas floating to the top. Clouds of smoke collecting at the rim, falling back down in black, serpentine spirals. And the city was addicted to it.

Jim, having no housing plans, curled up at the foot of an apartment building. When the men journeyed from their homes to their work, Jim would be awoken by the sound of scurrying feet and utter dislike. He pulled out a thin jacket, and wrapped it around his arms. The chill in the air bit at his face. And despite knowing how much he despised them, the stars warmth comforted Jim through the night. The night awoke him, around twelve-thirty, and he found his sanity screaming in disbelief. His insanity however, was still mute. The apartment was ablaze, the smoke from the orange killer now mixing with the smoke from the stacks. Jim, who had been laying on his duffle, sprung from his sleeping spot and wrenching his duffle from the fire. A low-bearing beam splintered, and the second floor caved into the first. Jim was no hero. He backed down the alley, terrified. Any moment the embers would rip away the last support and all ten floors would buckle and lurch and collapse upon the street, splaying its torched frame out on the city, and soon the block too would be ablaze in a fury of death. The heat from the fire singed holes in the air to reach him. He was afraid. The stars seemed to ebb from the sky, as if afraid. The embers danced about, and Jims eyes widened. The fire transfixed him, the way it circled in graceful arcs, squeezing the smoke from the air into its ring of flame, snatching at the night sky and dragging it down to fuel the endless lust for fuel. Jim wondered what it would be like, to just burn and burn and feel nothing but the limitless leisure of the flame, to lap away at the stars, almost reaching them with a long, burning arm He took a step closer. A board fell. Beautiful isnt it? Jim nodded. He didnt realize who had spoken, or if anyone had spoken at all. Maybe it was all in his head His head! Jim almost jumped as he realized his voice had returned to him, only surfacing with the influence of the burning night and the wavering stars. Hey, wait, are you back? he thought rapidly. Yes. Whyd you leave? You didnt need me anymore. It sounded hurt, unwanted. So why are you back? Because I thought someone should tell you that youre walking into the fire. Jim looked up, realizing that the building was much closer than before. He glanced back. Ashy footprints led to his spot. Oh, that wouldve been bad, wouldnt it? The voice merely yawned. Yeah, I know, I didnt get much sleep, Jim yawned too. He stretched his arms. So, what brings us to Manhattan? Antimonys missing doll. Jim recounted the conversation, while the voice patiently listened. At the end, Jim sighed, and leaned against the wall opposite the burning building. The distant cry of sirens hung in the air. So you checked around- Her house and school. Right. What about her brothers apartment?

Hmm? Didnt she mention an apartment near her school? Jim scratched her chin. Maybe. I dont remember. He leaned his head back. The sirens were growing louder. What about it anyways? It could be there? Yeah, and how many apartments are in Manhattan? Do I have time to search them all? No. Because I am getting on a ship to England in two weeks. You can come if you want. The voice thought. Jim walked away, the sound of sirens now screeching through the streets and the fire burning brightly behind him. Jim kicked at the rock. It refused to budge. It was pretty big, maybe twenty pounds. Jim had found it in the junkyard. Looking like a very fat cat, the rock basked in the sun, casting a slight shadow upon Jims shoe. He kicked at it again. Jim walked away, the twisted shadows of scrap metal snaking over the dirt and crab grass. He pushed open the rusted gate and climbed out. The bombers where awfully close last night, the voice lamented. And loud too, Jim added, mentally of course. I cant take it anymore. Jim felt a pang of annoyance. He continued down the boulevard. A black car raced by. Jim took a shortcut through a dimly lit path. The path ended at the church. Jim took a left, the voice in his head still quietly whispering about the war. It was a bit past noon, and Jim could hear the midday service muttering slurred amens and forgive mes. He stepped over the low fence and glanced though the window. The Suits that noticed him backed away slightly, although not enough to get noticed by the minister. One breathed on the window, a fog soon impeding Jims vision. Cursing, Jim walked around to the other side. As he did so, however, he found someone quite interesting. A rag doll. She had long black hair, which was made out of string, and a lopsided smile. Her dress was green. Oh, and she had two lovely blue button eyes, Jim remembered Antimonys description of Elena. This doll, however similar, was missing an ocean blue eye. Jim smiled. Elenas smile was indeed lopsided. Jim gently placed the injured rag doll in his duffle, wrapped in two tee shirts that needed washing. Checking how much money he had left, (a mere thirteen forty-two) Jim set off for the nearest taco shop. After seeing that it was three seventy-nine for a burrito, Jim returned to the junkyard hungry. The bombers circled the city outskirts like vultures. Peace had waved the white flag, succumbing to the blood pounding in peoples heads and the fire coursing through their hearts. War was the answer to the unknown and the callused treaties. Not only war, but a slaughtering of innocents if only to make a point. I wish Winchester was here. Whatd you say? Jim thought, wondering why the voice no suddenly sounded more feminine. The voice paused, taken slightly aback. I thought you said it, honestly. Jim jumped up, grabbing his lighter. The comforting spark of the flame echoed in his eyes.

No, Clarke, Ive told you like a million times, the feminine voice grew louder, that I dont want to move. Thanks for the offer, and you and Winchester are more than welcome- she was cut off. A shadow glanced up on the pile of metal. Sure Clarke, Ill write you. Jim capped his lighter, and moved back. He was hungry, irritated, and if he had to deal with Suits hed snap. He turned around and headed for the gate, planning on hopping it. An object gently brushed against his arm. Looking down, Jim realized that it was a page. Jim excavated the page out, soon unearthing a whole book. A metal rod fell as he did so. A Quran. Jim kicked the pile of trash. It teetered. He turned his back to the monument to the Suits decaying waste, and shoved the ripped paper in his pocket. A toilet seat fell from the topmost reaches of the pile. A pole shifted, a box leaned, and soon the whole pile had collapsed, all crashing down upon Jims unsuspecting shoulders. Jim felt orange. A blur was standing over him, waving a hand in his face. Behind the mystery blur, was a faded backdrop, possibly a room. Random colors intermixed with the unfocused scenery, and Jim was soon asleep again, all the blurs now a monotonous black. Im telling you Winchester, Russia is losing against Germany. Even after bombing Berlin, you just cant match the will power. But Russias military size- Means nothing if Germany can funnel them into a line. Like the Spartans when they fought the Persians. And look how that ended. Hey, hey I think the guys awake. Who? What guy? The one we found at the junkyard. How could you have already forgotten? It was only a week and a half ago. Jim rubbed his head. He tried to open his eyes. They obliged reluctantly, and Jim soon understood why. A bright light assaulted them, and Jim soon found himself blinking constantly to keep from burning his retina. Oh, sorry, the younger of the two guys said, moving the lamp out of his face. Jims shoulder was aching. The older helped Jim up. Im Clarke, he said, puffing out his chest proudly. Jim turned his head to the other, apparently Winchester. Winchester nodded. Jim shook both of their hands. In an attempt to survey his surroundings, Jim glanced at the walls, the window, and the doorway. The walls were brick, the door wasnt there and the window was boarded up. Jim sighed. Clarke noticed this, and led Jim out into the main room. An old TV was there, parts duct taped together, a lime green couch was across from it, also with parts duct taped over, and a small kitchen stood in the corner of it all. Jim guessed he had just come from the bedroom. Its not much, Clarke started. But Jim was smiling. I love it. Winchester blushed. Jim sat down upon the taped couch, before realizing that he couldnt stay. I have to go soon Clarke shrugged, and Winchester waved. Jim started for the door. His hand was almost around the knob when it jerked open. Hello! She patted Jim heavily on the shoulder, soon realized it was the injured

shoulder, and muttered quick apologies. Who-are-you? Jim managed to get out, his voice still shaking from the pain. Oh, me? Im Jennifer Harrow, but everyone calls me- Jenny? Jim ventured. Of course not! What kind of a name is Jenny? They call me Death. Jim stood straighter, somewhat concerned of why everyone called her Death. And this is Winchester and Clarke! she beamed. Yeah, weve already been acquainted. Jim was still holding his shoulder. Ah, well. How long are you staying? Jim looked up. She had short black hair, cut in a way that reminded him of Elliot. She wore a black tank top, and black skinny jeans. Jim looked down at his own clothes: black and black. Well? Jim had almost forgotten the question. I was just leaving. She held up her arm to block his way. No you arent. Not like that! she gestured to his arm. Ill be fine. She wouldnt relent. He tried pushing past her, but she just punched his shoulder until he agreed that it was best for him to stay. Rather reluctantly, Jim sat on the couch. Winchester sat beside him, and twiddled with his thumbs. Death leaned her head over the couch, so that she was looking at them upside-down. So whats youre name? Concept, he answered. Hm, Death contemplated. Weirder than my name. Okay! she clapped her hands together and stood up, pushed Winchester aside, and sat between them. You know Ches here is going to call you Jesus you know. And why, Jim was gritting his teeth now, would he possibly do that? Because he found you with a bible over your face. Jim groaned. Just his luck. Death held something up. We saved the Bible, didnt know if it was yours or not. She dropped it in his lap. Im not Christian, you can burn it for all I care. Death bit her lip, thinking. Then that makes the nickname Jesus a bit contradictory though, doesnt it? Jim nodded. She bit her lip again. So I should stick to calling you Concept then, shouldnt I? Jim nodded again. Seems a bit boring though. Jim grunted. Maybe Ill call you Jim. Jims heart skipped a beat. Nah, sounds like a Bat name doesnt it? Not knowing what she meant by this, Jim assumed her mentioning of his name was quite coincidental. So, Death, thanks for your hospitality, but I really have to get going. He stood. She pushed him back down. No Concept, Im sure you can stay. She smiled. As she did so, all of his worrying seemed to alleviate. If only for a moment. As Death turned away, Jim had a sudden longing to ask her something, anything, just to keep her talking. It was her tone of voice, Jim was sure of it. It was so calm and reassuring, despite the look of tiredness under her eyes. Then Ill help out. Im not staying for free. I wont be in someones debt. Death looked him over quizzically for a moment. An admirable goal. She handed him a chore list. Youll take the first half, Ches the second. Clarke has to go to work, and Saturdays my reading day. With that she walked off, the air of contentment leaving with her. Jim ripped the paper in two down the middle, handing the bottom portion to

Winchester. He then glanced at the first on the list. Get rid of wasps nest Great, Jim thought. Not knowing where this wasps nest was, Jim spent the next few hours searching for it (Winchester had disappeared suddenly) only finding it when he accidentally stepped on the cursed thing as he leaned out the front door. Instantly the horde attacked him, and Jim used the nearest weapon, a broomstick, and whacked at them for another half-an-hour. Panting, he looked at task number two. Sweep Jim glanced at the broomstick in his hand, and thought himself lucky that he didnt have to go finding something else. The sweeping was rather straightforward, as was the retaping of the couch and TV. Jim only looked concerned when Winchester showed up with a welt on his arm. Water plants This wasnt done in the untidy scrawl as the rest of the paper, but rather a slanted cursive. Jim guessed Death had written this one: she seemed to be the kind of person to keep plants. Unable to locate these plants, Jim looked on to the next one, only to realize that other than the plants, he was done. He checked the clock. Half past three. Winchester looked relieved all dinner, proclaiming his udder dislike for the wasps nests that seemed to appear every Saturday. When asked how he got the welt however, he merely said, neighbors. An awkward silence. So, Concept, did you like my plants? Jim inhaled sharply, which proved quite problematic seeing as he was drinking water at the time. He coughed or a few moments, Clarke patting him on the back roughly. Yeah, they were great. He made a mental note to find (and when he did water) these plants. Death, however, took kindly to the complement, and was beaming as she finished her spaghetti. Winchester slurped up his last noodle, although it was much larger than Winchester had thought, and he actually ran out of breath mid-slurp. Death grinned at Winchesters surprise. Jim took the plates to the sink, and Clarke helped him wash them off. Winchester was escorting Death to the couch. The TV flickered on. Hey, Jesus, Jim groaned, you didnt tape over the back, did you? He furrowed his brow. Yeah, why? Does it matter? Winchester stood and peeled the tape off. Just makes it a bit slow to turn on and off. No prob though, I shouldve told you before. Jim nodded in acknowledgement. No tape on the back, another mental note. Then, Hey Clarke, you going to sit with us today? Clarke shook his head. Too tired. Sorry mates. He walked into the bedroom. Jim wiped down the last plate and joined Death and Winchester. Upon the TV was a fuzzy image of Candice, the news anchor. She was talking about Russian ski vacations. Jim plopped down beside Winchester. Death was reading. Winchester was trying to glance at the book over her shoulder, but was obviously having difficulty keeping up. Which book? Jim asked, a little quieter than he wouldve hoped. R is for rocket, she said quickly, barely taking her eyes off of the page. Winchester leaned closer to Jim. I lost track of whats happening twelve pages ago, he whispered, then returned to peering over Deaths shoulder. Jim sat back, having no interest in rockets, nor what letter

they started with. He closed his eyes, and tried to find a better world. He had dreamed that night. Of rockets, no less. Yet the dragons breath flames that cascaded out from the end of the cone hadnt sufficiently burned themselves into Jims mind, therefore he remembered them not when he awoke. But he did have a burning remembrance of being happy whilst asleep. Jim shook this feeling off, and walked out, accompanied by Clarke, into the busy morn. A doubledeckered bus raced by, sweeping up the pages of discarded newsprint that lay scattered on the pavement in a gust of wind. Jim attempted to catch one. A Suit jeered at the desperate attempt. Jim snarled, and swung his fist at the mans face as he walked by. The Suit made some ill-mannered gestures with his right hand, while his left was clasped tightly around his bleeding nose. Thwarted of his newspaper, Jim bought a soda for Death and Winchester, and headed back. On his way he stopped to watch the pigeons. From a distance, of course. Another bus, another gust of wind. It messed up his hair. The Suits were mulling about their daily business. Many were coming out of church, making room for the next batch going in. Jim had a fleeting thought. Did the bombers visit church? If they did, then did they go in shifts? Surely they must. If all of them left at once there would be no heroes to unload their weapons at a moments notice, to not think just react as told. Or perhaps they didnt go to church at all. Perhaps they prayed in their planes, telling God that it was all for him Jim pondered this, knowing that it made no difference. All that mattered was when they would all die. When the bombs drop, and the anti-air shoot the bombers out of the sky. That was all that mattered. Jim thought of the pigeons. Dying without even the choice to fight for the bread. Jim walked back silently. Even the voice was mute. He rasped on the door. Greeted by Death, he quickly walked inside. His chores list was waiting for him, as well as a substitute for Candice. Apparently she was sick. With only one item on his chore list, (well other than watering the plants, but that wasnt going to happen) Jim was watching TV with Winchester in thirty minutes. So Jesus, I forgot to ask you. Do you like it here? Jim nodded. Death looked up from her book. That doesnt seem very sincere. Jim looked her in the eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, before realizing that Deaths eyes were a delicate shade of hazel. He smiled. Yes, I like it here. Death pursed her lips. I need to show you my library. Im not much of a reader. Ive noticed. Jim sat back awkwardly. Winchester was shuffling playing cards. When Jim asked about them, Winchester simply said that they were missing three cards. Death was reading again. Do you like science fiction Concept? Death called out as she turned the page. I havent read or seen much. I mean, I snuck in to see a space movie once. And whatd you think? Well, I thought that it was a bit far-fetched, but even though most of the guys were aliens they still had the problems we have on Earth. Although we deal with them

differently. Death smiled, but didnt comment. Jim told the voice that it was secretly his favorite movie. Well, its the only movie youve seen right? Yeah, I guess. Id like to think, though, that even if Id seen a bunch of movies Id still like this one. There was just something about it. The voice contemplated this. Jim grew antsy, and reached into his duffle. The Bible was in there, now forgotten and discarded. Jim reached past his mp3 player-which was out of battery-and felt through his clothes, all of which were practically the same: black jeans and black or grey tee shirts, occasionally with a faded decal. Jim felt a piece of string, tucked in two shirts that needed washing. He pulled out Elena, the rag doll limp in his hand. Its lopsided smile grinned foolishly from beneath Jims curled fingers. Whats that? Death asked. She set her book on the couch beside her. A friends doll. Death ran her fingers through Elenas hair. Its missing an eye. Jim nodded. I can fix that. He looked up. She was smiling tentatively. I have some extra buttons in my drawer. Her voice trailed off toward the end, but was heard all the same. Thanks. He slowly handed her the doll. If Elena was thinking of anything, she didnt show it. Death appeared the next day (Jim had dreamed of rockets once more) with Elena playfully placed on her shoulder. She took Elena off, and handed her to Jim. She had both eyes. Although now, one was a slightly darker blue. Concept, I was wondering, she started as Jim placed Elena back in his duffle, between two shirts that were now washed and clean. Where was it you were so interested on going? Im sure your shoulders fine now. Jim raised an eyebrow. Im not rushing you out of anything, I was only unsure if you were still fixed on leaving. The boat left in three days. Jim left the room without answering. Death found him sitting at the porch, his bangs covering his eyes. The wind disturbed the lighter hairs, and then let them drop to his forehead once more. Somethings wrong. Jim was reminded painfully of Antimony. You dont have to tell me. Just know that you can. She stood to leave. If there was anything better about Death than Antimony was that she didnt expect anything of him. Antimony always regarded him with some degree of respect, but as a result she thought that Jim deserved it. Jim grabbed Deaths arm. Maybe I just feel differently than others do, he explained. Death left. Jim wished that he could just live his life without having to live up to anyones expectations. He checked the calendar as he walked back inside. September tenth. Cursing at the sun for basking the Suits world in its light, Jim jumped on the couch, covered his face with his hands, and tried to fall asleep. Winchester was running back and forth, trying to find his guitar pick. Clarke had hid it in the fridge. He was sick and tired of hearing British punk. Death was humming as she waltzed with herself. She had told them on many occasions that if one did not dance they would forget, much like one forgets to do many

such things. Clarke said she had recently finished The Diary of Anne Frank when she had begun stating this so absolutely. Jim pulled the couch cushion out from underneath him, and shoved it over his head, attempting to muffle the noise. The clock ticked. The day tocked in response. Between Jims jumbled thoughts danced the woes of September. Jim hated September. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of airplanes. He had slept the whole day away, an action that resulted in much scolding from Death. Jim didnt care. Its not like September tenth meant anything anyways. Clarke turned up the news as Winchester put away the bowls from which they had just eaten oatmeal. An American flag covered the screen. We are here today, to remember a tragic crime. On this day, in 2001, two planes flew into the Twin Towers. One into the Pentagon. And a forth into an abandoned field, but the deaths on board are no less mourned. Now, many years later we are given a choice. We may either burn and maim and destroy like they did, or we can pray for our men and women over seas to come home safely, and pray that the poor souls of 9/11 can be put to rest. Can you join me in a moment of silence. Candace, and the inhabitants of Number Seven Raven Way, all fell silent. The rest of America followed. Jim felt the blood in his head pound against his brain. He was mentally cursing at the sun again, wondering why this day of all days deserved light. Wondering why they shouldnt just mask the pain in darkness, like they did everything else. He felt as thought he was going to puke. Jim, are you alright? the voice asked. Jim pushed the voice aside and fled out the front door. The world swam before him. It laughed, it jeered. It hated him. And the Suits thought he was crazy. They were the crazy ones. They let this happen, they instigated violence and set fuel upon the homes of the disobedient. They lit the match. Jim grabbed for his lighter. The fire danced in his eyes, but wouldnt comfort him. It was cold. Like everything else on this dead day, his fire was cold. Enraged Jim chucked the lighter away, seeing as the feeble spark extinguished under the weight of a passing car. The phoenix on the face cried out to Jim. His mother had given him that lighter. Now he watched it burn away. What is wrong with you! Death came storming out of the house. You feel differently? Of course you do! Any normal person wouldve cared. Any normal person wouldve felt compassion. Or at least they wouldve been so repugnant and walk off like that. Who do you think you are? People died. You know what death is dont you? You inconsiderate, self-centered, ignorant- You think I dont know? Slightly startled by his sudden speech, Death took a moment to register what he said. What? You dont think I know what death is? Ill tell you what death is, Death. I was four. My mother was on a business trip. Her plane dove into the Pentagon. A year later, my father enlisted to go after the infidels that did it. Pious bigot, Jim added as an afterthought.

Was shot when I turned six. I grew up with two aunts who were so drunk that they didnt know I was there half the time. Left when I was seventeen. Been moving from city to city for a little under a year. But what does that mean to the Suits? Nothing. My mother was just another casualty of war to them. A number on a spreadsheet, one that at any time could be erased just by pushing delete. I tried looking for a reason why she had to die. A reason I was now homeless. But there is none. Just like there is no truth. All there is are Suits wars and lies and fires that dont do anything to help you. They just burn. And all my life Ive know fire to help. To burn life back into society. To turn the tables back in the favor of the just. But now, all it does is help the Suits reach their ultimate goal. Even fire has joined them. Theyve taken everything from me, but I never thought theyd taint the eternal flame too. If Death had not seen his lips move she would never have believed it. For the nine days hes been with them, Jim hadnt said anything more to her than Hello. Now he was staring at her, as if she was the only thing in the world. The cars, the buildings, the world around them had fallen away and it was only the two of them. Well, that and Jims despair. Jim tried to smile. It was somewhat forced, but Death returned it avidly. Jim couldnt dream that night. He was, however, oddly aware of that fact all night. It was quite disconcerting and he got very little sleep. When September the twelfth rolled around on a Friday, Death was unusually morose. Never seen her like this, Winchester explained, most Fridays she loves. Theyre lucky for her. And yet Death mentioned not a word to any of them. She merely read Les Misrables for the umpteenth time, lying on the couch while doing so. Once she sat up so Jim could sit beside her, although not responding when he tried to get her to talk. The next day was equally as unsuccessful, but they had a lot less time to devote to the project, for it was Saturday, and therefore chore day. Jim was stung three times, an improvement for the usual six or seven. No wonder Winchester hated wasps. According to him, he was stung on average twelve times a Saturday before Jim began handling the problem. Life was mostly quiet at Number Seven Raven Way; although a surprise encounter with Number Five shocked Jim and a Christian movement had called the police on them twice for random illegitimate claims. Both were a mere inconvenience, for as soon as the police realized that they in fact did not have plastic explosives hooked to their car (they didnt even have a car) they left grumpily. Nothing much happened until the twentieth, another Saturday. Winchester had returned from dusting his and Clarkes bunk bed, while Jim reveled in the fact that the mysterious wasps nests hadnt come that week. Death wasnt as quiet as the previous week, but she was still off in her own thoughts a bit more than usual (Jim not knowing what usual was took Winchesters word at that.) Hey Concept. I take it that youve decided to stay. Jim nodded. That decision had come to a close earlier with the help of the voice in his head. Well, are you leaving? the voice had asked. What do you mean me? If I go you have to come. I can desert you. And never come back.

Good riddance. The voice sniffled, afraid that Jim didnt want it anymore. I dont want to go Jim ignored it. Suddenly, it became indignant. You know, I do a lot for you. The very least I deserve is an answer. That and a name. A what? A name. Im just the voice. I want to be something. Jim thought of Elliots green streak in her blonde hair. You want an appearance too I suppose. The voice wouldve nodded if it could. Well, Ill call you Elliot. Youll look like her too. The voice contemplated this. I do want to look like her, she was very quiet pretty you see, but I think taking her name as well resembles a desperate attempt to talk with her if you ask me. Jim groaned. He was holding Elena at the time, hoping he could present her to Antimony. Fine, what about Elena? And so the voice was dubbed Elena, although looking like Elliot. Never receiving an answer, however, Elena took it into her own hands to convince Jim to stay. He rolled his eyes many a time, before finally agreeing with his new sister. Elena had insisted on some sort of relationship too. Jims real sister was long dead. Though he didnt think it prudent to mention this to Elena, or else she might think the position is jinxed. And he really did want to have a sister again. I was going to ask if you wanted to read with me on Saturdays, Death interrupted Jims train of thought, bringing him back to the table where Winchester was groaning, assuming that the wasps lay in his realm of work again. Oh shut up Ches! Conceptll still get the wasps, just on Sunday. Im sorry, Im not much of a reader. Jim took another bite of cereal, taking care to take to save the marshmallow pieces until the end. Deaths smile faded. She nodded. Jim put his bowl in the sink and rinsed it out. Thanks for lunch. It was really good. He made to leave. Is there any truth in this world Concept? Death called out meekly. She stood and walked over to Jim, because if there is then well find it. Turn the pages, live in worlds beyond our own, maybe then youll find whatever it is you are so desperately looking for. Maybe then youll escape the Suits, as you call them. Jim left, silently wishing that he had his jacket. It was the last full week of the month. The thirtieth dropped off at a Tuesday. Jim didnt talk to Death much until then. And he continued having sleepless nights. Winchesters bunk broke on Thursday. Luckily it was the bottom; otherwise a startled Winchester wouldve fallen upon a sleeping Clarke, bringing with him shreds of wood. Clarke began fixing it, with help from Jim. Winchester was still nursing a dislocated shoulder. How it became dislocated after a two-foot fall was one of the questions no one bothered to ask. Yet Winchester answered, all the same. So, I was having this awesome dream, you know the kind right? Well I was in a fighter jet and right as a punched the eject button, the wooden beam beneath my bed snapped! Imagine the coincidence there! I didnt even know I fell until a pole rammed up my shoulder blade. Jim stirred his soup. After a month of eating from a bowl, he began to suspect that they had too many bowls and spoons and not enough plates and forks. Jim held the wood in place while

Clarke hammered it back in place. Thanks Concept, I can get it from here. Jim nodded, handed Clarke the last two poles, and left the small bedroom. As he reached the doorway, he stopped and turned back. A dresser stood leaning against the back wall. The broken bunk bed was to his right. A set of posters was to his left. All of them featured a comic superhero. Jim smiled at Clarke, who shrugged and went back to his work. Jim walked back into the eating nook, light streaming through the small square window over the sink. Winchester was now recounting his dream in avid detail. Death was listening silently, nodding at odd intervals. I request a private audience with Ms. Harrow. Winchester raised an eyebrow. It means that I want to talk to Death idiot. Winchester stopped talking. Privately, Jim hissed. Winchester stood, paused, and left. What do you want Concept? I want to read with you on Saturday. Death beamed. Have you finished your book? Three pages left. Then finish it please. Ill meet you in the living room. Death smiled. That Saturday, Jim was picking though his duffle, sitting on the couch. The wasps were back. Hed deal with them Sunday. He wrenched out his clothes, crumpled newspapers, his money, before he found the small paperback clinging to the bottom of the duffle. The front cover had a bent corner. Death came in and sat next to him, so close that their legs were almost touching. Jim began shaking his leg. Death put her hand on his knee, to steady it. She smiled nervously. Jim returned the smile, his somehow shakier than hers. What book? she asked. Starship Serenade: Across Dark Skies, he replied. Have you read it? Death shook her head. He opened the first page. Death shifted so that she could peer over his shoulder. She pulled up blanket and draped it over her legs. My feet are cold, she explained, and my socks are in the wash. Death blushed. Jim pretended not to notice. Well, go on. They read the first page in silence. Jim looked up as he finished, and Death was already done, waiting for him. He turned the page. The first chapter continued like this, after each page Death would wait patiently for Jim to catch up. As he flipped the page to reach chapter two, however, he asked a question. Who is anyone to not believe in extraterrestrials? Death was a bit dumbfounded. I mean, all this sci-fi either glorifies the concerning species, or vilifies it, but I think if there were aliens theyd be like humans. Thered be people like us and then thered be Suits. Good and evil. Death smiled. And you got all of this from the first chapter? He blushed before answering, No, I just think a lot. Jim thought he saw Death glance over with a smile. Ending on that note, they continued reading. Because of Jims slow reading only reaching chapter three by the end of the four hours. Sorry, he muttered, realized how much he kept her waiting. Its fine. You dont read as much as I do. Youll quicken when we get a month or two into it, Death reassured him. They both fell asleep quickly that night.

Jim dreamed of spaceships once more.

October The Running of the Bats Death loved October. And Jim admitted, to himself only, so did he. Death loved Halloween, and the dark, twisted humor that ensued. Jim just loved that it wasnt September anymore. The forth was the first Saturday of the month, and Jim resolved to read quicker by then. He asked Death to show him her library. Immediately, Death grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to her bedroom. Throwing open the door, she revealed six bookshelves, lining three walls of her room. The last was taken up with a bed and a tiny desk. Whatd you want to read? She was smiling widely. Jim was running his finger along the spines. I have a lot of books that Bats would kill to get their hands on. Jim still wasnt quite sure what Death meant by Bats. Then again, no one understood what he meant with Suits. Assuming the two words synonymous, Jim pulled a sci-fi novel out and inspected the cover. A retro caf, lit with red neon, found itself floating on the moon. A yellow spaceship was parked in its driveway. Jim laughed at this, wondering how old the book was. The enormity of the library scared Jim somewhat. He resolved simply to finish Starship, and return to the library when he had a better grasp on reading and literature. Death told him that was wise, although with a slightly disappointed look on her face, and warned him not to read Starship ahead without her. Jim, unsure whether to laugh or not, busied himself with another book, one with an ominous shadow cast over a wilting lily. Oh that book is absolutely wonderful! Death clasped her hands together. Its called Lily. The main character is a gravedigger for the church, whos slowly driven mad by her work. Jim raised an eyebrow. Death giggled. How do you do that? What? I cant, I cant do that thing she pointed up to her eyebrow. Jim was utterly confused. I cant raise one eyebrow like that. Its all or nothing. She raised her eyebrows. Jim laughed. He raised his left, than right. Death still couldnt raise only one. She kept trying, sometimes screwing her eyes shut in intense concentration, twisting her smile, messing up her hair. Jim watched her, thinking how cute she looked as she tried so hard. At one point she even stuck out her tongue. Here, here, Jim put an hand on her shoulder. Look, youre helping me read right? Well Ill teach you how to raise a single eyebrow. Ok? Death nodded. Unsure of how he was supposed to accomplish this, Jim made a mental note to find out. He then glanced around, and saw a small shoebox, filled with various plants. All were wilting. Jim gulped. He turned to Death and smiled falsely, and she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together. Ill water them right now, and he sped off. Death smiled as he left, knowing deep down that he was her new best friend. Jim, after watering the neglected plants, walked out to the street-which was eerily

quiet, seeing as all of the Suits were working at this time-and scooped up his crushed lighter. The face was dented and the phoenix was scratched across the beak. Jim wiped off the gravel and came inside. Death was reading Lily. Jim shoved the lighter in his pocket. She turned to him. He pulled out a pocketknife from the bowels of his duffle. He flicked it out. It needed sharpening. He thrust it back into his bag. The Bats war machines have been busy lately havent they? Jim nodded slightly. And the light from our sanity dwindles, Death muttered to herself. Elena had nothing to say on the subject, but rather stroked Jims knee, as if to say its all right. Although she was intelligent enough to know not to actually say these words, for everyone in the room knew it was a lie. Jim was holding the other Elena; the rag doll was still smiling serenely, the goofy curve in her red yarn lip a beacon of hope. If a doll could smile, then Jim could. Theoretically. Jim still couldnt do it. Both Elenas stared at him, and Jim could tell Death was thinking of him, even as she stared at her book. Jim chucked Elena, the doll one, at the nonexistent Elena and fled to the kitchen. The nonexistent Elena followed him, leaving the doll lying on the window seat, a beam of light falling gently upon her ocean blue eye. What? Jim hissed at his new imaginary sister. I thought you were upset, Elena responded. Yeah, well I just want to be left alone.' Elena looked slightly hurt. That Thursday Winchester invited Jim to the batting cages. Of course, they waited until night and hopped the fence. Death would never approve, but I think it beats paying ten bucks to hit a few balls, Winchester told him. They brought their own bats and four balls to hit. After that they rock-paper-scissors to see who went running after the balls. Jim lost the first three times, before seeing that Winchester always chose what beat what he chose the time before. Geeze Jesus, thats thirteen in a row. Any more and I say you cheated. Jim laughed. How do you cheat at rock-paper-scissors? I bet youve found a way. Jim patted Winchester on the back as he took of to retrieve their three balls (the forth split partially when Jim smacked it too hard.) He chucked one back and Jim swung. He missed and Winchester doubled over laughing. Jim cursed. They returned to the house with only two balls. Winchester hit one over the fence and into the street. Jim called it even at this point. Death was asleep on the couch when they opened the door. This was a problem, for as Winchester had a newly fixed bunk to turn to, the couch was Jims bed. He scratched his head. Winchester laughed silently, pointing from Jim to the couch before edging his way to his and Clarkes room. Jim sprawled out on the floor beside the couch. He put his hand over his eyes. He slept through the rest of the night, even as Winchester stole away into the kitchen in the middle of the night, to grab a taco. The refrigerator door closed. Death turned over. Her arm fell, hanging limply by Jims head.

He awoke to find Deaths hand in his face. Jim swatted it away, waking Death. She rubbed her eyes and looked down toward Jim. She blushed. Im so sorry, I didnt think Id fall asleep and- her voice trailed off a bit, but Jim could tell she was still apologizing. Its okay. Jim heard another yawn. Knowing Clarke was already at work, and Winchester wasnt planning on waking up until noon, Jim was at a loss as to whom he was forgetting. Antimony? No, she didnt live with him anymore. Elena? Jim craned his neck. Elena. Death was looking a Jim curiously, obviously not able to see Elena, nor Jims conversation with her. Howd you sleep? she asked. Jim mentally shrugged. Elena got up and left. Jim was quite unsure what a nonexistent person did in the morning. Surely they didnt eat. When Elena came back, she wasnt wearing her pajamas, but her normal jeans and tee, answering Jims question. Death was eating cereal. Jim went out to buy a pack of baseballs, spending his last ten dollars on five of them. He glanced at the box. Apparently, he had just received a free pack of gum with his baseballs. Jim chewed a stick on the way back. He snatched a newspaper off of the floor. FUNZOS AMUSEMENT PARK was reopening its biggest attraction. Jim laughed at the stupidity of the names the Suits had come up with things like this. Funzos, McLaughsalot; they were all idiotic attempts to paint over the rusted metal bars and cheap lead filled toys with a glimmer of childhood ignorance and a falsely happy clown. The Suits kids loved that kind of thing. No wonder schools have been reduced to oversized day care centers for teenagers who make-out behind the band room yet cant do long division. And every generation it gets worse. Jim sighed. His old school wasnt worth the rotting wood it was made with. But now at least he was free. Free of the daily fights, the teachers always telling him hes worthlessbut mostly he was free of his beleaguering aunts. To stretch his legs without their insults, to watch the news without their telling him off, it was bliss. Or at least not that. Whatever it was. Jim was in the midst of crumpling up the newspaper as he remembered what they had told him right before he ran away. They had watched him crumple up the newspaper, and they said he was an ignorant buffoon who was the cause of their beloved sisters death. His mother. Jim silently wished they would inhale their precious cigarettes and choke. Elena asked him what was wrong at dinner. He said nothing. Winchester was finally awake, although he kept complaining about sleeping the day away. He eventually settled on knowing there would be a tomorrow to waste as thoroughly. So Jesus, whatd you do today? Can you stop calling me that? Jim gritted his teeth. Im called Concept. Sorry. So whatd you do today? Jim opened his mouth to answer. Jesus. Jim wanted to sock him. I looked for a newspaper that was worth it. Did you find one? Death asked. He shook his head. She pursed her lips, obviously

thinking. Well I doubt theres ever going to be one. No one ever reports anything decent anymore. Jim stirred around his soup with his spoon. Tomorrow well have pizza, Clarke said, more to himself than to any of them. He was looking rather moody. Ask him whats wrong, Elena nudged. You, Jim thought back, stopping to swallow between every other mouthful. Elena glared at him. Jim looked over to the window seat, where the doll Elena still sat. The sun wasnt out anymore, which left her covered in darkness. Yet she kept smiling. Jim wished he could smile. But right now he was too busy wishing many nasty things upon his aunts. He found himself thinking of Antimony the next day. She had said she had the Quran. Jim was wondering now if she had ever read the whole thing. Hey Death, he called. Yes? Did you find any other book with me when you pulled me out of the junkyard? Death clasped her hand over her mouth. That Quran was yours? Im so, sorry. It was all ripped up, and I wasnt thinking, and- Jim patted her on the back, cutting her off in mid-apology. Its fine. He smiled. She removed her hand from her mouth. Everythings fine with you, isnt it? Pretty much. He grabbed his duffle and left the building. The junkyard was just how he had left it, although with the collapsed pile now being rebuilt with several weeks worth of garbage. Jim pulled the Bible out of his duffle. He dropped it at the foot of the pile. Jim retrieved his lighter. Like singing a hole in the veil, he thought. The smoke rose, sparkling embers dancing amongst the bigger flames. Jims eyes flickered with the fire. He inhaled the black air, and closed his eyes. The fire spun in his mind, blackening the woes of September. His tense shoulders relaxed as the heat spread over them. Society cringed at the flame. Jim opened his eyes. The orange embraced the red, and Jim had a sudden urge to scream to the skies. His black hair moved with wind. He didnt move for hours. He watched the Bible burn from Genesis to Revelations. Every page shriveled into ash and crisped to the beginning of revolution. Jim foresaw the end of the perilous shadow cast over the eyes of humanity. He wished to simply light a match, and watch the whole world burn away. The shadow would take the fire in hand and watch as it died slowly at the warm embrace. Fire was fair. It burned everyone all the same. Downtown the fire dispatch was finally being called, and Jim decided to leave. He climbed the fence, swinging one leg over to the other side. He gave one last longing look to the black earth and the flames spreading across the trash. Jim hopped down and jogged back to the house. Death asked him where he had been. Apparently he had missed lunch and just arrived for dinner. Winchester was asleep on the couch but Clarke and Death both looked genuinely concerned. Jim said he was out for a walk. Elena knew better than to let Jim lie his way through life. Tell them the truth.

No. They dont need to know what I burn, or dont burn. Somethings wrong. Everyone keeps saying that but I feel great! Jim raised his voice over a whisper, which drew the attention of Death. Who are you talking to? Jim ignored her. He shoved his face into the couch cushion and tried to fall asleep. The image of the burning Bible still warm against his heart and mind, Jim slept dreaming of one thing. One, glorious thing. Anarchy. The anarchy that spurred the insubordination of an oppressed people. Jim smiled weakly in his dream as the cop that was beating him was picked up by an amassing crowd. The crowd wore black, red, dark green and purple. Fires were set, and the crowd stopped to watch a Bible burn. Jim was happy. Although, deep down something was missing. He stole away from the crowd, in search of this mysterious loss. The streets were long, and the buildings tall. It was a maze, Jim realized, after making a hasty turn into Fireside Street, one that he had recently exited. He tried to turn back, but a shabby motel was in the way. So he continued on. The city was a maze, he thought, trying to puzzle through the weird events. And the goal at the end? Was it anarchy? No, he had already achieved that. Was it the truth that Death had told him about? Jim wanted to find the way to the end of the maze, but he didnt even know what he was looking for. Jim awoke unsettled. The rage at the world he had acquired over the many years was still burning gently against his heart, but with it was a new sensation. Whatever it was, Jim didnt like it. It was just another thing to keep track of. He rolled over, expecting to be able to stretch his arms, but rather made a fool of himself by rolling right off of the couch. He stood, the ripped jacket he used as a blanket draped over his neck. He pulled it off and threw it onto the couch. Winchester was laughing. Jim said some nasty things, one involving a now shabbily remade bunk. Winchester nursed his shoulder, which he claimed was still giving him slight problems. Jim pulled out his lighter and clicked it open. The image of burning ties danced in the flame. Jim ate his cereal without taking his eyes off of the flickering fire. By the end his lighter was low on fuel. Jim made a mental todo list, the first of which was to refill his lighter. Going out burning stuff again Jesus? Winchester called from the eating table. Jim stopped. He turned to face Winchester, slowly. Howd you Jim started. You have soot on your sleeve and I cant find the Bible anywhere. I was going to burn it, you see. Jim nodded his acknowledgement, and hurried out the door without answering Winchesters question. Clarke had told him the night before that they were out of bread. So Jim headed down the street with the five dollars Clarke had left on the kitchen table. The bread was normally two dollars (three because the clerk didnt like him) and a

cola was one-fifty (two because the clerk didnt like him.) Jim placed the five on the counter, and walked off hurriedly, ripping the cap off the soda and drinking his share in a single gulp. He stopped by the house to drop off the rest of the cola. Death took the can and drank hers gratefully. Winchester took his next, and they stored the rest in the fridge for Clarke when he came home. Jim paced for a few hours. When Death asked him what he was doing, he told her Im thinking. His thoughts were mostly fixed upon the grocery store, and what he could do to it without harming the food in any way. So fire was out of the question. Hed buy more spray paint, and cast a red haze over the store sign. Then hed put an anarchy sign in the window (it was like his signature) and hed save the rest of the can for later. That only ever was a problem when the paint dried on the inside. But, if it came to it, Jim would just light the worthless can on fire later. Itd kill a few hours. Jim jumped on the couch, thinking it a waste of time. The store didnt deserve even his vandalism. Why not? Elena asked. Jim looked over at the empty couch seat, where in his twisted mind Elena was sitting. Her legs were resting across Jims lap. It was something she had taken to doing lately, and it irritated Jim almost as much as Winchester calling him Jesus. Well, you see, I really dont want to go out and spend ten bucks on a paint can, just to annoy some guys because they overcharged me a dollar fifty, Jim explained, and it dawned on Elena. Oh, so its just a money thing? Yeah. Well I think I saw some spray paint at the junkyard, she announced, trying to be useful. Jim just laughed. Do you really think that someone would throw away perfectly good spray paint? Elena opened her mouth to speak, but then simply shook her head. She shifted in her seat. I havent seen much of Death today. Shes probably sewing all the loose threads back in Elena, he paused, seeing Elenas raised eyebrow. The other Elena you idiot! I knew that. I was merely thinking how its a bit odd to have two Elenas in the house. I dont. Ones a rag doll and you dont really exist so he stopped, hoping that she didnt hear that last part. She did. Elena swung her legs off of Jims lap, and stormed off, her short black skirt drawing Jims eye as she did so. Since when did she wear skirts? Jim thought. He looked over to the window seat. The rag doll was lying there, her arm comically falling off of the seat. So maybe Death wasnt sewing up Elena. Jim threw his tattered jacket over his eyes, and fell asleep with Elenas bright blue eyes watching him. Jim awoke Saturday morning with Death sitting on his legs. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push away the tiredness lingering from last night. Death let him shift his legs out from

underneath her. Jim stretched his arms, yawning. Jim put in his headphones and cranked up the volume. Heavy metal was the best music to wake up to. Screams and anti-establishment lyrics flooded Jims world. He was soon stomping his foot against the carpet and moving his lips to the madness writhing in pain in a world where madness was reduced to albums bathed in fire. Jim wanted to shower the real world in madness. Death watched him pound out a drum solo on the coffee table with a smirk on her face. The song seemed to go on forever. Jim closed his eyes and imagined the story driven through pain and flames. Death continued reading Lily as Jim shook his bangs in his eyes, the only reason being to obscure the world. Jim began digging through his duffle, chucking whatever he didnt need out at the corner of the room. Empty spray paint cans, jeans with the whole shins ripped off, the shins, and even a half of a burger from who knows when. Jim took the half of a burger and chucked it out the window at the pigeons perched on the low stone wall outside. They flapped their wings and began eating it avidly. The metal was still played, although it had slowed to a simple chorus of acoustic guitars, and the vocalist humming into the microphone. Three drum beats, and the screaming raged against the world once more. Angry vocals roared over the spastic drummers rampant smashing across the song. Death had her book to finish, so Jim wasnt planning on reading Starship until somewhere around noon. So grabbed his ripped up jacket and stepped into the frigid October air. The newspapers were scarce today. Jim poked his head into many rubbish cans. Yet no newspaper to regale him of useless Suit trivialities. Not that he was all that disappointed. He returned to the house a tad more tired, and in desperate need of music. You all right Jim? Elena asked as he entered. He waved her off. Sometimes it annoyed him, to have someone care. It was as if he couldnt just let his rage build like always before, and light something on fire to relieve the tension. Now he had to talk about everything. Thats why he liked Death. If she cared, she never showed it. It was good having someone watch from a distance. Jim leapt onto the couch, glancing over at Death. She was about a chapter from the end of Lily. Jim readied Starship, and got up to make some hot chocolate. But they were out. Winchester had one when you were gone, Death explained. Jim groaned. He guessed Winchester would walk in at any moment and bring with him a new box of hot chocolate packets, shouting that Jesus should thank him. Jim hated being called Jesus. He took out his lighter and clicked it open. Wisps of burning air tried to escape, yet couldnt find the energy to leave the subdued flame. Jim capped the lighter, which seemed to queue Winchesters entrance. The door swung open, and Winchester entered. With one look at the kitchen, a quizzical look overcame him. Were out of cocoa? he asked, puzzled. He scratched his, head, and walked right back out the door, exclaiming that he was getting some more. It was Winchesters philosophy that no decent household should ever be without cocoa. Of course, Jim refrained from pointing out that the mass-produced powdered packets that they bought hardly constituted as any kind of chocolate.

Death closed Lily, finally finished. Jim reached behind her and pulled out Starship, and they began reading. About a chapter from where they had left off, Death began rubbing her eyes, saying how her sleep had been plagued with dreams of fires and riots. Jim thought to himself that he wouldve loved to have a dream that involved the blatant revolution that she described. Death however seemed to have lost her nerve. They read the next chapter or so, and then Death fell asleep, he head inching closer to Jims shoulder. He gently pushed her back the other way, so her head rested on the couch arm. Jim closed Starship and set it on the coffee table. Death would awaken in an hour or so, after a dream of peaceful reading in the library of Alexandria, but until then Jim had to find something to occupy himself with. He dealt with the wasps. Jim glanced out the door, trying to find the hive that was usually set off to the right of the Welcome rug. Although, it read unWelcome after Clarke had taken a paintbrush to it. Today, however, the wasps nest was to the left of the rug, underneath old ivy growing on the wall. Jim didnt see it. He walked by it, and tripped as he shoe dug into the soft hive. The wasps amassed. Jim twisted around trying to swat them away with his hands. A few Suits on the streets laughed. Jim walked back into the house, after picking up the hive with his bare hands and chucking it into the street. A sports car ran it over. Death was stirring. Jim sat back down next to her and opened the book. Her eyes opened. I told you that I was a really slow reader, Jim said. Huh? Wait did I fall asleep? Were you waiting for me? Oh no! You fell asleep because I took so long reading the page. Sorry about that. So you werent waiting for me? Jim shook his head convincingly. Death blushed. Elena was watching them, smiling serenely to herself. She looked over to her rag doll counter part. Cute huh? she asked. The doll just sat there, her lopsided smile and wrinkled green dress saying all the unspoken words for her. Jim was enjoying Starship immensely. The rebels and the self-controlled anarchists absolutely enthralled him. His heart pounded, as Death shut the book, telling him theyd continue the next week. Jim wanted to know what happened to the stargazers though, and didnt think he could wait a week. Do you think we can read on Wednesday too? Winchester and I were going down to the park but he and Clarke got into an argument and now Winchester works part-time Wednesday. When Jim finished, he realized that the whole string of thoughts had come out much faster than he had hoped. Death nodded, saying that there was no other book that she was planning on reading for the next few weeks. Elena was waiting for Jim in the kitchen. That was sweet yesterday. What are you talking about? You know Death has an issue with upsetting people. Thats not hard to figure out, she apologizes profusely at every little thing. But what Im saying, if you let me finish, is that you lied to keep her thinking that she didnt inconvenience you at all. Because we both know if she thought she did, shed have freaked out.

So? I lied. Big deal. I do it all the time. Jim took a sip of cocoa. Winchester had kept true to his word. So, you never went out of your way to be nice before. Who said it was out of my way? And really, why does it matter? Irritated, Jim left Elena still muttering about his kind act. Jim paced the living room; the tape was coming apart on the couch and Jim was waiting for Winchester to come back with more duct tape to fix it. Death was painting in her room while Elena watched. Clarke had bought Death a canvas as a surprise. Jim had broken open an old can of green spray paint, and Winchester bought a lilac colored ink from a tattoo parlor. Death was extremely pleased. She hung her painting above the TV. Elena took the colors and strokes of paint in her dress the next day. Her skirt danced playfully around her thighs, sporting an image of curling flowers all growing in between arcs and swirls of random color. Jim had to admit the resemblance to Deaths masterwork was near perfect. But he didnt tell that to Elena. He was still irritated with her. Wednesday rolled around, and Winchester woke with Clarke to join him at the factory. Death woke too, to ask Clarke to pick up some more cereal on the way back. Their hushed conversation stirred Jim from his dream of revolutions. Whats going on? he muttered, although it sounded more like wassgoinon? Death laughed quietly at this. Jim ran his fingers through his hair. Clarke tossed on a grey jacket. Hey, want to go down to the park after work? he called after Clarke as he opened the door. Maybe. Jim felt a slight warmth spread across his neck. He had just realized that he was the only one not working. Death had gotten a part-time job on Thursdays, which started the next day, and Clarke rushed off early to work every day. He mumbled his farewell and watched the door close behind Winchester. Two hours later, the door swung open once more. Jim fled out it, shouted an Ill be back dont wait up on lunch! and left. The streets were not as quiet as Jim had hoped. Suits meandered passed, not even taking the normal courtesy to shoot Jim a nasty look as he pushed his way by. Jim snarled at all of them. One jumped back as though Jim was something feral. Jim stopped first at the library. Have any jobs? he asked. The librarian put her finger to her pursed lips, while shaking her head. She pointed to a sign. ALL WORK VOLUNTEER. Jim groaned. The librarian put her finger to her lips again. Jim tried the caf. The clerk didnt like the look of him; she called security. He tried the local newspaper print. Thinking himself quiet smart, Jim expected to be able to read the paper every day before delivering it. Twenty hopefuls wanted one of nine jobs. Jim, for obvious reasons, wasnt picked. Jim sighed, leaning against the park bench. He kicked at the nearest pigeon, missing but giving it a great scare. It flapped about. Jim swatted it away from him. His patience was waning. He returned to the house with utter disappointment etched in his face. Death shrugged when she saw him, as if to say, ah, well theres always next time, without actually saying it. Elena tried to put her arm on Jims shoulder. He squirmed and inched away. Her hand fell to her side unenthusiastically. Death was rereading Alice in Wonderland. Jim grabbed Starship and sat next to her. He rifled through the pages trying to find

an interesting sentence to read that wouldnt give away the storyline. Death, thinking he was trying to read ahead of her, snapped her book shut. She raised her eyebrows, and Jim raised only one. She laughed, giving an odd half-smile as she put her book on the coffee table. I still cant do that. Well I said Id teach you didnt I? So far youve been a pretty lousy teacher. Jim laughed, still secretly thinking of how he was going to fulfill his promise. Death didnt argue, however, and they turned to the red bookmark Death had placed in last time. They had only read seven pages, when Clarke burst through the door, talking to Winchester with a tone of desperation and annoyance in his voice. And Greg just quit! Like that, he snapped his fingers. I mean, right in the middle of production he decides hes had enough. I dont know if we can meet corporate demands if we dont replace the supervisor. Boss wont let us work without him. And we have three months to build four-hundred or so cell phones or were all fired. Clarke chucked his jacket randomly across the room in anger. It fell over the TV, covering half of the screen. Although, this didnt seem to bother Winchester as he sat down and turned on the news. Candice greeted them, and told them tomorrow mornings forecast. Winchester wasnt really paying attention; he was too busy contemplating what Clarke had burst out. Jim was also contemplating this, but in a much more opportunistic way. Go up for promotion, he muttered finally. What? Try out for Gregs job. Even if you dont make itll give the others the idea. Someone gets the job, and I replace him or her. Simple, and everyones happy. When he finished, Jim could tell that the other three were slowly mulling over what he had just proposed. Thats, actually a good idea, Clarke said, scratching his short beard. I need my good shirt cleaned for tomorrow, he added, and ran off to his bedroom. Death patted Jim on the back as if to say, well done, but Jim just wanted to get back to reading. Elena wanted to congratulate Jims idea, but thought that hed get upset. She just sat down on the window seat and pretended to sleep. Clarke returned Thursday telling them that the advisory board wanted a few weeks before they made any decision. So, for those few weeks Clarke was stuck at home. Jim thought this would be great for Clarke. A leave, with pay, off of work was a time to relax. Clarke, however, didnt think so. He always has to be doing something, Death explained. He has to be accomplishing something or hes not happy. I mean, he does relax but only after hes run his use for the day. She dropped her head a notch, Its quiet sad actually. And Winchester, who seemed to be Clarkes right hand man, said the exact same thing. Although, he tried to make it sound as though Clarke was something to aspire to be. Jim wasnt all that convinced. Even Clarke admitted it. Although he put a comic between them and refused to look Jim in the eye as he spoke. Jim glanced around the room. You really like superheroes dont you? he asked with a growing smile.

Clarke lowered the comic he was reading. Ive been reading comics since I was five. Like Death loves novels, I love the graphic kind. And with that, Jim nodded and left. Death was pouring over Romeo and Juliet, which she said was her favorite of Shakespeares. Then she corrected herself and said A Midsummers Nights Dream. Jim then asked what her favorite of Poes was. Jim was a bit offended at how surprised she was that he knew Poe. Of course he knew Poe, who didnt like the insanity of The Tell-Tale Heart, or the look on peoples faces when you quote The Raven and they have no idea what youre talking about. I didnt mean to be mean, Death said quickly, seeing Jim flush red when she expressed her initial shock. You just said you werent much of a reader, so I thought Jim let her trail off. Im sorry. Why do you call them Bats? Death raised her head. Hm? Why Bats of all things? I call them Suits but thats because they hide the world away with suits and makeup and ties and things. Death furrowed her brow, and then raised her eyebrows. Still cant do it, she muttered to herself before answering. Have you ever heard of the Running of the Rats? Jim shook his head. Well, a long time ago, there was this philosopher; oh I forget his name. But anyways, construction workers had removed a manhole to fix up the street. He wasnt paying attention; I believe the story is he was reading the paper, and splat! He was covered in sewage. So he gets up, and what does the old berk do? He continues reading! Until a rat catches his attention. It had scampered up when it saw the light from the manhole. Now soon a whole crowd of rats run up, and they start clawing at each other and biting each other and jumping on each other to reach the light. This philosopher sees this and he thinks. To the rats, the light is everything that they dont have. For humans, the truth is everything we dont have. The guy wondered why the rats were fighting each other when they could work together to reach the light. And so he wondered why we were bombing each other rather than helping each other find the truth. Jim nodded, waiting for her to go on. Thats it, she said after awhile, feeling as though she had explained herself. Well that would tell me if you called them the Rats, but you call them Bats Death jumped up. Oh! Well thats easy. Society doesnt search for the truth anymore. Theyre afraid of it. So instead of scampering over each other to find the light I think modern society fights to run away from it. I was going to say coyotes, because there used to be a coyote by where I lived and it only came out at night, but that didnt sound right. So I choose Bats because the names are so close. The Running of the Bats. Do you like it? Jim laughed, at the notion, at the sudden image of running bats that popped into his head, but mostly at the blatant antisocial message. So what are Suits? Death asked. Suits are those who not only hide from the truth, but also pretend they already know it. Pretend that their word is the meaning of life. Death was looking thoughtfully at him. I guess my interpretation of societys just bleaker and more vindictive. Jim took a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the sink.

Well, maybe the two terms can coincide. Like all Suits are Bats but not all Bats are Suits. Jim took a sip of water. I like that. He handed her a glass of water and they toasted. Jim would still call all of society Suits though, for thats what he truly thought of them. But if he happened to meet a particularly nice Suit, then he might call them a Bat. Like that Irish woman on the railway. She was nice, for a Bat, at least. Jim swung as hard as he could. A small thunk told him that he had hit the ball. Nice one, Winchester called out. He reached out for it, and caught it in an ungloved hand. Winchester jogged back shaking his hand. That thing hurts on bare skin! Jim laughed. When they opened the door to the house several hours later, Death was waiting with cereal on the eating table. She waved, her mouth full of corn flakes. Jim poured himself and Winchester a bowl and handed Winchester the last of the milk. Winchester smelled it. Uh, is this sour? Death shrugged, and continued stirring her cereal around. Winchester shrugged too and poured it in his bowl. Jim ate his dry, not bothering to grab a spoon. He just shoveled it into his mouth with his hand. Jim propped his feet up on the coffee table. Any more nonchalant days spent like this and some would say that he was wasting his life. Too little time in life to waste a perfectly good day slip though without involving oneself in a little recreational hate. Jim slipped outside when Death wasnt looking. He walked down to the junkyard, and began chucking things at passing Suits. They snarled like rabid dogs, and made a plethora of ill-mannered remarks, and a few made rude hand gestures. Jim laughed at their anger, sucking in his gut as a few punched him in the ribs. At the third time, Jim spat out a little blood. He felt inside his mouth. He had bit his tongue. Jim walked back to the house spitting blood out at street corners. On occasion he sprayed Suits with the maroon splatter. They cursed and wiped at their jackets and dresses. Death asked him where he was. Walk. Clarke was in his room; Winchester was trying to sleep on the eating table. Death kept pushing him off, telling him that they ate there, and not to put his dirty back all over the wooden top. Jim kicked Winchesters legs out of his way, which was met with a groan from Winchester and a Concept! from Death. Winchester slumped off of the table, rubbing the back of his thigh. You didnt have to kick so hard Jesus. Jim kicked him again. Ergh Winchesters pain was drowned out with Clarke running into the room. Did the letter come? he asked, out of breath. Death shook her head. Clarkes shoulders dropped, and he returned to the room, crestfallen. Jim looked up and stretched. What letter? The one from the advisory board, Winchester answered. Jim nodded, jumping onto the couch. He hadnt seen much of Elena recently. Hm, he thought. Maybe this is an improvement. But Jim felt oddly discontented. He couldnt find the comfortable spot on the couch cushion when he leaned back. After a few minutes of fussing with it, Jim just leaned forward and watched the news. Candice was more blurry than usual. Winchester smacked the back of the TV before

sitting down. Death soon joined them, taking a seat on Jims other side. Anything good on? Elena hopped over the back of the couch and landed between Jim and Winchester. Jim tried not to notice. Jim, are you listening? she asked, poking him had in the shoulder. He let out a reluctant laugh. Death looked over at him. I just remembered a funny joke, he lied lamely. Death laughed too, as if trying to make Jim seem less odd. Thanks, he muttered. So, Jim, whats up? Elena was still beside him. She was wearing her usual grey shirt and black pants. Nothing much, he thought. Getting along with Death? There was a large smile on her face. Whats that supposed to mean? Well you two look cute together. Elena shuffled her eyes downward. It was sweet, thats all. Jim stood and left. Elena had the brains not to follow him. She just stayed with Winchester and Death, neither could see her of course, and watched the blurry news, trying to find an answer to her numerous questions. Who did Elena think she was? Jim angrily chucked a rock off of the roof. He had climbed up on the broken air conditioner, and hoisted himself on the roof, bringing with him a good handful of rocks. He chucked another. It hit a cars window. Elena thought she was so smart, trying to match him and Death upJim liked being alone and she knew it. Jim aimed a weighty stone at the shop across the street. It came up short and hit a Suit walking by. Jim spat off of the roof. He lobbed another rock, imagining it hitting Elena. A Suit chucked one of them back; Jim hopped off to one side and stuck out his tongue as the rock missed. The Suit walked away, trying to ignore him. Jim harassed the Suit with an onslaught of stones, pegging him a few times on the shoulder, and once on the nape of the neck. After a few more throws at the shop across the street, Jim was out of rocks and had to return to ground level. He hopped of the edge. Jim felt a short pain in his shins as he landed more heavily than he had thought. When he entered the living room he saw Clarke reading a comic. Death was asleep, her head resting on Winchesters shoulder. Jim sat down beside them, after grabbing a cola from the fridge. He took a long sip. Winchester looked over. Dont you need to breathe Jesus? He laughed quietly, and Death stirred. She put her hand under her cheek. Jim looked at him. Isnt that uncomfortable? Winchester gave him a weird look. Why would it be uncomfortable? He slapped Jim on the back and rested his hand on Jims shoulder. Jim squirmed, and Winchester opened his eyes wider. You hate having your shoulder touched? He burst out laughing. Death shifted. Winchester closed his hand tighter on Jims shoulder. I dont hate it, I just- but the rest of his sentence was lost in Winchesters laughing. Jim elbowed Winchester in the ribs after a few minutes, when it became apparent that he wasnt letting go. Ergh, Winchester groaned as Jim pushed away. So Jesus, anything new? Jim shook his head. But, after a moments thought he opened his mouth to answer.

I was watching the news. Winchester nodded. Another bomb blew up in Iraq. It was American. No hostiles in the area. Just acting on a hunch. It happens. Winchesters answer was simple, but Jim could see the uneasy smile falter and pause to consider the consequences. I just thought wed be gone by now. Politicians tell you that dont they? Winchester closed his eyes to sleep. The night was falling already, each day now shorter than the last, all leading up to winter. A bloody shame though, Winchester lamented, as his voice drifted away. Yeah, a bloody shame. Jim stood, borrowed Clarkes jacket and closed the door gently behind him as he left. Deaths eyes were partially open, and tears fell softly onto Winchesters shoulder as she thought of all the lives now stricken with fire. Death pulled her blanket higher over her head, and tried not to dream of her namesake. Jim however, was strolling the citys never sleeping streets. The jacket was a bit too big, but in the frigid air it was better than too short. Jim rolled back the sleeves and fixed the collar. The dogs howled to the sky. The bombers watched as Jim strolled down the street. He flipped them off. Jim wanted to bathe the Suits in their own paranoid delusions and watch them burn like all those poor Iraqi. He flicked his lighter open. The cold winter winds tried to steal the heat from him. Were so cold they pleaded, as they raced around, disturbing his hair and causing his jacket to flap around his waist. Jim tightened his grip on the battered lighter. No matter how many times Jim had lost his nerve and blamed the innocent flame it had always returned to him with ready sparks and dancing embers. He hated to think what life would be like if once he never returned for the small metal lighter, or if it refused to come home. But for now the fire and Jim formed a symbiosis. Jim kept the flames from the hungry Suits and their weapons, and in return Jim was warmed physically and mentally by the fire. He capped the lighter now, trying to hide it from the passing Suits. The prostitutes were out again. Jim had seen the cops bust them a while ago. But now they were back on the streets, pleading with any passing man for money. Jim put his hand over his face as he passed them, not wanting to look into their desperate eyes. Jim finished his stroll around the block. Two Suits walked hurriedly by. Did you hear about the bombing of Iraq? one said. Yeah, all over the news wasnt it? Well theyre thinking of court-martialing the guy. Herald him I say. Even if they werent known terrorists theyre still godforsaken Muslims and you know that whole group of people have something against us. Jim stepped into the Suits path, and tripped one. Hey, whats your problem? one screamed as he helped his companion up. Jim shrugged. They both shouted obscenities at him, and as they walked away, Jim thought he heard them whisper, Hes probably one of those curved gays. Jim ignored them. He wanted to break the glass foundation of the Suits world. Show them how fragile their reality was. Jim stumbled around, trying to brace the cold. He saw a puddle from overflowing storm drains. And in it his reflection. He hadnt seen his reflection since the days back at

his aunts, where hed hide in the closet and stare into his own eyes, using his dead uncles old belt-buckle. Jim, almost not wanting to see what the streets had done to his once handsome face, bent over. He needed a shave. Jim burst out laughing, expecting it to be much worse. He expected to have prematurely graying hair, bags under his eyesbut as he took a closer look at his eyes he noticed something. Before they had been a bright blue. Sometimes a tired, annoyed, or angry blue, but never as exhausted as they looked now. They had faded to an almost grey, as if all of lifes woes sapped the color from them. As if the Suits world had taken from him his color, his will to go on. If he had seen those eyes in anyone else he wouldve guessed they were about to jump off one of the numerous skyscrapers. Jim clicked open the lighter, but remained transfixed on his eyes. The fire echoed within them, trying to find some meaning to illuminate, some hope to bolster. But it found none, and swam about in the empty grey for a good long minute, before Jim capped the lighter, and stood. He kicked at the puddle, causing it to ripple and twist as he walked away. They finished Starship that Saturday. Jim woke up around five in the morning, and threw the split baseball at Deaths door to awaken her too. She came out three minutes later. Jim had eggs ready; the burnt ones had been sufficiently picked through and the contents added to the non-burnt ones. While Death wasnt watching, Jim scooped the inedible pieces and dumped them in the rubbish bin. She turned back around. Jim was smiling with a bite of egg ready on his fork. He put it in his mouth, still smiling. Death, thinking this weird but too polite to say anything, continued eating. They then read from seven to two in the afternoon. Youre staring to read quicker, Death exclaimed proudly. She then saw his face. What? Is that how it all ends? Jim was looked rather let down. Concept, all books end, Death started. No, I know that. But Ive had that book for thirteen years and I just thought after waiting for the story or that longI just had an image of something so awe inspiring that deserved such a time. I guess its just in my head. Death frowned, seeing as Jim was holding Starship a bit limply in his hand. Theres a sequel. Jim shrugged, although he knew that his new goal was to read that book. Death smiled, knowing this somehow. Jim was running his finger along the embossed title on the front cover. Death ran her finger over it too. Do you think I can find it at the library? Jim asked after a few minutes of intense contemplation regarding the embossed title. Definitely. Jim still wanted to know what happened next, but knew that Winchester would complain if he didnt swat away the wasps nest soon. So he placed his book on the coffee table, grabbed a broom, and headed outside. The fight was short, yet victory was sweet, for Jim picked up the broken nest and chucked it into their neighbors yard. He returned to the living room with only six stings and chuckling rather serenely. Jim pulled out the stingers with a pair of tweezers Winchester had given him. Theyve

been through a lot they have, he had said as he bequeathed them to Jim, who was now dropping the fourth stinger into the trash. Clarke wasnt home yet, which was weird by itself, but now their TV had gone out. They only had one channel-the news being free for two years now-yet now that one channel was coming in as static, and the usual voice of Candice was only a jumbled hum. Jim hit the back of the TV. It usually worked for Winchester, who was reading a particularly dark comic. When Clarke finally did arrive, his entrance far after dinner, all three heads turned and Death even stood. What kept you? Winchester asked before Death could, in an offhand sort of way. Jim had the feeling that if they wouldve waiting for Death to ask, the tone wouldve been much more concerned and accusatory. I got the promotion. At first Jim didnt hear what Clarke had said. So when Winchester too jumped up, and Death stern I-was-so-worried look broke into a wide grin, Jim was completely lost. Death ran up and hugged Clarke, while Winchester patted him on the back. Finally realized what had happened, Jim set down his soda to congratulate Clarke. He put out a stiff hand. Clarke gripped it tightly and shook avidly. Jim thought his arm was going to pull from its socket. But it held in there. Clarke truly looked like an overgrown kid who had just scored the final homerun in the school baseball game. Jim opened a bottle of sparkling cider-they couldnt afford wineand poured them all glasses while Winchester ran down the street for a cheap cake. They didnt talk of Suits, Bats, or war all night. Winchester returned fifteen minutes later with a cake. He apologized, because it read Happy Birthday! Clarke didnt care. It was chocolate and covered in icing. So naturally, it was almost gone by the morning. Jim awoke late in the night, half of his body hanging from the couch. He rolled off. He was still smiling from the previous dinner. Clarke was strewn out in the middle of the floor, a paper towel roll that they had used for a microphone still clutched in his hand. He was smiling, the seriousness of his knotted brow and shifting eyes suspended at least while he slept. Jim smiled and walked over to the window seat. He picked up the rag doll, which over the last few weeks was mostly forgotten, and began stroking her yarn hair. The moonlight was trying to cast a Suits image upon their perfect night. Jim closed the curtains. He pulled out his mp3 player and began listening to songs about riots and social disorder. But something was bugging Jim. He remembered how carelessly the two Suits were talking about the bombing in Iraq, not bothering to mention the loss of life because they were only dirty Muslims. Jim remembered his mother, and how no one seemed to care that he was five and without a family. Well, he never counted his father. Not like he was ever much of one. Idiot got himself shot on some internal crusade. Kill all the dirty Muslims, he probably yelled as he saw his life flash before his cold eyes. Jim was somewhat glad he didnt have to live with his dad. He was an ignorant jerk that believed everything that the Suits told him. He went to church every Sunday too. A bunch of times joined in the anti-gay rallies. Something bothering you Jim? No Elena, I just want to be left alone. Jim waved her off. She slumped against the

wall. Youve been a real jerk lately. I think I deserve to be. What? You see what the Suits are like. It puts me on edge. So Im just the outlet for your rage? Jim shrugged. I thought we were friends. Jim shrugged again. Elena brushed the green streak in her hair out of her eyes. I really like you Jim. Does that mean anything to me? It means I care, and if theres anything youre going through I want to help. I mean Im here to help you right? I want to know if youre alright Well Id be better if you didnt always try to interfere! Jim spat out. You think you can fix everything, that all emotions can be given a good pat on the back, that all your advice helps. You got lucky a couple of times, and I thank you for that. But now, just leave me alone. Please. Just let me wallow in misery and rage. Jim took a deep breath. Elena was close to tears. She ran out of the kitchen, her hands clasped over her eyes. Jim ran out after her. Elena, wait, he thought desperately. But she was gone. Jim looked over to the rag doll, who was smiling so contently on the window seat. Although now the smile was shallow, and the contentment was more of a suppressed anguish, hidden beneath the comic lopsidedness of her false smile. A shadow had fallen upon the dolls face, a distant gaze now reflected in her blue eyes. As Jim walked away, he couldve sworn there was a tear running down her cheek.

November Skipping Fire Across Still Waters Jim was irritated. Elena ran off, Clarke was now twice as busy, and Death told him that they couldnt read together anymore. Why not? Because, some things have come up and were all more busy than before. Jim wasnt busy. He still roamed the streets everyday and found nothing but media bias and newspapers making out every Christian that advocated against gays or whatever seem to be a prophet and a Saint and a living martyr all at the same time. He tried to burn things at the junkyard to kill a few hours. After the fourth newspaper and third sandwich wrapper, Jim got bored of watching the meaningless flames. If the trash meant nothing to the Suits, then what did burning them mean to him? Still, nothing. So the flames didnt dance in his eyes, nor did the ember catch his fleeting attention. He walked away, and let the newspaper smolder into an ashy death. The Suits laughed at him as he walked back to the house. They knew his restlessness. It was against Jims nature to stay in any place for more than a month, and its almost been two. His patience was running short, and if the Suits thought that anything less than suicide to mock him, they were wrong. But then again Suits were most often wrong. Jim chucked a shard of metal that hed found at the junkyard and the first Suit who looked at him wrong. He missed, but the startled look on the Suits face was almost good enough. The door didnt budge when Jim put his key in. He pushed his shoulder against it. He rammed it again and the creaky hinges gave way. Jim blinked a few times, and rubbed his eyes. He was still tired. Death was busy in her room. He just realized he wanted to get her something for her birthday. Antimonys present was still lying on the window seat, although it faced away from the middle of the room, preferring to stare at the curtains than watch Jim any longer. Winchester was watching the news. Clarke had fixed it; it turns out the cable plug was unhooked. Jim sat down beside him and, in what he hoped was an offhand manner, asked, Whens all your birthdays? Uh, mines in July and Clarkes in June. But Deaths was last month, why? Jims heart sank. Why didnt she say anything? She didnt? Thats why Clarke and I got her that canvas. I thought you knew because you got her the paint Jim shook his head. Winchester shrugged, obviously not thinking it important. She doesnt like making it a big deal. Just another year closer to death, she insists. Or something like that. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. Jim kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Maybe hed go down to the library. See if they had any of the others in the Starship series. Death had told to try the fantasy section while he was down there to see if they had the sequel to Lily. He said hed try, but inwardly had the thought that this attempt would turn into his promise to teach Death to raise a single eyebrow. The library was ten minutes from the house. It was small, run down, and probably hadnt government funding for ages. Most

information was now being funneled through daytime television. All lies and propaganda it was. Jim pushed open the door to the library, before realizing that it was supposed to be one of those automatic ones. From the looks of it the motion sensor had been trashed. Jim first checked the fantasy section, but couldnt find Graveyard Shift anywhere. Jim just stared at the spot it wouldve been for an hour, wondering if his intense contemplation would cause it to suddenly exist. He knew it wouldnt but, for Death, he tried. He finally walked over to sci-fi and checked out Another Place and Time, the sequel to Starship. It was odd how all these starships and technology was promised to them, yet now all they had was the end that justified the means. Machiavelli. Death taught him that. He didnt go home. Instead Jim went to the park. The pigeons kept their distance. Jim kept his. He turned to the first page of the book. The book led him well into the night, Jim only returning to the house when he had to press the page to his nose to read in the darkness. Everyone else was asleep. He tried turning on the lamp in the living room to read, but Death began stirring, and he quickly shut it off. Clarke was in his room, so he couldnt turn on the light in there, and Deaths room was locked. Jim went into the bathroom. He closed the door, sat on the sink, and opened his book. Jim continued reading all night. And he was only a third of the book through. He groaned. Death had told him that as he read hed get faster, but that seemed less and less likely. Clarke went to work without saying goodbye. Winchester went to buy food. Death ran into her room. Jim, having wasted his time for sleeping, looked around for something to do that wouldnt take too much concentration. He fell asleep at the eating table. Winchester kicked his shins, calling them even. Jims head jerked up from the table, and his chair tipped over backward. Get up Jesus, Clarke wants to talk to you. Jim struggled to reorient himself for a few moments, looking in the meantime like a turtle kicked on its back. When Jim stood he punched Winchester in the shoulder, pretending it was a friendly tap. Winchester grabbed his arm, vowing vendetta. Yeah Clarke? You didnt get the interview. He said it quietly, as though hoping Jim wouldnt hear him. You know that guy you chucked rocks at? I chuck rocks at a bunch of people. Well one of them was my boss. Most hes ever going to let you do is clean the waste collection. Well can I do that at least? Clarkes eyes surveyed Jim impassively. Ill ask. Its a once every other week job, four hours, but you have to clean three collection storages of excess metal and melted plastic. You think you can handle that? Jim shrugged. Clarke walked out of the room. Jim watched him leave, wishing that there was some point in his staying here. Otherwise hed be forced to leave too, and continue his quest elsewhere. Every time there was no more reason for him to stay in any area, hed leave. Maybe then hed find the truth in the next city. So far it hasnt happened, but he could keep searching. But, for now at

least, he wanted to keep searching in Manhattan. Jim liked the company here. Sometimes Jim wished the sunset would just hurry up. Most people loved gazing at the brilliant orange and red lighting the sky, but Jim wanted the light to extinguish itself and let the starry night cascade over the sky. And it seemed that every time tried to watch the darkness fall over them the sun seemed to tease him. It would slow its leave and drag out the operation for hours. But it didnt really matter anymore. Jim by then had arrived from his newspaper hunt bringing nothing but kindling for the next days trip to the junkyard. All that was left was to sit back on the roof and crack open a soda and watch life pass by. Tonight the sun was being even more difficult than usual. The last light from the setting ball of fire sparked up into the sky expelling the darkness for another ten minutes at least. When the orange finally left the sky, Jim was alone in the starlight. He watched it for a few moments, then kicked back his feet and closed his eyes. His headphones were in his ears, keeping him awake in the silent night with dreams of a better world. Jim thought, that all of the Suits problems lie with their inability to dream. They have religion, but Jim wouldnt really call that dreaming. Religion was only one persons dream, and everyone else employed only a hollow interpretation to save their humanity. The Suits were just following another laid out path, walking a line with everyone else. Religion, society, government, it was just the drum roll that ushered all of the soldiers out of their barracks, and to do pushups in the mud. The American dream was to be just like everyone else, to not strive but live in content mediocrity. Their minds were broken to accept generic fiction as the script for life, and their precious white picket fences were more prisons of the mind than anything else really. And those who didnt believe in a living a life already planned for them by society were immediately crucified to accept the way told to them. People expected everything to be clear, like good and evil or black and white. Christian or infidel. If anything the American Dream was killing America. But before Jim could pursue this thought, sleep stole away into his mind, and he was dreaming of burning white picket fences. The stars watched with a surge of pride. Jim lit the bottle of beer bottle on fire. It didnt burn as well as Bibles, but the drunkards screaming was almost audible. The bottle was still partially full, so when the fire reached the contents bubbling in the bottom, the flames reveled in the new fuel, and expanded rapidly. The bottle cracked. The sirens were at it again, rushing to a mild cackling and slight murmur of light. Jim left it to burn, the shards of glass now the bases for flames trying to reach up to the sky. The streets all spat in his direction. They had tried to victimize him on several occasions. Jim just ran his finger along a new masterpiece on the subway entrance, molded from spray paint and dawned under the light of cheap cigarettes. Born from an urge to light the world ablaze and the self-control to consent to hate the world in ones own mind. It was the heraldry of the new generation, one that wouldnt stand by and watch the world fall apart. Anarchy it read.

Winchester and Clarke were both punk fans. Winchester slept with his favorite album under his pillow. Jim laughed when he heard this, eyeing his own pillow with the idea fermenting in the depths of his mind. Jims finger left the spray paint as he walked by, and the Suits were still watching him warily. He descended into the station, playing over his favorite song in his head. Jim had forgotten his mp3 player. The subway station was packed, with Suits rushing to work, they clamored out of the subway, readying the still warm seats for the next batch. Jim watched them for awhile, waiting for one to discard their newspaper, which all the men had tucked under their arm, the women in their bags. Finally, a weedy looking Suit, tossed his at the nearest rubbish bin. Jim snatched it out of the air, uncrumpling it and leaning his shoulder against the wall. He read the headline and chucked it onto the tracks. It was crushed immediately under a passing subway. Jim watched it rip as the corner caught in the track and the many segments of the subway torn at the other end, which was floating upward with the wind. As each segment passed, the paper was left increasingly maimed. Jim watched the Suits fragile propaganda tear apart at the seams. He returned to the house to find Death listening to music. She offered up one of the headphones to Jim, and he hesitantly put it in his right ear, sitting beside her. It was his favorite song. Although he didnt say that at first. I think modern punk rock is more about how societys messed up rather than how the artists want to fix it, which I think is better, Death commented as the song finished. Really, because I always thought that someone who says how theyd fix something is someone of action, Jim replied. Sure Concept, but if you take a band like this one and they tell you that society has become a Fundamentalist based bias of the different, then you dont need someone telling you that theyre going burn America down or whatever to know you need to. Jim opened his mouth to speak, but Death cut across him. Your musics just too angry. She giggled. Well, I agree. This type of music is better if you want to find the truth, but if you are only trying to scream your head off and pound your fists against the wall, angry music is the way to go. Jim then added, That was my favorite song by the way. Jim returned to the house the next day to find Death crying in the bathroom. Winchester said she did this because she didnt want to be seen with tears streaming down her face, and the bathroom was the only room, apart from hers, that had a working lock. Why doesnt she just go in her room then? Because, her books are there. Its the happiest place in the world for her, and when she steps in there she just bear to cry anymore. Jim thought, quite incredulously, that if it were really that easy that it was ridiculous that Death simply didnt stay in her room all the time. Death came out a half an hour later, wiping smeared eye liner from her eyes. Jim didnt even know she wore eye liner. Winchester nodded, seeing the surprised look on Jims face. We got her some for her birthday Again with the birthday. Jim groaned very grumpily as he plopped on the couch. What was she crying about? No idea. She never tells us. I guess its the usual stuff right? Christian conquest, societal prisons, the Bats, Jim

guessed. Winchester shrugged and put some cocoa in the microwave. Candice was telling them that heavy snows should be expected throughout the New England area. Clarke, who was watching Winchesters conversation with Jim and the news all at once, hurried over to the closet by the front door and grabbed the snow shovel. Jim, who had admittedly never noticed the closet, stared at it for a few moments. Clarke leaned the shovel against the wall. When both Clarke and Winchester had left to ask Death what was wrong, Jim thought, did Death need another pest bugging her about her crying? Probably not. Jim thought about it some more, and told himself that hed talk to her later about it. He instead held back to examine the closet. It was small, enough for one person to fit in if they curled their legs underneath themselves as they sat. A tiny, exposed bulb hung from the ceiling with one of those old fashioned chains swaying back and forth. A squashed box made a perfect seat. Jim pushed his back up against the wall, and placed his arms behind his head. Jim reached up, pulled the chain, and clicked the light off. Death was watering her flowers when Jim walked in. Hey, I couldve done that if you asked. Death shrugged, a smile widening on her face. What, whats so funny? Nothings funny per say, just odd. She turned to look at him. Her hazel eyes were cast somewhat down. The light didnt seem to brighten the room at all, just illuminate the depression that radiated from Deaths usually optimistic demeanor. Odd how? Jim yawned behind his hand. He was really tired. The sunlight streaming from Deaths window caught her delicate hand. She was wearing a ring, one that was glittering silver with a small emerald in the middle. Jim was sure that Winchester and Clarke hadnt got her that one for her birthday. You didnt come in with Ches and Clarke. Death returned to her watering. She hummed a little tune to herself while waiting for Jims answer. So? Im here now, Jim tried defending himself. His voice came out shaky though, much to Jims irritation. Thats what I mean. Youre always there for somebody who needs youeven if it takes you awhile longer than usual. I dont know if that makes you reliable or just, she paused, late. Jim thought about this. Antimony needed him, and he took a week to ask her what the problem was. Maybe he did put things off too long. Maybe I just procrastinate. He tried leaning against the wall, but misjudged his distance from it and stumbled, crashing his shoulder into the pale beige. Thats all the better then. Because then I know you always mean to come and help. Death patted him on the shoulder. It tightened a little. But he didnt pull away. So why were you crying? his voice was dry now. Many reasons. She lifted her hand, and Jims shoulder unclenched. He closed his eyes before asking, Is that what you told Winchester and Clarke? She didnt answer at first. Jim almost didnt want her to. He asked again, is that what you told Winchester and Cl- No, I told them the truth. At least she was honest about lying, Jim told himself later. He lit another newspaper ablaze, and chucked it into the street. The flame didnt have but a second to grow before a cab

rolled over it, extinguishing it forever. Jim lit another. Now Death wasnt talking to him. Clarke was still awkwardly distant, and Winchester stopped being his best mate. Jim had nowhere to go. Sitting on the steps to the church Jim felt like opening the door and screaming Forgive me lord for I have sinned! just to disrupt the order of things. But he consented with chucking another lit newspaper. This one was ripped apart under a shipping truck. Jim reached back into his duffle, pulling out a Chicago Gazette from the year before. He dipped the corner in the fire, and balled it up quickly before the flame could spread. A few times he had burned the tips of his fingers, but they were so calloused anyways that it hardly mattered anymore. Jim had lost enthusiasm for this in only a few minutes. Surprised that he had that much interest to begin with, Jim went on the search for more newspapers. The streets yielded very few that afternoon. Jim returned to the house while they were all eating lunch. Death handed Jim a sandwich. They ate in silence, the occasional yawn from Clarke or cough from Winchester breaking the quiet thought. Jim finished first, and left, not even bothering to acknowledge any of the other members in the room. It was fine, for no one acknowledged him either, and recently only the Suits shoot worse looks of contempt than Death. Winchester and Clarke both intelligently refused to involve themselves in the affair. Still not sure why Death was so upset, Jim began reading in the closet every night. He had finished Another Place and Time in only four days. On his way to return the book at the library he had even begun to think. Just think, about the still life around him. Think about how every day blurred into the next, with routine tying them all together in one big lump. There was no more making it up as he went along. He was now no better than the Suits all scurrying around like ants with their appointments and television shows that always came on at six oclock. Running around with the same order everyday. Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast on the subway, hurry to first meeting of the day, almost miss it, paperwork, break time, down a coffee to stay awake, more work, going home, dinner with the family how was your day today Johnny? Good, yours dad? watch TV, the same shows as always, believe in whatever the news tell you, say a prayer for the family, go to bed And now Jim was becoming one of them. In the struggle to live he had lost the will to. Surely there was a better lifesurely ignorance wasnt bliss. Maybe the Suits had it right. Maybe you keep the people unaware and in turn the people are at ease with themselves. Jim was sitting on the railing of the subway station, holding a crumpled newspaper in his hand. A couple Suits were drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Maybe that was the answer. Just drink yourself into a stupor so you dont know which way is up, let alone why the stars wont comfort you anymore. Then you can believe whatever, follow whomever, and itll all be gone with the swig of a bottle. Jim clicked open his lighter. No, this was the answer. The flame that took the everyday life and added some uncertainty to it. Wake up, get dressed, watch the world burn away, question society, blacken your fingertips with soot, smear graffiti on the wall, smoke cheap cigarettes, have

dinner in the rain, Hows your day Concept? Anything monotonous? Nope, nothing, absolutely nothing, wash away the night and try to find yourself again. Jim had tried to find himself for far too long. It probably had just led him further away. Jim had told them all not to feel so self-assured. When it came to this reality, all of the Punks were wrong, and the Suits were right. It didnt matter what was said. Thats just how it went. So as Clarke returned home with his head hung low, his eyes refusing to meet anything but the floor, soon telling them that he had been demoted to his original position, all Jim could say was, Not like we didnt see it coming. Oh very useful Concept! Yeah Jesus, show a little compassion. No Ches, Clarke interrupted, This is coming from the guy who stormed out on September eleventh. Judging from their self-righteous glares, Jim assumed Death hadnt told them the reason why nine/eleven curdled his blood so. At least she wasnt talking about him behind his back. He looked to Death, who still hadnt said a word. He wanted to tell her the theory he constructed at the subway station, but she wouldnt meet his eyes. Eh, if she didnt want to hear it then why tell her? Jim flipped Clarke off and stormed into the closet, which they now called his room because he spent so much time in there. Jim sulked in the corner of the closet, desperate for an answer. He wished he could go back to the time where he wouldnt care less. Back before Antimony had opened his mind to the struggles of a whole people like him, and Death had filled it with her constant questions of life. Now Jim had all these questions, and no means of answering them. Jim wished he were back on the railway, shoving his jacket in Elliots face. It was so much simpler then. What you cant endure you burn. Survive. Those were the two rules. And now Jim was slowly failing both. His sanity was already frayed, and now with it went his confident conviction in his actions. He was questioning everything that he did. There was a better life, Jim kept telling himself. Maybe it was like a fever, he thought, where it has to get worse before it fixes itself and everythings all better. A climax before the cure. But there was no cure for what he had. There was no cure for falling in love. Have you ever wanted to cast a stone into the ocean just to change things up? Jim asked Death. He knew she wasnt listening. Clarke grabbed a cigarette. Open the window, will you? Death asked. Clarke nodded as he lit the white cigarette. Jim sat down by Death. She gave him disparaging look, and returned to her painting. Having no more canvas, she painted on sheets of paper. Is life just the act of running? Running to find the point in life, running from all of your problems. Running to keep the only thing you have, or to leave behind all of your memories. You asked me once if there was a truth. You said wed find it, but isnt that just another form of running around? Dont you want to stop for a moment and just observe where all this running has taken you?

Death looked at him quizzically. Jim had begun to tire of this look, as if she was constantly judging him, trying to figure him out. You know, Ive never heard you talk so philosophically before. Maybe when we met all my thoughts were drenched in gasoline, and you just dropped the match. Was that supposed to be a compliment? It was supposed to be a thank you and sorry for anything Ive done. You didnt do anything Then why wouldnt you talk to me for a week? Instead of answering this, Death just grabbed his arm and said, Theres something I need to show you. She pulled him out of the front door, and into the snow. Jim tripped and fell facefirst into the frozen ice. When he stood, he wiped the flakes off of his face. Death didnt seem concerned with the bitter cold, although Jim was shivering under his thin tee. He shoved his hand in his pockets as Death lead him around what seemed like the whole city. She pulled him down street corners, through parks, and over bridges. Jim pulled out a cigarette as she slowed a little. Death slapped it out of his hand. What was that for? Jim yelled, watching as the cigarette rolled into the pond Death had dragged him to. Its a nasty habit, and youll die early for it. Jim didnt feel like arguing anymore. He just sat at the edge of the pond when Death beckoned, and she sat beside him. She took out a wadded up towel. You said you wanted to chuck a stone right? Death lit the towel on fire and instantly a bright blue flame erupted on the top. She skipped it as one would a stone, and the fire danced over the water, each orange tongue barely kissing the still waters before jumping up again. Jim however, didnt think this beautiful as reflected in Deaths eyes. His heart rate quickened drastically, as with each skip he hoped that the fire would stay above the water, to not go under and plunge into the dark abyss below. You dont like it Concept? Deaths voice was quiet. Jim was transfixed as he saw the last ray of red succumb to its watery grave. As it did, an arm of flame lapped up out of the water. Jim turned to Death, who was slipping her lighter in her pocket, a disappointed and sad look on her face. No, no, I really liked it. After seeing the incredulous look on her face he added, honestly! The ripples in the water were now joining each other and dissipating. Death still looked wary. Listen, I loved it, he said, thinking secretly that there was one thing here he definitely loved. Really? Of course. In truth, after overcoming the initial shock, Jim was rather enjoying the memory of the fire, leaping across the water as if it were walking on very nimble legs, and reaching out to the sky with long fingertips. Death took out her lighter again, and Jim his. They picked stones from the grass and flung them, lit, into the awaiting water. To Jim, the water was a blue canvas and the fire paints that they were splattering on the world. No brushes, nor portraits to copy. Just art. He looked over at Death, who was now grinning broadly as she aimed one of her stones to collide into Jims. Both rocks stopped, and cast a glorious flame into the air, one spinning around and soon tangling with the other. They ran around the park soon collapsing in a tired heap next to each other. Jim

wanted to reach out and take her hand in his, but told himself that hed have to control that particular feeling. Jim looked over to her hand, obviously not controlling the urge all that well. She had no ring on. Jim quickly sat up. Death turned her head to him, the smile fading from her lips. Whats wrong? Whered your ring go? What ring? Jim put his head back down. Death was staring at him quizzically again. Jim wasnt perturbed by this, for he was watching her quizzically too. Maybe he had imagined the ring. Although he doubted it. Jim was sitting on the couch. In the whole, that wasnt all that odd, nor exciting. But when Death came to sit by him, he anxiously moved over, spilling his soda on Winchesters newspaper. Jim hung his head shamefully, and went outside in search of another newspaper. The snow had piled up to his knees, and Jim knew it was only going to get worse in December. Jim rubbed his bare arms with his hands. His teeth began chattering. Jim took the seven dollars he had left from his mini-savings, and walked into the nearest clothing shop. An overly giddy high school age girl greeted him as he walked in. A cheerleader back at school, no doubt. Jim told her to bug off, but she insisted on accompanying him and making, what she called, attire suggestions. Jim was surprised she knew the word attire, but then again the Suits were surprised a Punk knew anything at all. Eventually, Jim went in one of the booths to try something one, and waited in there until she left. He came out, purchased the only jacket under ten dollars, and walked out while ripping off the price tag. He chucked in at the nearest rubbish bin, but the cold wind blew it away. Jim didnt really care who knew how much hed paid for a jacket. He zipped the front up, and fixed the collar. It was just like his old jacket, although grey instead of black. Elliot had his black one. A Suit drove by on a motorcycle, drawing Jims attention. Jim always wanted a motorcycle. Not one of those ones that muscular bearded guys with leather jackets. No, Jim wanted a Japanese one, those sleek motorcycles that have the visored helmet and could go from zero to sixty in a few seconds. Jim ha always wanted one of those. But alas, how on earth would he afford one? Shaking the childlike dream from his restless thoughts, Jim pulled a new newspaper out of the nearest rubbish bin. It was missing the first two pages, but he was certain Winchester had already read those already. Jim chucked the newspaper at Winchester as he walked in; Death was putting on her longsleeve shirt over her tee. Going out? Checking out a book from the library. Then can I borrow your lighter? Mines leaking from the bottom, so I dont want to use it until I get it fixed. Yeah sure, she yanked her lighter out of her pocket and tossed it to him. Why dont you just buy a new one? I, I just want to fix this one. Knowing not to push the matter, Death left for the

library. Jim turned the lighter over in his hand. The emerald green backdrop shone slightly in the light. Jim turned it over again. A shamrock was outlined in white on the green. Jim smiled, having already put St. Patricks Day on his mental calendar. Jim stopped by the church before heading to the pond. He saw the cross casting an oppressive shadow over the gardens. Oi Jesus! Winchester called. Many Christians who heard this scolded him for blasphemy. Jim turned. You forgot this back at the house, Winchester panted, holding up Deaths lighter. You really came all the way over here to tell me that? No. I came to ask you a favor. What? More of a question really, I mean you were the one talking about running around and stopping to enjoy the scenery and metaphorical things that usually Death spouts off- Spit it out! Jim yelled, getting slightly annoyed. Do you believe in fate? Because I do. Not in a religious way, but I think that all the Bats are here for one thing and us another. I was just wondering, do you think fates just another way to run around? Is it eating away at our time? Jim took awhile to answer this. I cant say, seeing as I dont think in fate and all of that predestination stuff. Being close to a Calvinist church at the time, Jims comment drew a lot of cursing and angry looks. Let them protest, their belief is just another way to hang themselves from their steeples and cathedrals. Cathedrals are mostly Catholic, not Protestant, Winchester corrected, kicking a stone at the church doors. Does it matter? Its still Christian. It obviously matters to them. I still cant see why. They have wars and bar fights over small differences and yet they cant even see all the giant similarities. Jim lit a cigarette. You know Deaths trying to get you and Clarke to quit smoking, right? Yeah I know. What about you? I dont smoke. Never liked the taste. Now that Winchester mentioned it, the taste was distressing more than calming. Jim took a deep breath in. Still beat breathing in the putrid pollution that the Suits called air. Probably had more smoke and contaminates in it than his cigarette. Jim put the white stick out on the sole of his sneaker. He flicked the butt into the churchs bushes. The congregation, who were now all outside enjoying the snow in their multilayered jackets, all shot him an angry look. Jim turned his head and watched them quizzically. Death had told him that containing all his rage was as bad as dousing his hair in gasoline and lighting the match. Jim told her to stop exaggerating. She skipped a blazing stone across the length of the pond, something Jim had never really gotten down. His only went halfway and sank. Jim frowned as he tried to copy Deaths throw, but failed miserably. Death skipped another, and the fire danced beautifully across the almost frozen waters. Why do you think it isnt ice yet? Well, we do heat it up several degrees a couple days a week, Death laughed. Jim however, didnt find it all that amusing. He did find the explanation sufficient and continued skipping stones. You alright? she asked.

Yeah, Jim smiled, See? Death wasnt convinced, but Jim threw a stone with all his might and finally made it across, although not as elegantly as Deaths attempts. Yes! Yes! he stood, raising his arms straight over his head. Nice job, Death patted him on the back, but her thoughts were off in distant places. Clarke had stopped smoking. Now, whenever Jim saw him he was twitching slightly and licking his lips. Winchester told him to be making as much of an effort as Clarke. Jim told him that he just had an addictive personality. Thats why he refused to drink. Jim went to the nearest convenience store and looked over the souvenir section, hoping to find some sort of cheap snow globe. When he did, he asked the clerk if he could work the four dollars off. The clerk blew a bubble of gum and said no. Needless to say the store found its backdoor the canvas for a spray painted homage to modern addiction. The bottom of a bottle Jim called it. Jim continued looking for a decent snow globe to get Death as a belated birthday present. It wasnt the actual globe that Jim thought shed like, but more the idea that it represents. It all started a few days ago, Jim was involved in a very pleasant and philosophical discussion with Death. They had talked about the concept of fate, at which point Winchester wandered over to listen intently, occasionally offering up ideas or suggestions. Well, if there is a fate, Death began, then how do we know it doesnt change? Well its fate isnt it? So shouldnt it be the divine law? Winchester asked. That supposes that fate is the divine law. If we assume that then were just like Christians, substituting God with fate. Next youll be saying we need to kill some Jews or rape some homosexuals, Jim said nonchalantly, although everyone could feel the cynicism and hate behind every word. There was an awkward silence, and rape some homosexuals, seemed to reverberate through their minds. Winchester blushed. Fate is, I think more controlled by us than us by it, Death finally said softly. A few more moments of silence. Then, Death began again in the same soft voice. You dont have to hate all Christians, Concept. I used to be Christian, and theyre not all bad. Most are just Bats who believe what theyre told. I even saw a church waving the gay pride flag once. Its only the Fundamentalists who truly believe that all of their ideas are the work of God, or in this discussion fate, and will kill society to prove it. Jims mouth was dry. Whatever happened to that church? The one waving the gay pride flag? Death didnt answer. I think it was burned down, Winchester said solemnly. And so the conversation ended. Then, the next day, when Death and Jim were skipping fire, or so they liked to call it, the idea of a changing fate surfaced again. Jim caught a snowflake on his hand. Beautiful isnt it? Death asked. Jim shrugged. Sort of reminds me of people. He took a deep breathe. Death was waiting for him to explain. Well, theyre all different but they are all the same. And they all revolve around the same thing. Society. Death was smiling at him, trying to catch her own flake. I

mean, you said that fate was changing with our actions, but it still has some hold over us. Well, I was thinking, that sounds an awful lot like society. So all these flakes, he waved his hands about him, are just falling around society. Deaths smile faded. Jim crushed the flake in his hand. And now Jim was trying to find a snow globe for Death, to give her some control over this life, something she can demand answers from, because if it were him thats all hed ask for. But Death probably already had the answers, or at least the ones she cared about. Jim should just ask her. He shook the globe that he was holding. All the flakes sprang from the bottom and glided back down slowly. Each one, Jim imagined, was just another Suit, all bending to his whim, forced to accept his way of life like so many were forced to accept theirs. In a life so uncertain, Jim shook the globe once more. At least he could control this. At least he didnt have to keep guessing. Jim walked outside, and opened his palm to the sky. A few flakes dropped into his hand, and he watched them with a distant stare, one almost as cold as the snow gathering around his ankles. And with all the hate in the world, Jim deftly crushed the snowflakes in his hands. And he walked away with his head hung low. There was a piece of apple pie left on the table. Jim put it in the fridge after taking a scoop of whip cream with his finger. Death had gone to bed without saying goodnight to him. Jim shrugged to himself, blowing out his lighter. Maybe he should go down to the pier and watch the clouds go by tomorrow. Jim went into the closet, which Clarke and Death had recognized as his room nowWinchester was having difficulties accepting much of anything lately-and turned out the light. He rested his head on a smushed box of Christmas decorations, and was oddly comfortable in his little sanctuary. He curled up in a ball and fell asleep, dreaming of dreaming. Jim blamed society. He stood, his feet buried in snow and his eyes aching with tiredness, watching them search for Joannes body. They gave up after fifteen minutes. She didnt have to die like this. No one deserved a life that miserable and full of false hope. Joanne wouldnt give up on the American dream, despite everything Jim tried to teach her. In the end it did her no good. Yet she was so stubborn with her idea that everyone was good at heart. Just two weeks ago she was peddling her wares and gave a perfectly revolting Suit a free necklace for his young daughter. Jim had watched this happen from the sidelines of course, but even then he wanted to go over and talk to the besotted woman, and ask her why on earth her kindness extended to such filth. But Jim refrained himself, and walked about the other piers, watching the clouds watch them, often wondering what they thought of the constant scurrying. The next day Joannes stall was upturned by aspirant hoodlums. The day after her wares went missing. Jim offered to help her find them. What a nice boy! she exclaimed in a thick cockney accent. Jim smiled at her, a twinge of pity sinking deep in his heart. He had seen her graying hair from his observations, but up close Jim could tell she was no more than thirty maybe thirty-five. Her dress, which Jim assumed was once very nice, was stained brown with dirt and the lace at the sleeves were now ripped strings of silk, dangling

pathetically at her side as she walked. Jim tried to smile, and spent the next two hours searching her wooden stall to try and locate her lost necklaces. As she explained them Jim had a feeling that they were all she had left, the remains of a jewelry collection now food money. And it seemed as thought they were stolen. Jim didnt have the heart to tell her this though, for her mind seemed a tad frail and her delusions kept her happy and hopeful. She was always so hopeful. On the third day of Jim trying to find her lost jewelry, he decided it was best to tell her his thoughts. As he did so, Joanne turned around clutching a box to her chest. They were under my mattress! she hollered, giving a whoop of joy, and placing the box where she wouldnt lose it again. As she smiled, Jim saw many rotten through teeth. He smiled forcefully. The next week or so Joanne had him help her with her stall, which was placed on the edge of an alleyway. Jim guessed that was her home. Every time he made a sale, Joanne would offer him some of the money. Hed always slip it back into her till when her back was turned. Howd you end up out in the streets? he asked once. Well it aint that interesting of a story. Jim beckoned for her to continue anyways. I used to live in England, and me mum always said America was the place of opportunity. Never ad much money, but we did have this box that we never opened under our bed. When I turned twenty, me mum told me to open it, and if it was money to use it to go to America. I told her no, but she said it was her mums, and before that her mums and it was just for an opportunity like this. Sos I open it. At this point she patted the box of necklaces. I told me mum to keep some to fix up the house, but she said I ad a nice full life to live and the house would come down either way. She laughed at this part, but it was an uneasy, uncertain laugh. She was always a loon she was, but a right old woman. So I come to America, with nothing but me necklaces. I set up shop here, and try to make something in life. Lord knows Ive been working hard at it. Apply for every job I see, I do. Even if I dont know what an Administration Superintendent is, I apply for it. Never get picked for some reason. Jim hung his head a little at this, knowing why no one picked her. But they always says Im a good candidate or something like that! Jim patted her on the back for coming second best (or so she thought) on so many applications. Im bound to picked for something soon. If only I could get all those other guys who interviewed me to speak for me She was always hopeful. Even said America was just like her mum told her. Like a fairy tale, she shouted once. Are you kidding? Do I look like Im kidding? In truth she did, with her hair sticking up in the back, and her lips blue from the cold. She wouldve looked quite comical if it hadnt been so sad. In America everyone has a chance to be great. Then, as an afterthought, I guess I just havent been given mine yet. Why do you give away all of your necklaces? I dont give em all away She pursed her lips. Me mum always said if you do good by people, then they do good by you. And its America right? The land of generosity and helping people. Jim wanted to tell her how the Suits could hardly be counted as people, but her smile was so large and kidlike, that Jim said that she was very kind and gave her most of his sandwich.

As she ate it, she asked, Are you in love? Jim almost gagged on his ham. I was only wondering. You just seem a little flustered and unsure, and me mum always said if a mans ever unsure about something its a woman. Jim smiled. Hed really like to meet Joannes mum. Yeah, I am actually. Joanne jumped up clapping her hand together. Oh that lovely! Me mum told me that love was the best cure for a poor day Wait, what happened? Jim asked, now jumping up beside her. Why was today bad? Joannes face fell. I never said that she turned away from him. When she turned back, her eyes were lit up again. Whats her name? Jim opened his mouth, but realized that Joanne had fallen much to far into her delusions and unrequited optimism, that trying to pull her out might just kill her. Death. Oh, what a beautiful name. I ad a cousin named Death. Jim highly doubted this, but smiled and asked about this fictional cousin. Joanne then went on for half an hour about all of her summer trips down to her cousins house, and playing in the fields of the northern UK. Jim smiled and nodded the whole time, wondering whether her mum had truly existed as Joanne thought, and if so then what Joanne would do when her mother died. By the end of the two weeks they had spent together, Joanne thought of Jim as something of a younger brother. Joanne even offered to give Jim a necklace for Death. No, I cant do that, youre too kind Nonsense. I want you to have it. Jim finally talked her down, and they ended up selling that necklace to a Suit for fifty-nine dollars. Jim bought Joanne some warmer clothes and a blanket with the money, and used the rest to get her food. Me mum would adopt you youre such a good kid, and you couldnt say no, shes a stubborn old mule. Jim smiled weakly at this. Why wont you take a necklace? Im giving it to you aint I? Death has some already, Jim lied. A young girl cant have too much jewelry; girls deserve to look pretty. Joanne held one of them up to her neck, examined it, frowned, and shoved it back in the box. Whats wrong? Im not pretty am I? Jim almost told her that there were things more important, but Joanne seemed really stuck on this, so he told her that she was. It wasnt too far from the truth. Without her prematurely graying hair, she was actually quite beautiful, but her frayed ends, sunken eyes and crooked posture distracted from her gentle face and warm cheeks sometimes. And then she was dead. Jim had come back the next day, and she told him that she kept one necklace for herself, and that it was now his. She pulled it out, showing a silver chain leading to a gleaming emerald. Jim remembered Deaths ring. Looking back on it, maybe it was a sign. If there was a God then he liked taunting people by telling whats going to happen and watching as they struggle to stop the inevitable. Joanne kissed him on the forehead, said he was always her little helper, and walked off the pier. A doctor from the free clinic came twenty minutes later. When he realized that she

had committed suicide, he realized he should tell the only kid crying on the pier why. She had breast cancer. It was too far along. Terminal. She had most a week to live anyways, and she knew it too. And the doctor left. Jim held back the last of his tear, telling himself that Joannes hope didnt come from tears. But look at what good it did her. Jim found a photo of Joanne-it was stashed in her till-before her hair went grey. She was standing next to a tall woman. Jim guessed it was her mum. He fell asleep with dried tears clinging to his cheeks, lying on the wooden pier. Jim awoke the next morning, wanting nothing more than to just burn away.

December Fragile World Jim stared out the window. The snowflakes drifted down on the other side. Death was watching him click his lighter and barely take a glance before capping it again. Jim had taken it to the shop and they plastered a thin slip of steel over the leak. It was now as good as new. As long as no one removed the steel sliver. Death was concerned for Jim. He didnt burn things anymore with his usual fervor, and it seemed as though the only thing keeping him sane were the long hours spent inside his room and the fire skipping that Death had soon scheduled for every other day. One day, she found the nerve to ask, Conceptwhats wrong? Nothing, why do you ask? He was reading his fourth book in two weeks. Even Death hadnt read that much lately. All you seem to do now is read. And? Is life that bad? Jim looked up at her. What are you talking about? Dont fool yourself Concept. Do you know why I started reading? My parents told me I was useless. Worth absolutely nothing at all. I ran away and was so depressed, that when I found Clarke and Ches, two people who were also outcasts of their families and society, I wouldnt even look at them. I started reading so that I didnt have to deal with life. I hated my life and there where times where you wouldnt see me without my nose in a book. Clarke told me it was normal to want to die sometimes, but living in another world your whole life is just another form of death. Thats where I got the nickname. Do you see it Concept? Youre dying if you dont live. Readings a great temporary escape. Jim looked at her. Nice life story. And it was then that Death knew that she had a problem. Jim however wasnt as disinterested in his lighter as Death thought. He was, in reality, just busy wondering how to destabilize the Suits world. They had built around them walls of lies and supported it with hollow beliefs. They paved the foundation with religion, and wrote their constitution with one simple sentence: society knows best. The walls were the prejudiced fears of an ignorant people, the flags raised with the arms hidden under the pillows and with fingers gently clasping the triggers. And often thoughts like these distracted one from their lighter. Death offered to take Jim fire skipping. He shrugged, and slowly accepted. Death grabbed his arm and forced him out into the cold without his jacket in a failed attempt to wake him up from whatever it was that was keeping him down. Jim just shivered. When they reached the pond, it was slowly glazing over with a thin layer of ice. Deaths first throw knocked out most of it though. Jims skidded feebly on a patch of ice not yet destroyed, and slowly melted through it. Jim cursed. Death smiled, tossing another all the way across. In a better time, she told herself, Concept would try to do the same. Now, however, Jim just skipped his into a barricade of hard ice, trying to knock it down. Knock down, topple, destabilize, deconstruct, destroy.

That was Jims new philosophy. Jim walked away with an expressionless lips and downcast eyes. His muscles were all loose and his stride even at the most nonchalant pace. Death chucked her last rock, but stayed awhile after to watch the snowfall. Jim opened the door to the nearest convenience store and rasped his knuckles on the counter. The snow globes were half off. Jim picked one up, and turned to the clerk who was listening to the morning Voice of America broadcast. Jim turned the snow globe over in his hand. Just wait store clerk, he thought, wait until the worlds thrown on its head and all you have left is that precious radio of yours bathed in static and news of death. Just wait until your perfect little Voice is gasping for air and the glass dome protecting your city will shatter and itll become my city. Jim paid for the globe using money had found in the park. He walked home in silence, feeling a bit hesitant to open the door and return to everything that was so desperately trying to change him. But when he did, only Winchester nodded his head in recognition. Death was probably still out by the pond, Clarke at work. Jim placed the snow globe on the table. The news was uninteresting, and hed already read his book four times over. There was nothing really good in the library, and Death wouldnt let him read from her private collection anymore. Addicted to books, he mentally scoffed. No, that was absurd. Jim just liked reading, and it occurred to him the more time he spent reading, then that was more time spent doing something important. Setting fire to old bottles and watching the stars didnt do anything, they were just there. And if Jim wanted to better his life, he should be doing something that meant something at all. Addicted to books No. He was addicted to hate. Jim tried letting go of his rage, but every time he watched it float away hed feel it surge right back through his veins. And hed have to burn things. So now, hes given up. Jim just sits back and watches the hatred flash before his eyes, knowing that his world was no stronger than the Suits. Without their biased ideas, their universe would fall around their feet. Without his hate Jims would crumble before his eyes. Jim took a long inhalation of his cigarette. Closing his eyes, he saw flashes of red and felt his arms prickle. Jim spat out the smoke, waiting for it to billow up passed the church windows. The clergy were praising the Popes decision to enter the Middle East in a new crusade. But again, they pressed that belief that it wasnt the Popes decision, but Gods. Jim scoffed. He had seen the mentally ill on the streets, muttering things like the end is nigh upon us, or that Gods chosen me, his little birdie to warn all of you They all dressed in rags, fingerless gloves once covering each fingertip. Ripped jackets, threadbare pants and scarves that reminded Jim of tee shirts too small ripped in half. If even that. They carried signs and Bibles and begged for people to listen. No one stopped. Jim asked one why he was out there. God told me the infidels were listening to my home. I had to go out to the streets and warn the good American people. Or at least, thats what Jim thought he said. There were too many stutters and slurs.

Jim would almost feel sorry for them, for it was the very church that they were preaching for that now ignored them. And yet the Pope told everyone that God-the only god and every other gods a lie-could communicate to him. A bunch of filthy hypocrites. It didnt matter if God could speak to you or not, just if you had money and the power to make people love your insanities. Jim spat out into the grass. Atheist and proud of it, Jim dropped his cigarette into the bushes, his expressionless eyes that stared right through the world showing a momentary spark of glee. Then the disconnected hate washed over him again, and the eyes went back to their usual grey. Jim didnt like to think of what Death would say when he told her he was smoking out behind the church. But then why tell her? Because shed want to know and for all shes done, Jim owed it to her. He didnt know why. But then again, recently he didnt know a lot of things. Jim looked up. Although unable to see them, he knew the bombers were still watching him. Why me? Jim thought, trying to see the planes that hovered above the tallest skyscraper. Why follow me Winchester strolled over to him. Finally found you Jesus. Have we got a surprise for you. Jim was led back to the house. It was a very unenthusiastic journey, but it gave Jim time to feel his hatred and know that it was as very much a part of him as his blood or bones. Sometimes, the hate burned down to his bones, and gnawed at them as if it could tell that causing Jim to flip out in the middle of the street would get them both killed, so it consented to gnaw tediously. Winchester pushed open the door. There was no surprise. Just Death. Which itself wasnt all the shocking, Jim knew shes been wanting to talk to him for ages. Jim had even suspected that Winchester knew that he wasnt leading Jim to a surprise. Clarke was watching TV, but that again wasnt news to Jim. It was all that Clarke could do now, to keep his mind off of the cigarettes, was to run his mind to the ground with his work or by fixing up things around the house, and then sit in front of the TV until he had the energy to start up again. Jim thought it was pathetic that half the time Clarke was ignoring all fatigue and the other half he was a mush on the couch, trying to stay awake so that he wouldnt dream of cigarettes. Jim wondered if this technique worked for other addictions. Probably didnt. Death handed Jim a French-fry. He ate it hesitantly. Concept, youve been depressed recently. Why do you keep bugging me about it? I mean, if you want a real problem its sitting on the couch right now! Clarke didnt even hear this. Concept, we care, and if theres anything youre going through we want to help Death tried putting an arm on Jims shoulder. Will you leave me alone! You sound just like Elena! Whos Elena? Jim looked up. Clarke was standing up now, something clenched between his teeth. A cigarette maybe? No, a French-fry. And Im not a problem, Im just tired. Only because you made yourself so, Jim thought bitterly. Someone I knew once, Jim lied. His legs were itching to run. Maybe he had spent

too much time in one place, like he feared. Maybe his fate was elsewhere. He laughed when he thought of fate. There is no fate. Hey, can I talk to Death alone? Winchester made a face as if to say Why not us too? but Clarke dragged him off, flipping Jim off however for his earlier comment. Are you finally going to tell me why youve been such a jerk lately? Jim knew his answer long before she asked the question. Many reasons. Death looked like shed been punched in the gut, but Jim walked into his closet feeling better than he had for several weeks. Clarke was furthering his attempt to quit smoking. After another week, he had stopped needing to exhaust himself constantly to maintain his promise. Now he only worked on what he needed to, and spent his spare time reading comic books. Or graphic novels, as he assured them. Winchester found a broken game system and with Jims help had begun to fix it up. It was much harder than Jim thought. After procuring some electronic magazines, Winchester wouldnt say how, he unscrewed the case of the game system and laid it out in his room. Jim soon found out that it was Winchesters aspiration to become an electronics technician. Death was the only person not entirely glad that Jim was still staying with them. When do you think youll be leaving, I mean it has been over three months shed ask whenever Jim was within earshot. This however was soon remedied when Jim confronted her as he asked for her help to stow the groceries. Why do you keep acting like this? Jim asked, knowing what she was bursting to say. Instead, Death chose to be the better person and answer honestly, like Jim knew she would eventually do. Because all I want is an honest answer from you. Why am I so depressed? Well, you told me to get rid of my hate addiction and reading and thinking are the only way to do that. First of all, who said it was an addiction? Secondly you arent getting rid of your hate, youre just focusing on it and dwelling over it and kindling it. Jim shrugged. He put a head of lettuce in the fridge, and made some room for the box of cocoa-bought on Winchesters request of course-that Death was holding. Youre not letting your hate go. Youre just pushing it further down. She looked over him quizzically. You were picked on at school, werent you? Does it matter? Concept, despite your devil-may-care attitude now I dont think you ever hit those kids back, did you? Jim opened his mouth to make some retort. He just put the last paper bag in the recycling, and shoved some pudding-it was free if you bought milk, which they needed anyways-into the fridge. Concept, all of that anger built up for what eleven years? And you never released it in any wayI feel sorry for you Concept. You have all of this anger and yet you seem incapable of using it. I can bloody well use it! Jim snapped. I use it every time I fall asleep, so that I can wake up in the morning with a will to live because theres a reason to. Hates your reason to live? Yeah, I guess. Every day in school I wanted to punch them in their giant noses,

watch them writhe in their own blood, put my knee on their sternum and see them gasp for air like a flounder out of water. I had the whole thing planned out to the finest detail. Every punch was in my mind, every time Id drive one of their heads into the stucco wall. There was this one guy, Eric Lawson; I wanted to smash my bike into. Just pick it up by the seat, and swing the whole cursed thing into his face. Watch him fall; watch him beg for me to stop yet Id keep thrusting my fist into the bridge of his nose. Each limb twisted in a different direction, but no. I told myself that their world would fall around them with any provocation, that it would soon collapse over them and break all of their bones. All the prep girls who thought that I had to subject myself to their will, and live under their laws. It was just another form of oppression, and I think some of them knew it. I wanted to light a match and see their order and control burn away, a trail of mascara tears leading to it all. I wanted them to know that all of their power was useless without their fragile existence. I wanted to do many things, but never did. I just couldnt. I curled my hand into a fist more times than you can count, and yet did I ever swing? Did I have the guts to ask out Harriet before she committed suicide? Did I ever once try to stop the Suits? No. I just sat back and watched society happen. The supposed best years of my life and I didnt do a single thing. I just watched. All I had left was my hatred of them all, of myself. And if I keep it now I can think of all things I never did, and keep going. I can try to do all of things I was too scared to before. Jim punched the wall, chipping the paint slightly. Concept, I understand. No you dont. Then what do I say? Tell me how I can get rid of my rage, and still have the will to live. Death was nice to Jim the next few days, which only irritated him more. Cant she just leave him alone? Suddenly everything had to be about him, and she wouldnt stop until he was fixed or cured or whatever term they used now. Clarke loved the new graphic novel Death bought him for Christmas. It was only the twentieth, but Clarke spotted it as Death was trying to bring in purchased presents in unnoticed. Jim, who had seen his CD, wrapped it and wrote From Death To Concept and put it on the coffee table anyways. Jim read the graphic novel over Clarkes shoulder, and chucked a tennis ball against the wall. It bounced back and he caught it without looking. Clarke was on his left and Death sat to his other side, moving her head back slightly every time the ball came back. She was reading Graveyard Shift, which she finally found at a bookstore on the far end of town. She was probably right, Jim thought, about him not using his hate, and about never hitting those kids. Didnt make a difference if she was right or wrong, it wasnt like Jim was going to randomly pick a Suit off of the streets and beat him bloody. Winchester came in with a bundle of presents, and it occurred to Jim that they were an atheist household and yet they still practiced a Christian holiday. The idea perplexed him, but his train of thought was short lived as Winchester exclaimed, These are from Clarke and I. Death thanked them and placed the five presents on the coffee table with the

others. Jim had gotten Winchester a controller for his game system, broken of course so he could have the fun of fixing it. He had wrapped it in a brown paper bag, and was now eyeing it proudly. For Clarke he had found, with only some difficulty, a cheap bb gun. That Jim kept in the closet, not being able to find a paper bag big enough to conceal it. Want to go skip some stones Death? Winchester asked. If Concept wants to, sure. They both looked over to Jim. Why not? On the way there, they passed the piers. Jim punched a Suit in the gut when Death went to get some water. Whatd he do? Winchester asked calmly. Jim shrugged, and told him that Suits do something just by following the societal cult. Winchester nodded, and tripped an oncoming Suit whistling innocently when she stood and glared at him. The rest of the way to the pond, Death couldnt tell why Suits kept snarling every time she turned back toward Jim and Winchester. Although she had a shrewd idea who was behind it. One particular instance Jim missed his target, and was punished soundly by the Suit, who kicked him below the belt. Eyes watering, Jim pretended he had walked into a pole when Death turned around. After that Jim and Winchester stopped harassing Suits. The trip to the pond took much longer than Jim remembered, but that was probably just from the pain. When they reached it, they found it completely iced over. Kids were skating over it. Death sighed, and Winchester plopped down in the snow. Jim turned right back around. Death wondered where he was going, and Winchester answered her unspoken question. Jesus is probably just going back home, I mean theres nothing much to do here. Death sincerely wished that was true, and struggled to fight back the urge to follow him into the snowy city. Jim walked to the piers, and cried on the edge, wondering whether to just fall off, or to stand up and hit more Suits. He watched the ice reform over where her body fell through. The frigid watersJoannes funeral, coffin and burial ground. Still wearing that frayed lace, which is probably reaching up in wisps, like her hair being moved by the gentle tide underneath the hard ice. Jims tears met the water, and began to freeze with it. Bubbling in each tear was the fury of eleven years worth of days-four thousand fifteen, Jim did the math in the gathering snow-and in white that now touched Jims shoulders were the calls of society. Four thousand fifteen days worth. And Jim bathed in all of the mutual resentment and mixed it with his own rage and stood up, slightly shaking, but mentally building up the walls around his own little world. Just add mortar to the flames, and thatll fix everything. The graveyard wasnt too crowded. Only a small weeping party gathered around a newly dug burial. Jim liked the graveyard. It was nicer than most of the places in the city. Flowers lined the perimeter, and iron fences decorated with crossed pulled up from the ground. Jim wondered if after all of the malice Suits committed towards each other, they felt the need to lay the dead respectfully to rest to amend for the mistrust and to apologize for society itself. Even those who had put bullets in each others heads were lain side by side, their hands almost grasped together in an eternal handshake. Jim imagined them saying Touch! as one might after an impressive duel. Jim thought of life and death as he waited for the small group of people to leave. It

was like death was the common ground, the place where society believed you could find the truth no matter what you wrongfully professed. Jim, had a different outlook. In his eyes, death was the loss of life, not the eternal bliss of some fictional paradise. If you wanted the truth, you had to find it while you were still alive. And so all of these people who had forgiven themselves for following a false gospel and departed to death, were only in delusion, thought Jim. People had one chance, not two. And because of a prejudiced world, Joanne had lost hers. The black parade left the grave, the few remaining family members dropping flowers on the mound of dirt. Jim had also picked a flower from the park on his way over. The family soon left too, one by one. Jim walked to the other side of the graveyard, and picked a site at least a few feet from the nearest Suits coffin. He dug a tiny hole. One that wouldnt be visible to the grave keeper, but one large enough that whenever he came to visit he could see it and remember Joanne not for her life but for her dreams. For her happiness, even in death, and for her hopefulness. She was everything that Jim couldnt be. And yet she was dead and he was still there, burying a photo. Jim pushed the dirt back over into the hole. The flower grew limp in his tightly clenched hand. Jim could just imagine Joanne putting the bent flower into her hair and calling something out in an optimistic fashion. Jim smiled, frowned, brushed the tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and pulled out his pocketknife. He marked the spot with an anarchy sign. If anyone saw it they would guess it was some punk trying to be cool, and hopefully not realize that it was a grave marker. Jim flipped his knife closed and laid his flower over the freshly dug grave. It was a wilting lily. The sky had dimmed. Jim bought his knees up to his chin. It was a little uncomfortable, sitting in the middle of the graveyard, but Jim pushed aside the thought of it. The stars were bright that night, and the light illuminated the etched in anarchy symbol. Hey Joanne No one answered. Jim honestly didnt expect her to. But it still wouldve been a comfort to hear her cockney accent fill the night air once more. Death wants me to get rid of my hate, but I dont think I can do that. Look what society did to you! You were qualified for at least half of those jobs, but they didnt pick you just because you were poor. I dont think I can just let go of all of that. Theres too much ignorance in the world to ignore whats right in front of you. The lives we live are to short to spend most of your time pretending to be complacent. Just walking around with a smile on your face, showing society that those stupid smiley face lollipops that the dentist gives you finally won. I dont think I can say that theyre a bunch of ignorant jerks and theres nothing I can do about it. Because there is something I can do. I can stand up, burn their world down. Ive passed the point of not feeling anything, now all I have is my hate and malcontent. Im not dead, not yet, and until I do die Ill light fires and start riots and who knows what else to crack this fragile world. I know thats not what you wouldve wanted, but its what I need to do and I want to know youll be fine with it. Joanne didnt answer. Joanne, just tell me, was it your dream to die without

making anything of yourself? No. So why do you seem so content with your death? Why does no one cry for you? All these questions you left me with. Still no answer. Please, after all Ive done for you can you do one thing for me? He turned his head and cursed softly. Jim screamed into the air. It echoed through the silent city streets. A railway went by overhead. Jim stood up, refusing to cry. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, and walked from the grave with a snarl curled and a fist clenched. He doubled back. Jim dropped another lily onto the grave. He wondered what Death would say if he ever told her about Joanne. Probably something that tried to be comforting, but failed. Then he wondered what Elena wouldve said. Just out of whimsy. Oh Jim, she mightve began, I really wish youd stop visiting that buried photograph. Why? would be his retort. Because, its hurting your mental stability. So are you. You need me. Well maybe I need this too. Jim walked passed a cop car. They said nothing as he talked to himself, attempting to tell his mind that Elena only discouraged him from doing what he needed to do. What was right. Who was he to let Joanne die unmourned? And Elena would only make it all worse. Or so he told himself. Uncertainty crept into his thoughts now, but he tried to pay no attention to them. Jim didnt want to walk all the way home. He curled up on a park bench. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the cold water, and all he felt was the chilled breeze brushing passed his shoulders and arms. Jim wanted to dream of Joannes answers to his questions, but instead found himself replaying her death until dawn. It was the twenty-third now. Jim still hadnt bought Death anything. He had a feeling he wasnt going to. He skipped another stone. It just rolled on the ice, extinguishing in the sharp cold. Jim frowned. Maybe he would go and visit Joannes grave again. The parks lily patch had been almost picked clean. Almost. Jim took another one, leaving the park with only two left and walked over to the graveyard. As he took a right into the alley, Jim lit a cigarette. The smoke didnt calm his nerves. It just made it all worse. He coughed. The alley led straight to the back of the graveyard, where there was a low wall Jim could hop. He dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk before he did so, and stepped on it with the toe of his shoe. He dropped the lily on Joannes grave. Jim scanned the graveyard. No one else was there. All the people who a few days before had laid their relative to rest, had now stopped visiting the grave altogether. Was that all the dead got? A few days of sympathy? Jim wanted to break something. He bet if he kicked over a few tombstones no one would notice or care. Jim sat on the nearest one, swinging his legs back and forth. It was a worn one, probably pretty old. Jim moved aside the tall grass in front of the name. It was too faded to read. Jim chucked rocks at Suits whose lives were so busy, that when they walked passed

the graveyard they didnt look up or give any sign that they even noticed it. Jim was wrong. Life meant nothing to the Suits, yes, but neither did death. It was just a fixture in the rule of the biretta. Just another crayon to color in the lines with, a book to burn or a statue to erect. And when that age of tyranny was over, and a new established, all the old statues would be pulled down and the new, more imposing ones put in their place. The followers of whatever king or dictator was in charge now are just the assassins of the church. They had about as much loyalty as one. The king is dead, long live the king. It was a quote pertaining to the succession of a king by assassination. Death had taught Jim that. And it seemed as though it was perfectly true. When a new presidents in charge, and the country still falls to peril its all blamed on the predecessor, which only a few months before whole world was fawning over. Whoever was president had the power to make people love them. Like all of those girls in eighth grade who had cult like followings because they blamed their woes on the system, and had the looks to make any guys turn. They had a power of sorts, and at least the brains to push their problems off as other peoples faults. Jim wondered how many of those girls had actually actualized their dreams of living in wealth without having to work for it. He hoped none. Jim chucked another rock. And yet Joanne died penniless having worked hard to get a job, only denied the post because she was something unusual, something inferior because she still believed in hope and goodness unconditionally. And she died loving the country that killed her. Self-destruction. Jim contemplated the thought Christmas morning. It was only a little past one, but Jims head was awkwardly pressed against the closet wall. He pushed open the door softly, not wanting to wake any one else up this early. Death would only be tired, and Winchester would probably find the energy somewhere to rip open his present as a little kid would. Then, as the presents are all being admired by their recipients, Winchester would pass out. This was all just a guess, but overall Jim thought it would be best to wait to wake everyone up shouting Christmas while jumping on their beds. Jim laughed at the thought, and would probably just let the smell of waffles drift into the two bedrooms and wake them up. Jim shut the door as quietly as he could. He still hadnt gotten Death anything. Well, there was nothing more in the spirit of Christmas than last minute shopping. Jim looked at how much money he had. He had kept twenty dollars for Deaths present, but couldnt find anything that wasnt just a ploy of corporations aiming for the peoples wallets. Jim kicked his feet up on the park bench. A bunch of drunken Suits were caroling to know one in particular, cursing loudly when they forgot a word. There were four of them, and they all seemed to be singing their own song. A few passed out and fell into the grass, and one stumbled to his car, but fell asleep while climbing over the passengers seat. The last one looked warily at Jim, who looked away. Hey, he called out. Jim ignored him. Get over here! You- he then said something insulting but slurred with the dribbles of drool emanating from his mouth. You

know what day it is? Christmas. Christmas. For Christians. And you atheist, liberal, communist too I bet, and youre all the same. The drunken man wasnt making much sense anymore. He went on for five minutes, saying all the same over again as if contemplating some hidden meaning. You know whats wrong with you? He asked finally. No, what? Jim responded lazily. At this point he wanted to see this man get violent. Thatd make his Christmas. You dont have a home. You dont belong to the church, you dont belong to America, and you dont belong to no decent family. I bet they kicked you out. I bet they couldnt wait to watch you flounder. I bet youre only here cause the rest of the world hates y-you. The man began stuttering again. You got no home, and no values there was a long pause as the Suit struggled to stay awake. You have nothing but those godforsaken gays. Jim jumped up. The man was nearing sleep, and was tipping dangerously. Was he worth it? Was he worth giving up all the hate and malcontent? The man was swaying, and Jims fist was unclenching. No. He wasnt. Jesus doesnt love you, you know I know, Jim answered matter-of-factly. Jim walked from the park, leaving the drunkard to stare intently at his fingers. Jim soon happened upon a shop owner who was selling necklaces. He almost cried. He bought one though, for Death. It was nineteen dollars. The necklace was cheaply made, and the chains broke off in his hand as he tried putting it in his pocket. Jim chucked the broken links across the snow. All he had now was the dyed quartz the shop owner had tried to pass off as a ruby. But now Jim had only a dollar and no gift for Death. Maybe Joanne had some answers. He walked over to the graveyard, which was draped in poinsettia for the holidays. Some carolers, sober ones this time, where singing mournful songs in front of the gates. Jim pushed passed them, elbowing a few in the gut. Joannes grave was covered in snow. Jim almost didnt find it, but saw one of the lilies sticking out from underneath the snow. He placed the destroyed necklace on the grave, telling Joanne that this was her American dream. That her precious society was didnt care about her, didnt care to see her die. That she was a Bat, and the society she worshipped hated the only people who did care about her. Person, Jim corrected, the only person that cared about her. It was now thirteen minutes past three, and Jim was running out of ideas. Or maybe he was just running. Running for something that was impossible to reach. Running around like everyone else. Jim cursed. A passing Suit flipped him off. Jim wanted to punch him. He laid back, next to Joannes buried photo, and watched the stars fade away. He felt his eyelids growing heavier. No, must get presentand he was asleep. At first he dreamed of running mice, but the dream twisted and ripped away, burning into something more sinister. Jim moaned no but the scene changed to a school lunchroom. Jim was sitting all alone. His aunts had blown his lunch money on cigarettes again. But that didnt concern him at the moment. Jim was watching this girl from across the

lunchroom. She had long flowing brown hair, and a tentative smile. She had braces, but at this age half of the students did. She was eating the cafeteria chicken nuggets, which had become a joke around school. You can bounce these! they would say. But the new girl wouldnt have known the rubber-like qualities of the chicken, and therefore wouldve had people sniggering at her back as she struggled to eat them. Jim, however, wasnt laughing. The girl dropped her unopened milk. Eric Lawson went to help her pick it up. She thought he was being nice, but everyone else knew he was just going to say something insulting about her when he returned to his table. Sad thing was, Jim expected that after all of the times hes helped her with something, she was starting to like the ignorant jerk. And, as if on a cue, the table where Eric usually sat burst out into fits of laughter. Hes apparently funny too, Jim could practically hear her think. Yeah, at your expense. It took all of his self-control not to walk over and strangle Eric Lawson. Jims stomach growled. He ignored it, now watching the new girl open her milk hesitantly. A few disjoined laughs. It seemed as though the whole lunchroom was watching her, all but Jim making fun of her every action. Jim felt sorry for her. She had been there a week and still no one sat with her. Its not that she wasnt smart. Maybe it was because shes smart. She was cute too, Jim noticed, staring at her deep green eyes. He stood up and walked over to her, which caused an astonished silence from Erics crowd of goons. Soon, that same astonished hush fell over the whole room. Jim was just waiting for one of them to make some stupid remark, at which hed spin around and chuck his spork at them. The school counselor didnt think he should have knives anymore. But no one made a sound. As Jim sat down, the constant chattering and uneasy murmuring continued again, with a renewed fervor. Hey, he started. He knew exactly what he was going to say. He had planned it out for a week. You see, my friends and I have a little bet, which was a lie, they say youre an old student, but I think youre new. Can you settle this quarrel? The new girl smiled. Im new. Well, then Im Robert, again a lie, and you are? She stuck out her hand. Harriet. Well Harriet, he said, grasping her arm, you look great today. That was all truth. She held onto the handshake a tad longer than she shouldve. Jim pretended not to notice. She opened her mouth, and it seemed as though she changed her mind last second, before saying, Youve been watching me havent you? Jim. Jim blinked a little. So you lied. You lied to me and weve just met. She looked quite stern. Dont think I havent seen all those people making fun of me, trying to get me angry, and Ill bet youre another one arent you? No. What? No. I came over here to see if you had any spare rubber, I mean chicken. My aunts blew my lunch money on smokes, he added when she looked at him quizzically. She

handed him a nugget. Thanks, he murmured. You havent mentioned my wheelchair. Jim, taken aback by this statement, stopped midchew and asked, rather too hurriedly, Why should Ive? Most people do. They ask me why I have it; they ask what its like. It actually grows a bit tiresome. Jim swallowed the rest of the nugget, standing up again. I find if people pay too much attention to things like that, people dont notice how lovely your eyes are. She blushed. They didnt speak again for almost a month, at which point they ran into each other during passing between third and fourth period. Harriet rolled up to Jim, wearing what he later learned to be her favorite shirt. It was an olive green, with a lighter green shamrock in the middle. Hey Jim. Hey. Um, sorry I havent talked to you lately, Ive been going through some things that I really need to figure out Its fine. He patted her on the shoulder. I was wondering, if you had a phone, so I can text you or something because I think Im going to lose it if I dont talk to someone. Jim shook his head. An email then? Yeah, I have an email. He didnt see Harriet in person for the rest of the year. Their classes were on the other side of campus and whenever Jim went looking for her she wasnt there. But every night, at ten oclock, they would correspond. Dear JimThese girls are making fun of me in science. I think Ive had it. I want to do something but dont know what. They just get on my nerves so much. I mean, most of what they do is just stupid, and I know I shouldnt be bothered by it. But then they tell me Im fat, which I guess I am. I started skipping lunch to loose some weight. So if you want it from now on your aunts can keep buying smokes. Although its a nasty habit, and they should really think about quitting. HarrietWhatever you do dont stop eating. I swear. Its not healthy. I will shove the food down your throat if you refuse to eat lunch. And I dont care about my aunts. Ill wait until they pass out and get lunch money from their desk if I really wanted it. But dont worry about those girls. Ill tell them that theyre a bunch of idiotic sluts. Or maybe Ill just shove an egg in their lockerIve been meaning to anyways; they bug me in fourth period English. They keep chucking paper balls at the back of my head. Its really annoying. Well, see you tomorrow, if you want. Dear JimThanks. But I wont see you tomorrow. Im going to my friends funeral. Not sure what happened. Her mother wont say anything. I bet it was suicide. She seemed awfully down lately. Ill find out when I get there. And Ill eat, okay? And it continued on like this. Until soon the messages read things like Jim, they gummed my wheel chair, my hair. Does anyone like me?

Jim decided to stand up for her one day, but as he did Eric Lawson shoved him against the wall and cut across Jims arm. Six weeks later, the cut healed, still leaving a scar. Jim spray-painted the school red, to mimic the blood spilled. Harriet stopped talking to Jim for awhile. Things got worse as she did, her now extremely brief messages turning to a frantic desperation while reading, Do I deserve to live? Does God hate me? And finally, Kill me Jim, just kill me. Jim came to school one day, wondering if he should ask Harriet out to the freshman end of the year dance. Each day he put it off, wondering if it would help her, or just push her off of the edge. Soon the stress made him rip a clump of his hair out in the middle of first period math. They were supposed to be doing the convex polygons, but Jim was busy waging a war in his head. Ask her, itll boost her confidence. Remember when I thought I liked Julie though? I was holding on to that thought for so long it was the only thing that kept me sane. When I realized she was just one of them I lost it. For all we know Harriets holding onto something like that, and if I ask her and she lets go of that little hope to go with me itll rip away any sanity. But not doing anything will eventually kill her. And he ripped his hair out as both sides began screaming their sides at once. The indecision caused him to cry himself to sleep, thinking of what Harriet was going through. One day, a pack of cigarettes was hanging slightly off of the dining table. Jim eyed them, wondering if theyd calm his nerves. They just made it worse, but if he stopped hed collapse in a fit of tears. Soon Jim decided to ask her if she liked anyone. If she said no, hed ask her to the dance. If yes, hed tell her that the guy just had a previous obligation and that he really wanted to go with her. Let her live her delusions if it saved her life. But when he reached the cafeteria there was a crowd around one of the tables. Jim hesitantly pushed his way though, not wanting to find what his imagination played out for him. The air was still, and even Eric Lawson was holding his tongue. Everyones heads were bowed. The teachers stood, dumbfounded. Jim was halfway through now. Tears fell from the girls, and the guys were just glancing around nervously. The football team was seeing who cried first, to figure out whom to beat up in practice. Jim wanted to watch them all burn. He didnt care about crying now. The quarterback and the halfbacks and running backs and all of the other backs could beat him bloody, cram him in his locker, or shove a trashcan over his head. He didnt care. No, Jim thought. I dont want to see this again, this is a dream; Harriet died three years ago And yet Jim kept walking through the crowd, which seemed endless, tears welling in his eyes. If he had only on moment in his life to make up it would be ever talking to Harriet. Maybe then she wouldnt have ever seen the dark side of society; maybe she wouldnt have needed a reason to live, but a reason to die. Jim pushed the last highschooler out of the way, and found himself staring at her limp body. Her favorite shirt was bloody. Jim pushed her brown hair out of her quiet eyes. Her eyesher eyes would never look upon him again and Jim thought that was the thing he was going to miss most about her. He wanted to cry, his tears flowing into her long hair.

So Jim cried. Jim awoke with tears in his eyes. The sun was rising on the far horizon. Jim, unable to remember his dream, thought it quiet odd that he chose this time to remember Harriet. After a few solemn moments, he turned his head to face Joannes grave, and asked, Does society enthrall you now? Does the modern American produce nothing more than hysteria, grief, and death? Think about that. And he left, never to return to the grave of Joanne. Jim soon declared it the worse Christmas of his life. And it was only six-thirty in the morning. If he still had Elenas listening ear, hed tell her everything about Harriet, about how she used to get scared at horror films and always clutched his hand for comfort. Hed leave out the fact that they always snuck in though. Elena didnt need to know that. But she did need to know how Harriet had always treated him decently. And how after her suicide, Jim had pushed all memory of her from his mind. He had lived in a shallow shell of himself trying to hold onto the only thing he had left: the truth. Jim began lying for every little thing, if to wheedle his way out of trouble, or just to make the day more interesting. If he gave up any truth to the enemy, the enemy that had killed Harriet, then hed give the only part of himself worth keeping. Jim was told by the counselor that he was smart. Or actually, that he had the potential for academic greatness. But he never really cared, and was therefore limited. Jims only exercise up to high school was running from danger, but in his freshman year he started lifting weights. He never got that impressive, but could still hit the gyms punching bag pretty hard. Unfortunately, he couldnt extended this skill to harming Eric Lawson. So Jim was an average kid, through and through. His only skill was his quick tongue and the ability to be overlooked. He kept to himself, and kept his truths in the mental box with which he had buried Harriet. So he lived in the shadows of society, hidden by the ignorant bystanders and the curtains pulled over the alleyway slums. He refused to cry anymore. After Harriet, there was no comparable woe to cry for. And now, after Joanne, Jim refused to cry. Unless Death was taken from him too, Jims eyes would remain dry. And if Death was taken, Jim would kill whomever directly responsible. Like he shouldve Eric Lawson, and all of those preps that harassed Harriet to the point of taking her own life with a steak knife she had gotten from her mothers new kitchen set. Her mother was so proud of that set, Jim remembered, but after her daughters death, he had a feeling that each knife was thrown away. Harriets mother was so ignorant of her child. And so were the counselors, and the teachers, and anyone who thought that there was no way a straight A student could possibly want to die. Jim figured that it would be best for him to return to the house, open his presents, and forget about all of his pains in Deaths confident and intelligent smile. He hoped it would work. At the moment, his sadness burned with his anger, like a beacon in the middle of the ocean, calling out to anyone but having no one answer. The graveyard gate creaked close behind him. Death wasnt surprised that Jim hadnt gotten her anything. She expected it really. What she was taken aback with was Jims sudden energy and happiness. And, knowing Jim,

Death guessed that instead of resolving whatever issue he had before, he had simply suppressed it. But, it was Christmas. And today was a day without constant lectures and debates and arguments. Clarke had gotten Jim a watch. It was fairly beat up, but Jim loved it anyways. Death too handed Jim his present, watching gleefully as he opened it. Underneath the wrapping, glistened a new mp3 player. Jim tried keeping his jaw from dropping, but failed. Death pushed it back up for him. Howd you afford this? I didnt. It was mine, bought by my parents. This was before they hated me. I dont listen to music nearly as much as you do, and using it brings horrible memories of my parents to me. So really, I thought itd be better for both of us if you enjoyed it, rather than me letting it gather dust in my nightstand. Jim stood, and dashed off to the closet. He ripped through his duffle, looking for the tattered book that he had carried with him for thirteen years. Jim wiped his hand gently over the embossed title. He remembered his mother, as he handed the book to Death. Concept Itll get ruined in my duffle on my journeys. Id rather it be safe in your library. Death wanted to hug him, but with Winchester watching, she decided it wasnt the best option. It wasnt much of a secret anymore, but Winchester loved her and had since the day they met. Wait, Clarke started, your journeys? That means youre leaving again. Doesnt it? Jim nodded hesitantly. He didnt want to ruin Christmas, but had a feeling he already had. But, as if he hadnt said a thing, they all clustered around the tree, which was just a potted plant from Deaths room. Jim dipped a cotton ball in lighter fluid, and placed the flaming ball on the plant top, as the star. As long as the lighter fluid didnt touch the plant, it would remain undamaged. Death stared at the burning star, enthralled. It twinkled in her eyes, and lit up the whole room when Clarke turned off the lights. Eventually, it burned itself out. But by then they were all asleep next to each other on the living room floor. Jim woke up part of the way through the night, and had the oddest feeling that Winchester and Death had fallen asleep holding hands. His heart fell with his eyes, and Jim felt secretly excluded, and jealous. But Winchester was a good guyJim kept telling himself, trying to fall back asleep. But his heart wouldnt let him. Starting the twenty-seventh, Jim began reading Death with again. At first the prospect was so exciting, that Jim found it hard to not think about it all day. But soon, Jim realized that the more time he spent with Death, the more he loved her. Her short black hair flaunted itself in front of her pale cheeks, and Jim wanted to reach out and hold her. A few times, Jim forgot that he was supposed to be reading. He was too busy watching her lips tighten and relax as she concentrated on the page in front of her. Death would look up at him, motion to the book, and assume that he was just staring of into space. Jim twiddled his thumbs in the time in between. Howd you afford this house? he asked Clarke one day, admiring the crown

molding. It was my grandmothers. She wasnt really my grandmother, but she acted as one. My mother died in childbirth, in the free clinic. She had issues with my fathers disappearance. I guess she never came to grips with it. She told the hospital as she was dying, not to let the orphanage release me to anyone who wasnt directly related to me, because she thought that my dad would come looking for me. He never did. I met Mrs. Beatrice, and she wanted to adopt me, but couldnt. I spent almost all my time at her house after that. This house he added, waving around. She lived alone, but had a decent retirement fund. She willed me the house when she died, because she knew it was my dream to escape the orphanage. So I did. Winchester found me after being kicked out of boarding school for blowing up the third story bathroom. Jim raised an eyebrow. He didnt though, Clarke hastily added. And Death came in a few years later, after she ran away from home. Then me? Pretty much. And now youre leaving. Makes me wonder if Death and Winchester will leave someday too. Clarke sighed. Itd be lonely if they ever did. There was an awkward silence. So Winchester never finished school? Jim asked, just realizing that in all the time he had been with them, he had never seen Death or Winchester attend school, even though both were eighteen. Clarke shook his head. And Death was home schooled before she ran away, self-taught after that. Jim left Clarke to read his comic, and began collecting his stuff. Rag doll Elena was still sitting on the window seat, after all of this time. Although now, it seemed, imaginary Elena was with her, watching Jim. Come back have you? I thought since you arent going to have these guys anymore you might need some company. Thanks. No apology? Sorry. It was a few awkward moments, before Death came into the room and offered to help Jim gather his stuff. She was still hoping he wouldnt go. But it was the end of the month, and Jim wanted to leave before the New Year. Maybe hed go to Massachusetts for a few months. But before he could wonder this, Death reminded him, You need to take Elena back to that one girl you lived with. Antimony, was it? Jim nodded, and instead of putting Elena in his duffle placed her gently in his pocket. As a reminder. As if in an attempt to avoid bidding Jim farewell, Clarke headed outside to shoot his new bb gun. Winchester shook Jims hand firmly. See you later Jesus. Till next time Winchester. Death opened her arms and gestured for a hug. Jim shook her hand. Slightly disappointed, Death looked over to Winchester, who explained Jims discomfort in having his shoulder touched. Among other things, Jim thought. Like not wanting to hold his heart out for the crows and pigeons to fight over. He took a step out the door, and the bright sun caught his eye. Jim was back in the Suits world. He was in their territory. And Death had failed. He was still addicted to anger and hate. Jim looked over to the snow globe that he had gotten Death for her birthday. It was now sitting on the coffee table.

If it shattered, the world would too.

January Pain for Pleasure New Years was always a pain. It was an excuse to get drunk and lead homophobes into the underbelly of the city, the Suits resolutions all being kill more infidels. It sickened Jim. He beat up the first Suit who had asked him if he supported the war. Elena didnt approve, but Jim said he was getting rid of his hate. Of course, that was a lie. Elena had dyed her hair grey, I honor of Joanne, after Jim told her the story. Now Jim wouldnt look at her, for every time he did he saw the Joannes joyous grin broadening. Jim, in order to come to grips with her ignorant bliss succumbing to her perverse death, spray-painted her name on the side of an empty church. They resolved not to talk about her for the next few weeks. It was warming up again, if slightly. So, that night Jim tried sleeping out under the stars, like he used to, but the clouds obscured his vision. Even so, Jim could feel the presence of the bombers, waiting for him to move. His sleep was restless that night, visions of a grieving Death standing over his dead body. Jim watched all of this and wondered, where was he? He looked around. Slowly the scene with Death dissolved around him, and swirling colors muted to a monochrome grey. And Death called to him, not Jennifer Harrow, but the actual Death. The one with the black cloak and shining scythe. It looked him over. Then, in a female voice, asked, Are you Concept? Jim nodded, taken aback by the voice. What? Death asked, dropping her hood, you expected me to be male? Are you no better than the Suits, whose gods and goddesses over the years are nothing but hollow representations of themselves? And now the Christian Jesus is white, when he supposedly was born in the Middle East? Because the Europeans cannot lose the son of their creator, their savior. You come into this afterlife expecting it to conform to your thin ideas? You are truly a Suit. Do you expect a heaven? A hell maybe? A god, a devil, even I am a figment of humanitys wondering. Although, I assure you they are not so keen to depict me as feminine. How can you try to find something that you already think you know? You cant, Jim answered, frightened now. I expected more from you Concept. But you have much more to learn yet. Do I? Because I was under the impression that knowledge is the pale information of truth that life presses upon us. I was under the impression that one cannot learn while alive. Well, you are almost right. One can learn. One just has to find the void where all of society cannot enter. For how else would it be an empty void, if not for the absence of human thought. There is where the unhindered can find a truth. How do I know this place isnt just another idea formed by society? You cant. You just have to hope. Jim didnt want to talk about his dream the next morning. It perplexed him, because he knew he had dreamed. Jim had always assumed before that he couldnt dream anymore, but now that the lingering serenity of a dream had carried into the morning, Jim knew that every day since his mothers death, he had felt that same tingling in his arms, the same alleviation of the heart and clearness of the mind.

Every night since his mothers death, he had dreamed. It troubled him though, that he couldnt reach into the depths of his mind and pull out recollections of these dreams. He shouldnt try, for who knows what misery had pushed itself from his memory? But still, the intense curiosity burned within him. Jim calmed himself with his lighter. It didnt really matter what the dreams were of, Jim thought. For now, all that mattered was that he had even dreamed at all. Jim looked at his watch. Five oclock January second. The time where most people were breaking their resolutions. Jim laughed at this, thinking that he never really made his resolution. Jim pulled out a nickel and told himself that if it were he would try to dream more often, if tails he would loose his hate. He flipped the coin. Heads. Elena looked him over, trying to find a nugget of dishonestly. Jim showed her the back of the coin. Another heads. She slapped him in the shoulder and laughed. They departed the park that Jim had slept in the night before. A few Suits gave him dirty looks. Jim spat at them. The world was spinning slowly, and all of the Suits and Bats revolving with it. Each day spun out of control, all somehow sticking within the same guidelines as the day before. It was the orderly disorder that bugged Jim. The way that all free thought was burned into a chaotic inferno whilst the timetables were all punched, and the everyday life was maintained. It was as if taking the unexpected out of the equation was the most unexpected thing a true human could do. But then again, Suits hardly counted as people. Joanne hadnt believed Jim when he had told her that. Jim wanted to smash something. Itd be a disruption, which would put things back how it was all supposed to be. But it couldnt be that simple, he thought, and walked on. His feet began hurting after a few hours or so, but he ignored them. Elena told him to sit down, but he refused. He wanted to make it to the railway station before sundown. He could then sleep on the railway and let it take him to wherever. When he woke up hed get off, and wander the streets of whatever city he landed himself in. Elena said this idea was pointless and risky. Jim told her that she was no fun. They passed a pool of blood spilled from a dead duelist. If one could call a drunken fist fight a duel. The victor was stricken with horror, grasping his mouth and waiting for the police to come. The bombers were pleased. All the mindless violence caused tiny little of splatters of blood to drip over the world, and from the blood sprang tension. People at each others throats, bombs built and aimed overseas, and for what? Mutually assured destruction. Bats is right. All scurrying over each other to reach the deepest darkest hole to hide in, covering ones ears as to not hear the roar of the bombs dropping over the pathetic bunkers built in the minds of a nation. Jim watched as slowly the dreams of a previous generation died in the arms of their successors. The fire and brimstone rain over the scattered, forgotten hopes of a people and

slowly burn them all away, taking time to perform a coordinated ballet of discord and chaos for any onlooker. A neo-Cold War between the prejudices of America and the all-powerful rulers of far off lands. No life without thought. Once thats taken away, with all the books burnt and the radios smashed, the websites blocked and television channels restricted, the will to live suffocates in an era of gormless allies and trigger-happy foes. Justice turns to nothing but partial juries convicting the innocent and condemning them to an unwarranted hell, one of heightened interrogation techniques, and heroes of war bathed in the blood of civilians. All because of a few drunken bar fights. Jim watched the blood from the sidewalk run into the storm drain. It was being hosed down by an expressionless bartender. Jim flipped him off, kicking at the puddle of blood as he walked past. So indifferent were the words of the sun as it told the moon, Let my light illuminate the paths to heaven and hell, let your hope illuminate the darkest night. It was a line from Starship Serenade. Jims favorite line. Jim wished that he could talk to the moon, and all of the stars. Hed ask them why he felt so guilty loving Death. Why he had to leave as soon as he knew he couldnt even be around her anymore without his heart beating faster, his hands shaking slightly and all of his thoughts replaced with her. But then Jim realized that the moon would have more important things to do than listen to him. Crestfallen, Jim leaned against the side of a tattoo parlor. It was going out of business. Jim had the sudden urge to get a tattoo with Death in black, a glowing ember behind it. He then remembered his hatred of needles, and shook the idea from his head. Elena said the tattoo wouldve looked stupid on him anyways. He was too skinny. Jim wanted to change the world. He wanted to revolutionize social thought, provide a commentary on life that could only be spoken from the broken. Only, who would listen? Then, it became painfully clear who wouldve listened to every word hed have to offer. Who could even help shape his ideas, who wouldnt criticize his pessimism, but rather contrast it with her own, realistic optimism. Death would. And he had left her, and Winchester his new best mate, and Clarke the elder brother of them all. Jim wanted to punch himself. But remorse wasnt the fuel for his engine, hate was. So he quickly went in search of a Suit to annoy. Elena looked a bit disappointed with herself, clearly unable to be the company that Death could. Jim told her not to worry about that, but soon found himself without an Elena. She was too busy singing to herself while watching the birds cluster around her ankles. Jim wondered if the birds knew she was there, or if it was a mere coincidence. Jim made to leave. Elena didnt follow. Shell catch up, he thought, and continued on his way. Jim put his headphones in his ears, and turned on his present from Death. He hadnt even hugged her before he had left. But there was no turning back. Jim had made that clear when he had run away. He had planned to do so after his high school graduation, shortly after he turned eighteen. Life, however, had another surprise for him. On the year anniversary of Harriets suicide, all of the preps and jerks that thought it was funny to tease her and mess with her stuff tried telling him they were sorry. Even Eric Lawson had his head bowed the whole day.

The year after that was the same, although Lawson, being the inconsiderate idiot of the school, had obviously already forgotten the date of Harriets death. He had thought it was the next week, and therefore called all of the guys who apologized to Jim sissies. One of the transfer students from higher upstate punched him. Jim wanted to join the kid, but didnt want to sully Harriets memory with a fistfight. Eric put the transfer student in the nurses office. At lunch, Jim was bouncing the rubbery chicken, and a smile grew on his face. The next thing he knew, a chicken nugget bounced off of the back of Eric Lawsons fat head. He turned around, very slowly. Jim was flipping him off. Lawson stood, enraged, and swore that hed kill Jim. The teachers all heard this, but did nothing. Jim expected they were afraid of Lawson too. Eric then bounded over the table and lunged at Jim. Lights flashed before his eyes, as the air was strangled out of him. It took the whole football team to pull Lawson off. Death wasnt entirely accurate when she assumed that Jim had never hit backJim then swung as hard as he could, all of the rage at Harriets premature death fueling the single hit. It broke Lawsons nose. Seeing the sudden rage and his own death in Lawsons eyes, Jim then punched him in the neck, and watched the quarterback gasp for air. The teachers still stood in the back of the cafeteria, food hanging from their partially open mouths. The football team stepped back, shocked mostly, but also slightly afraid of Jims sudden outburst. When Lawson regained his breath, Jim jumped on his chest and just kept punching They carried him away on a stretcher. Jim knew his aunts would kill him if they ever found out, so he snuck into his room through the window, and emptied out the duffle bag that he had been using as a backpack. He refilled it with his clothes, some CDs and his mp3 player. He had a stash of junk food that he had found in the fridge, and had moved to his room to ensure that he could eat. He dumped it all in the duffle. Jim then left, the day before his seventeenth birthday, to embark on a journey across America. If only he wouldnt have punched Eric Lawson. Jim cursed. No turning back. That was his motto. The railway started picking up speed. Jim watched it go, soon a red streak in the distance. He left, the Suits all watching him. Elena followed, although the Suits couldnt watch her too. Jim hopped down the stairs, Elena close behind. They took the bus to the old apartment. The complex was standing there, taunting Jim with a simpler time. But now, Jim wouldnt trade the world for his time with Death. Teetering on the edge of remorse again, Jim shook his head to no one in particular, and entered the complex. When the attendant saw him, he rubbed his eyes and, finally realizing it wasnt just a horrible nightmare, froze in a fake sleep. Jim laughed. He descended the stairs and rasped his knuckles on the door. No answer. He could hear music going, and knew at once that Antimony was too feigning sleep. Probably thought he was a Suit or something. Jim knocked again. Still no answer. Im not going away Antimony! he hollered.

At once the door flung open. Mr. Concept! she shrieked, and threw her arms around his neck. Where have you been? Jim smiled, and told her he grand story. Well, nothing like thats happened to me, she started. She told Jim how she now had a boyfriend, one named Derrick. Hes so kind Mr. Concept. You should meet him. He paints; I have some of his works hanging in the living room. Do you want to see? Jim, although having no real reason to see these paintings, nodded. Antimony led him into the apartment, and when she turned around, Jim was holding up a familiar rag doll. She threw her arms around Jim once more, and he swore he heard her suppressing tears. He pretended not to notice, though. They ate some of Antimonys homemade cookies-they were Jims favorite, vanilla with chocolate chunksand drank hot cocoa. Jim remembered Winchester. Hows life treated you Mr. Concept? Still trying to find an escape from the society that hunts you so relentlessly? Jim nodded, unaware that Antimony was joking. The mood darkened. Antimony took a loud sip of cocoa. Jim followed suit. As he did, he saw something different about her. Antimonys eyes flitted about the room, and her tremulous stance was only exaggerated by her waving red hair. Jim glanced at Elena, which told her to leave them in privacy. Whats wrong? Nothing. Antimony Ive been cutting myself. She looked shameful as she said it. I tried to stop, but I think Im addicted now. It all started when you left. I had nowhere to go so I remained in the feeble world you built for me. And it began falling. Derrick brought me from that, but not until after I looked for anyway to take away the pain. Ironically, the only way to do so was to bask in it. I cant stop. Derrick left me because of it. I just cant go without feeling misery to put the rest of the world at ease. It throbs in my head, pounds in my veins. If feel as thought if I dont cut, Im going to explode. Every tear I shed cleans me a little. Of what I cant tell you. Maybe of myself. Maybe I deserve to be in pain, maybe I dont. In the end it doesnt really matter. The red soothes me. And its entirely your fault. Im not trying to blame you; Im just answering your question. If I could go one day without taking a knife to my wrists, I would. I dont like having to suffer to put my mind at rest. I want to be normal, to feel pleasure from happiness, to burn myself and have it hurt, not have it comfort a deep psychological wound. I want to be able to love and not punish myself afterward because I have something I dont deserve. I want to have someone wholl help me, but not one like you. You try, but you cant help me. Youre just one of those people whose life revolves around suffering. Someone who wherever he goes the world gets a little darker, the flowers wilt a little and the happiness of a people is reduced to spilled blood over a linoleum countertop. Good-bye Mr. Concept. See you someday Antimony, and happy belated birthday. Jims head swayed slightly as the railway made a sharp left turn. Was Antimony right? Everyone had left him. His mother, Harriet, Joanne, and now Antimony. The only ones that hadnt he had abandoned. Jim felt sick. Elena was asleep. He wanted to ask her what she thought. Maybe fate

did exist, and maybe it wanted Jim to traverse this world alone. It was only a matter of time before he awoke and found Elena gone, with only a note telling him that his life is too harsh for a normal person. But then the question was, why? Why must he grope his way through dimly lit streets, alone and gaze up to the watchtowers, to find the bombers still laughing contemptuously. What purpose did he serve in solitude? Or was there no purpose to be served? Jim contemplated this as they passed station number three. Elena stirred. Jim watched a Suit and her husband enter the railway. They were both shivering, and Jim couldnt help but laugh. They looked over, Jim burying his head in his duffle. They took their seat across the isle from Jim. He ignored them. Mr., the man Suit asked, leaning across the isle. Jim pretended not to have heard. Sir, you seem to have dropped your wallet. Jim looked down, and sure enough his wallet was on the floor, open, and all of his money was flapping about by his feet. He bent down to pick it up, murmuring his thanks. The man smiled, and leaned back in his seat. A few minutes later, and the Suit leaned over again, holding a newspaper. Oh dont bug the kid Phil, his wife said exasperatedly. The Suit leaned back in his seat, first muttering, He just looked sad about something. Was the Suit showing concern for him? Jim thought. After taking a closer look at the middle-aged couple, Jim smiled and relabeled them as Bats. The wife was holding a Bible. Maybe Death was right. Not all Christians were bad. Jim meandered about, finally ending up at the frozen pond where he and Death had skipped fire many times. He picked up a smooth stone. But instead of skipping it, he hurled it as hard as he could straight into the center of the pond. It smashed through, the crack reverberating across the park. The pigeons fluttered about, and the Suits stared. The bombers laughed menacingly. Jim followed the fractures with his eyes, watching the thin ice split apart at the slightest provocation. His hate was bubbling up again. Jim fed on it, before it fed on him. He reached down, and grabbed the anger and malevolence and ripped it out and feasted on it. He didnt need food or water if he had his malice to eat. Jim smiled meekly, the corners of his mouth twitching. He had thought the world was running, but now realized it was more of a desperate crawl. Whenever someone tried to stand, to escape, they were pushed back down. Told to run for their lives but forced onto their knees. Their ideals submissive to the self-righteous insurrections. It was time for the world to let go of all of their fears, and embrace all of the broken dreams that had been lost to the future they thought they knew. But Jim knew that was never going to happen. He left the pond to freeze back over, the cold healing all of the cracks Jim had carved into the ice. Jim walked away with his head hung low. Death was still the forefront of his mind. The hotel room was small. It hurt him slightly, to know that Death was so close by, yet he couldnt tell her anything. He couldnt talk to her about her day, or watch her fingers

rasp over the coffee table. Jim rolled over. Elena was out on a walk. Maybe he should join her. Then he could watch the house, remember all of his happiness within those walls. Jim thought of how long itd take him to walk down to the house. Probably ten minutes or so. And everything would be all better. At least in his mind. Jim walked down to the library. It was empty. The dark shelves yielded no new books, and the librarian was asleep. It was as if a morose hush had fallen over the building. Life had come calling, and the librarian had held her finger to her lips. The night embraced the shadows and they all merged together in a symphony of darkness. At least in his mind. Was the whole world in his mind? Did Death even exist, or was she like Elena, a figment of his mothers love and his longing for a friend? Who was to say that Jim wasnt really catatonic in some asylum somewhere, and that this reality was all a sick dream? These thoughts and ideas drifted in the realm of insecurity, and through the silent night. At least in his mind. Jim took a coin from his pocket. He flipped it, and closed his hand. Heads, he thought, hed go back to Death. Tails, he wouldnt. Jim slowly opened his hand. Heads. He flipped it over. Heads too. He groaned. But then, an idea struck him. Tails hed tell her he loved her, heads he wouldnt. He flipped the coin, and blamed it all on fate. Punk rock cured all ails. At least for Jim it did. If for a moment or two he could forget all of his troubles and close his eyes to the world. But, unlike the Suits, he always had to open them again. And the quiet streets were still there. The remnants of a hostile mind and a desperate heart. A lobotomy of the soul. That was society. It was the freedom to be a puppet, to live by anothers ideals. They tried so desperately to have free will that they gave the people to freedom to enslave the others. The gave the church the power of propaganda, and the popular the power of manipulation. Yet all of the Suits who created such a monstrosity, could just squeeze their eyes shut and stick their fingers in their ears. And it wouldnt exist anymore. Jim had to live it, had to feel it drive a stake into his chest and attempt to hoist him on the battlements. He was forced to watch people die from over exposure to this world, and couldnt leave it himself. Suicide was never an option. Not after Harriet. If he died then the Suits won. If there was anything worse than living, it was dying. Joanne didnt have to die. Neither did his mother. And he wouldnt. The bombers could bath the world in fire and hed find a way to continue suffering. Jim was just that stubborn. Jim closed his eyes again. It didnt work. All he could see was the starry night lit ablaze with the various streetlights spewing their infernal rays into the darkness. Jim cursed. He tried to sleep. It was too cold. He tried to stay awake. He was too tired. Maybe it was just time to give up and watch the lighter burn away the air. But his lighter was out of fluid. Jim groaned loudly, his exasperation echoing across the long, distant streets. He tried closing his eyes once more. The world vanished, if only until Jim had to watch it once

more. Jim ran to Death, embracing her with open arms and never letting her go. The smell of her hair drifted across Jims whole world, and he closed his eyes, a serene smile the only thing he could hold onto, the only thing telling him that this wasnt all just a dream. Deaths heart beat quicker, and Jim could feel it against his chest. Her slender fingers wrapped their way around his neck, and his calloused hand hugged her back vigorously. Jim wanted to kiss her. To show her that he had loved her since they met, even if he didnt know it at the time. He opened his eyes. Jim was lying on the park bench, still clutching his lighter. The serene smile had lied to him. Jim cursed at the smile. He tried closing his eyes again, wanting to fall asleep and pick up the dream right where it left off. With his lips an inch from Deaths. He squeezed his eyes shut. It didnt work. Jim rolled over, glancing at Elena. She looked kind of cute curled up in a ball with the grass poking through the strands of her hair. Jim smiled. He tossed and turned for awhile, before falling into a dream filled slumber once more. Images of riots flooded his subconscious, fires burning and bottles breaking. There are too few riots, Jim realized. A society at peace was one that hasnt heard whispers of revolution and anarchy. No world was perfect, and it was the right of the people to abolish any governing body to better protect the freedom of the people. Yet the Suits couldnt comprehend that. They thought their world was perfect, and therefore revolution-proof. Take up arms, Jim thought, take up torches and sing the song of angst. Rework the order of society to fit the freedoms of all, not just the Suits. Light fires into the blockades, both socially and mentally. Force the once limited and oppressive world to rid itself of its boundaries. But, Jim thought, people were too scared to take action. People like Antimony, who now found solace in their own pain and suffering. People like Joanne, whose revolution was the revival of morality. She tried to teach the world to show compassion again. It was revolution, in a way, Jim admitted, now suddenly ashamed of his final words to Joannes grave. Jim swore that if he ever had the opportunity to right an injustice in his pyromaniacal way, he would. He also swore that if he ever saw Eric Lawson again, hed send him of in a stretcher again, a recompense for the injuries sustained at his hand. And a final farewell for Harriet. The dream changed from riots to rain. A downpour, actually. Jim was watching from the car window. An ambulance was parked beside them. They loaded a body in, the black bag pulled all the way over their face. No sirens as they pulled away. It didnt disturb Jim really; he knew she was dead hours ago. You want anything kid? one of his aunts called. The only time they were half-way decent to him. It only took his best friends death to get them to stop calling him hey you, and even then he was addressed as kid. Jim shook his head. His shivering had nothing to do with the cold. Harriets mother was crying. The school had called her, and immediately she had raced over to meet her daughters killers. Now she was hiccupping over by the ambulance, refusing to meet any of

the teachers eyes. She glared over at Jim from time to time. Jim glared back. The other kids had been sent back to class. Jim turned up the stereo, trying to hide from Harriets mom. He had always hated her. She once told her daughter that the dress she wore for picture day looked like it was something a prostitute would flutter about. And she wondered why her kid couldnt take it anymore. Then, Harriets mother stopped hiccupping, and began walking over to Jims car. He turned off the radio, hopeful. She motioned for him to roll down the window. So he did. Youre that Jim kid that Harriet was always talking about right? He nodded. I knew you were always trouble. Dont think youre coming to the funeral. A good kid like that Eric Lawson, maybe. But you? You dont deserve to mourn her. Get back to class. Suck it up. You never liked her, anymore than your aunts like you. Thats right, weve talked. Theyve told me what kind of hoodlum you are. Now look what youve done. Shes dead. And its all your fault. Sometimes Jim felt like it was. Elena was worried for Jim. The longer he spent alone, the more he though of the mistakes of his past. Jim was worried too much on fixing his past wrongs, than making sure he doesnt make anymore. Like leaving Death. Elena knew Jim would never forgive himself for that unless he went back, and even with a promise to a coin to return (Elena could only guess what that meant) he refused. Elena knew he loved Death, and just telling her would relieve the tension from his chest. Not completely, but somewhat. Jim decided if he was to return at all, he was to return worthy of her company. Elena said this was stupid, but Jim was obviously too stubborn to listen. It was late now. The straggling Suits all seemed to merge on the church, which Jim thought wasnt all that unusual, except that they all seemed to be carrying a righteous rage. Jim sat up straighter. After an especially short sermon, they disbanded. Jim closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He was glad that this particular January seventeenth was over. It seemed to drone on for ages, each hour a lifetime of contemplating past mistakes. Sleep took him, as exhausted as he was, in only a few minutes. Crosses were painted in red on the sides of walls. In the dream, Jim walked closer. Upon closer examination, it wasnt paint, but blood. Jim wiped it off of his hands as quickly as he could. A Molotov cocktail flew through the air. It crashed next to him, spewing out distorted clocks. When he woke, he found nothing but darkness. His beating heart slowing in relief. A man was sitting on the grass on the other side of the park. Jim went to close his eyes once more. But something disturbed him about the man. He was too quiet, too calm. The cold, mid-January air brushed past both of them. Yet the man still sat there, staring off into space. Jim stood, having half a heart to walk over to him. Elena woke, and told Jim to ignore the man. But Jim could tell something was wrong. He started walking over. Slowly, each step landing only hard enough to bend the grass under his feet. The man didnt move. Jim was now only a few feet away. The world seemed to stop, Elenas calling dying away in the wind, the stars faded

and muted into the dark backdrop on which they were sewn. Sir, Jim started tentatively. What nightmare have you come from? Jim was at first unsure of how to answer this, but quickly realized that his answer was the question hed been asking all along. Society, a nightmare without truth. Or dreams. Then ascend from it. Awaken. Find the hell youre running to, and burn it to the ground. Change direction and loose yourself in a paradise beyond your society. If only it was that easy. If only one could choose where to run. But we have no direction. We are lost in a forest without a path to find our way out. The trees are our nightmare, and there is an escape. But one that can only exist though the end of the nightmare itself. So we cannot run from our fate? the man asked. No. Jim answered. The man scratched his long, grey beard. He fixed his ripped sleeves. Then, in a scholarly manner that rivaled the thinkers of Greece, he asked, What is the meaning of the forest? Why does it grow too inhibit, when it could easily grow to nurture our farms and civilizations? Why must one burn down the world we know and start anew to bring about change? Can the forest not direct its trees? Or has the world we are encumbered by become a derelict upon the still waters of thought? Jim thought for a while, and recognized this man as a philosopher of the new age. Unfortunately, it was a society in which the philosophic and the thoughtful were rejected to the park corners, where the mind would slowly eat itself, in an effort to survive, and leave nothing but the philosophies that had become heresy in the new order. These were the ideals of a nation, submitting to the whim of a society. Jim visited the man, who he had come to call the Modern Philosopher, every day for a week, proposing new trains of thought. Sometimes they dealt with the world around them. Other times, they dealt with Death. If we should be so ignorant as to not announce our love at the time of budding, then how can we expect the woman we care for to listen? Jim asked. We cannot. We must simply hope our mistakes and lateness can later be amended for. If the woman in question loves you too, then your path is easy. It is better to love later than to wallow in misery and contemplate the past misconduct. But she does not. Or at least, I dont know if she does Then the path is harder to ascertain. For at which point has hoping for her love become a dream where we havent set the rules? When we enter the dangerous realms of those dreams, we must be wary as to not set the surrounding members of such dreams as stereotypical roles in such a fantasy. So whats that mean for me? Youre life is not a story book Concept. You cannot expect her to feel for you, and it would be unwise to do so. It will only lead to both of your sorrows. So should I tell her? On the whole, I think not. Jim had known this answer all along, but it made him more certain to hear the Philosopher say it. He left, saddened but reassured. He tried to sleep that night. Jim wasnt all together sure if what happened next was a dream or not. He stood from the park bench, and watched a group of rats run along the street. When they left, the faint disturbing feeling in his stomach remained. Death could make it all better. He should ask the Philosopher about it the next day.

Jim stumbled back to the park bench, and as though someone was watching him, fell asleep with his arm around Elenas shoulder. What do you think about time travel? The Philosopher smiled. He was still staring at the same lamppost that he had been watching the day they met. Jim had a sinking feeling that he never moved. Moving to science fiction are we? Fiction can be used to tell great truths. The Philosopher laughed. Well then young Concept, Ill ask you something. Do you think itll ever work? Yes. Hm, think of this. You go back in time to save someone. Then they live and effect the people around them, who effect those around them, and you have a ripple that changes the whole world. Whats to say in the new world you even have a time machine? How then can this whole turn of events be possible? But what if you did still have a time machine? It wouldnt matter. In order for the time to flow as it did, the same exact you would need to travel back in time, as he did before. And wouldnt you say that your surroundings determine who you are? Jim nodded solemnly, thinking to himself that there was no way to save his mother, or Harriet or Joanne. He then again had the nagging feeling that it was all his fault. Jim stood to leave, knowing himself to be dismissed. But he looked at the Philosopher. He was still staring at the lamppost. Abe, whats so important about that light? Ill tell you someday young Concept. Ill tell you someday. Jim watched the starry night emerge from the blood red sunset. A few fires were still burning. The streetlights were lit now, although half of them were either broken or the bulbs had burnt out. Elena commented on this, and Jim realized that she was afraid of the dark. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she shut her eyes tightly to avoid watching the darkness shroud the sky. Jim wondered what was going through her head. Elena squeezed his hand, and Jim remembered Harriet. Without thinking, he jerked his hand away. Elena looked hurt. Jim didnt sleep that night, but rather considered the Philosopher. What couldve happened by that lamppost that could render such a catatonic worship? Did someone die there? If so who? Or maybe part of the Philosopher died there. Like Jims hope died with Harriet. His innocence with his mother. His last remaining respect for humanity with Joanne. Unfortunately, his hate will only die when he does. Jim spat off to the side. The world wanted him to listen but kept giving him reasons to shut his ears. To hold a pillow over his head and scream into the night. And the Philosopher didnt trust him. Jim wanted to punch something. Fredrick had told him that life sometimes wasnt worth living, but if you gave up and died then society won. If only they could find a happy medium. Jim had told Antimony that, and she had found her medium. Pain. Jim wanted to take it all back. But the Philosopher had crushed that dream. Theres always a chance to amend for your mistakes, Fredrick had told him. He was wrong. All the good in the world

couldnt make up for hurting one young woman. Eric Lawson could be the greatest Samaritan in the world, and Jim would be forced to break his teeth for Harriet. There could be no rectifying mistakes. Jim thought of all of his past errors, and wondered why he couldnt just kill himself. Because, then the Suits would win Antimony drank her coffee uneasily. Jim was watching her intently. She had pulled down her sleeves to hide her red wrists, but that didnt stop Jim from knowing they were there. She felt bad about how things ended the last time he had come over; it was all true but she felt bad about saying it all the same. Jim rasped his fingers on the coffee table. She smiled weekly, but then turned back to her coffee. Jim wanted to help her, but as she said, his life revolved around misery and hate. Hed only push her to cut worse. To cut deeper and more vigorously. Jim winced. Antimony shook her sleeves down further. Like a veil can mask the lies of the Suits, her sleeves could mask the pain. At least to Jim. She could never mask it to herself. She never needed to. It was a mask itself, to cover the woes of the world in one clean incision. Jim disagreed with this argument. Antimony just kept smiling forcefully. She told him about Derrick. He sounded like a Bat to Jim, but was special to Antimony and that was all that mattered. He hurt her though. He had refused to even try to help, to let her continue loosing blood, while just walking away to make-out with some Suits daughter behind the nearest bar. At least, that was Jims impression. Antimony said that he was lovely, that he could write so well and sing to her. At this, tears welled in her eyes. Jim glanced warily over to the kitchen knife, and was wondering if he should sneak it into his duffle. Antimony was glancing over at it too, with a look of longing. Jim stood, and placed himself between her and the kitchen counter, in what he hoped was a casual manner. She mouthed her thanks. Jim took off his jacket, and asked Antimony to do the same. She just squirmed I her seat. Maybe if she saw her wounds shed realize how pointless it was. But Antimony refused to take off her jacket. Jim accepted defeat, and left, not without taking the largest knife however. If she wanted to feel pain that was her prerogative. But she wouldnt kill herself. Jim had seen too many good people die that way, and wouldnt watch her slit her throat too. He took the knife and stuck into the nearest tree, his own makeshift memorial to those who dont have the strength to endure society, and for those in anguish because of others choices to end their lives. Like he had been. Harriet hadnt even asked him to help her. It was like she wanted to die so much that she wouldnt tell the one person who could talk her out of it. Jim didnt want her to die. But she had, and it was all he could do was to stab a tree with a kitchen knife. He walked away from the memorial, suppressing tears. Jim woke one day to find the Philosopher laughing, all the while refusing to take his eyes

off of his sacred lamppost. Why do you stare at that thing? So I can remember. Remember what? I proposed to my wife there. Went down on one knee, right by the number six lamppost. Six was her favorite number, and my designation in he office where I studied. I was diagnosed with a degenerative brain disease the next day. It was June seventh. We sold the house to move me to a ward. She died of a little known poison that occurred when her favorite type of seafood is overcooked. It boils a gland and turns it lethal. One of the weirdest ways to die, I guess his voice trailed off, and his beard wavered in the wind. Jim had an itch, but didnt dare scratch it. He could see the memories in the old mans eyes, and found them unsettling at their very best. But he kept watching. Go on he urged. I was released when I lost my health insurance. I still had a bunch of money from working at NASA, but I didnt want to spend my life cooped up in the place where my wife died. I wanted to live where we were last happy. I wanted to remember the look on her face when I showed her the emerald ring I had bought. I wanted to live that look in her eyes, I want to be able to see her again. My brain is just going to turn to a mush anyways. At the hospital I was diagnosed with social anxiety, paranoia, acute obsessive-compulsive disorder, and who knows what else. I can hardly remember anymore. I know I dont want to. I wish to spend my time contemplating the meaning of life rather than focusing on the flaws in mine. I sold my house and all my possessions. Came to live in the park that I loved as a kid, observed as an adult, and had lost everything to while in the graying years after. I came to explore realms of thought not touched by the current society. I want to question the world, because no one else will. I want to let kids like you have a full life, by learning by my mistakes. What mistakes? Not asking Lucy to marry me when I met her. Jim nodded, and stood. Tell Death you love her Concept. Shell want to know. Dont wait until its too late. If you dont mind me asking, what kind of brain disease do you have? You know the kind that takes away youre senses? The kind that makes you blind before it kills you? Yeah. I have that. The Philosopher stroked his beard. Jim walked away solemnly, the wind rustling the leaves around his ankles. The Philosopher continued staring at a lamppost he couldnt see. Jim tossed and turned. Death was holding him again. She was crying into his shoulder. It was odd, and Jim couldnt tell why she was suddenly sobbing. She looked up to him, and brought her lips closer Jim jerked awake. Again when he drifted off to sleep, he had become devoutly thankful that Death couldnt watch his dreams. Nor Elena for that matter. Jim rolled over, and tried to close his eyes once more. But something caught his eye. The Philosopher, where even in sleep he would watch the lamppost. Jim felt sorry for the old guy. Jim closed his eyes, and felt his mind go blank. The only thought that drifted into his almost unconscious state was the thought of the morning, and what it would bring

There was nothing. Nothing but the faint twinkle of stars. Jim ran his fingers along the clean metal of the starship. He smiled. He took in a deep breath and took in the solitude. Just life, beating in a subtle hum, echoed within the expanse of the ship, resounding without the hindrance of society. Jim wanted to stay here forever. The grand homecoming party would wait. Jim kicked his feet up on the desk. The stars congratulated him. He bowed to each in turn, and took the helm. If there was a truth out there, Jim would spend eternity finding it. And if he couldnt Jim didnt want to think about that. He turned up the music, and squinted his eyes, to see into the darkness. It soon swallowed him up, and all that was left of the starship was the trail of light it left in the unformed void. The space tilted slightly, and all of existence was but a mere speck in the vastness of the dark. The eternal night, the black canvas in which the planets and stars where painted upon, seemed to be only the beginning of the shadow. It was only the start of the void in which Jim must delve. Unfortunately, the night hadnt given the time to grasp the next leg of his journey. It couldnt give him the steps onto the world he was so driven to find. It only gave a slight glimpse of Death as he awoke. Ugh, Jim yawned, chucking his duffle at Elena to wake her up. It landed beside her, creating a large thump and sending Elena jumping from her blissful dreams. Nice to finally see you up. She stuck her tongue out at him. Jim walked over to the still sleeping Philosopher, who was across the park. Jim dropped the last of his money in the olds mans hat, which was always outstretched for a few dollars. He paid other hobos to buy him his food, so that he would never have to leave his seat. Jim also put half of a sandwich in the hat-he had wrapped it in deli paper first-and ate the other half. Elena wanted to try it, and scowled when she realized that a voice in someones head couldnt eat. It was ham and Swiss cheese, with some cheap mayonnaise slathered on top. Jim said it was okay. He looked up, and could still somewhat see the moon, out of place in the light blue sky. Jim laughed, and remembered his dream. There was some truth to it, but Jim doubted that there was any possibility for him to board a spaceship and take off without a crew to pester him. But if there was, Jim was sure to exploit it. Hed jettison out somewhere far away, and live on dehydrated noodles and fruit. Jim thought for a moment about this perfect life, and realized it wouldnt be perfect without Death reading in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing over and kissing Jims cheek. He shook the thought from his mind. Jim put in his headphones, and drowned the world out in music. A figure. It was slumped in the shadows, trembling slightly. Jim had been watching the person for several minutes now, wondering if they would move or not. They hadnt, except for the uncontrollable shaking. Jim kept watching, growing more intrigued, and more concerned. Probably a hobo, but he couldnt see a pack. Usually all hobos had a pack, and if they didnt they were dead in a few weeks. Either from the cold or starvation. Jim looked at

his new grey jacket, and sighed, knowing that even though he couldnt change the world that he should try to change at least one persons life. Jim stretched and sighed, leaving Elena asleep. She was probably dreaming of the Philosopher. It was part of her to care for other people and their issues. Jim couldnt understand it, so he left her to her humanitarian dreams and stretched his arms again. They still were a little stiff, but it was close enough. He walked across the street, his head down. The cold was still encasing the air, and Jim never liked the cold. He felt inside of his pockets to pull out his wallet. It was almost empty. Jim wondered where hed get a new jacket for the very few dollars he had left. As he neared the huddled mass, he realized there was a dark shadow around the body. Jims heart started beating faster. He quickened his pace, to match his now racing heart. The streetlight was out, but Jim didnt need light to tell that the figure was bleeding profusely. Please dont be dead, Jim pleaded with a God he didnt believe in, the four words encapsulating the fear that had ripped a hole in Jims chest. He skidded to a halt. It was a young woman, with ripped jeans, and black fingerless gloves trembling with her fingers. She was semi-conscious. Jim bent down to take her head in his hands. She was bleeding from the nose and forehead. Jim brushed her short blonde hair off to the side, out of her eyes. There was a green streak in her hair. Although now it was now stained with blotches of blood. Elliot he whispered, trying to keep her in this world. He wrapped the ripped remains of her shirt around her head. The bleeding slowed slightly. Dont kill me, she kept muttering. Jim took off his jacket and draped it over her to stop her from shaking. Elliot continued trembling, but it was much more subtle. Jim took her hands and placed them together, for warmth. kill Jim looked over every time she spoke, in hopes of hearing something else. me Her eyes opened as Jim put pressure on the most severe wound. Elliot, Elliot can you hear me? Are you an angel? she croaked. No Elliot, Im a concept. At that moment it clicked with her that she wasnt dead. She smiled feebly. Elliot moved her right hand and took Jims in it. Thank you Concept. You remember, from the railway? You obviously did. They were both smiling now, Jims weight still on the gash in Elliots forehead. She winced. They were trying to kill me Concept, you have no idea what it was like. They lunged for my neck, and just kept squeezing and banging my head against the floor. Jim winced now, reminded of Lawson. A few grabbed at my shirt and it ripped, but at that point I was so dizzy Im not sure if I remembered it right Who Elliot, who did this to you? I dont know. Why on earth you though? If they wanted to lynch a Punk I was across the street and I was asleep they couldve as easily gotten- It wasnt because Im a Punk. Jim stopped. Her eyes were closing dangerously again. Her voice had softened too.

What? Im- she was having difficulty talking now. Im a lesbian. And she was unconscious again. Jim held her head, his eyes wide, and mind running a full speed. It started snowing. Jim had lent Elliot a shirt until he bought her a new one. She had been moved to the free clinic under the name Joanne. They said that falling down the stairs usually wouldnt cause that kind of damage to the throat, but Jim told them not to push the matter. They said after a few weeks shed make a full recovery. Well, her voice would always be a little shaky. Elliot didnt mind it all that much. Jim kept stroking her hair whenever the nurses entered the room, paranoid that theyd realize that Joanne was really the lesbian victim of a brutal riot, and then proceed to kick her out. He asked Elliot once if she minded. No, it actually makes me feel kind of special. Jim then began stroking her hair even when the nurses werent in the room. Now however, he waited outside flicking open a switchblade, and closing it back up. Hed then flick it open again, and the cycle would continue. Jim wanted to go after the ignorant homophobes that had done this to Elliot. Jim wanted them to burn. Light a match and see the church go up in flames of blasphemy. He said that about too many things. Jim wondered, also, where to take Elliot once she recovered. His first thought was to Death, but thatd be turning back. He might as well run back to his hapless aunts and grovel at their feet. Jim shook his head. He wasnt thinking of what was best for Elliot. If he brought her anywhere else she wouldnt receive the help and comfort that Clarke, Winchester and Death had lavished on him in months before. Elliots nurse came outside for a smoke. Jim watched her leave, before lighting his lighter. The flame flickered before his eyes. All his anger was bubbling up again. He devoured it, skipping breakfast that day. It had begun to bubble up like this constantly over the past few days. Maybe he should stop eating it. It was possible, that when Death said to use his anger, she meant use it to bring justice to the self-righteous Suits that had set upon a defenseless young woman. Although he doubted his interference would be justice, and considered it more along the lines of a vendetta. He took a swig of his soda. The thought also occurred to him, that his hate wouldnt permit him to attack the Suits. He guessed that was just something hed have to find out as he went along. Jim was still hungry. He thought of all the injustices, and felt the malice building within him. Soda washed over it well, taking the stale taste from his mouth. Another nurse came out for her smoke. Jim thought it odd that all these women smoke by a bunch of people who had lung cancer from the very sticks. He guessed Suits never learned. Jim chucked his soda can in the general vicinity of the rubbish bin. He clicked his lighter once more. The vendettas shall burn bright in the night.

February There are No More Riots Hospitals always made Jim a little uneasy. Elena tried to help him, but Jim knew that half or more of those who entered the white walls never exited. The thought perturbed every action Jim had within the confines of the hospital. Youre exaggerating. No Im not. Elliot didnt seem notice when Jim talked to Elena, or if she did she just pretended not to care. Elena, this is the real cemetery. This is where the last life of a person escapes them. I dont know, it just gives me the creeps. People dont just die here, some are given a second chance at life. Jim shrugged, and lit a cigarette. The nurse scolded him. He pretended to throw it out, waiting until she left to stick it back between his teeth. Hey Concept, Elliot called, Thanks for taking me to the hospital and all, but really you can go. You saved my life and I owe you for everything. But Im fine. You dont have to stay if you dont want to Jim offered to collect her things from her old place. No, no its okay. Really. I need to get out of this hospital anyways. Elliot wrote her old address on a slip of paper, and handed it to Jim carefully. If I wasnt gay, Id kiss you, said she. Her old apartment was really just a rundown arcade, with all of the windows boarded up. Jim kicked down the door when it wouldnt yield. Each footstep brought dust up in clouds. I dont think anyones been here for awhile, Elena commented, disagreeing with Elliots claim that she was staying in the back room all of January first. They opened the door to back room finding a small sleeping bag, with a small picture frame nearby. Jim picked up the picture, wiping off of the dust. Elliot was there, in the middle of the photograph, with her arms around another young woman. Presumably her old girlfriend. It read: Elliot, Ill always love you, Mary The frame was a flimsy wood, and had water discolorations along the edge. She had been crying. When Jim realized this, he turned to Elena, who nodded slowly. A sudden twinge of pity gripped Jims stomach, and twisted it around. Jim scooped up the sleeping bag and any other personal items he could find, placed them in a box that he had found in the arcade entrance. He took the photo from the frame; the latter was then tossed into the box. The photo, he slipped gently into his pocket. He grabbed the box, and walked out of the arcade, the dust still floating back down. Elliot was waiting for him outside the hospital. Jim handed her the photo, asking, Whos Mary? Elliot brushed back a few tears before saying, My old girlfriend. Just as Jim has guessed, but there was a sort of understanding now that he had heard it from Elliot. We loved each other in school. They told us wed grow out of it, that it was a phase. We were beaten up by a bunch of church guys. Mary was always braver than I was, so she tried to hit one of them back. She was in the hospital for months. I tried talking to her afterward, I hugged her, kissed her, and she felt nothing. Nothing but pain every time I touched her. I came close and she winced. She started going

out with a kid a year above us. His name was Kyle. They had beaten her into submission. She couldnt love me anymore, so from that moment on, I held onto this, an epitaph for the real Mary, the one I had known. The one I had loved. Jims fist clenched. He wanted to remember Phil and his nice wife in the railway, but all he could think of was the fear tearing across his chest and ripping away at his mind when he had found Elliot clawing her way away from death. Unable to move, but still muttering a plead that had almost gone unanswered. His heart pounded, and Jim tried holding onto thoughts and dreams of Death, or Winchester, or Clarke, or even the kind Irish woman from so long agobut they werent here. No one was. It was only he, Elliot, and the memories of a thousand injustices. Jim smiled feebly when Death opened the door. She almost cried, the joy spreading from the tips of her cheeks to the rubies in her ears. Hey Concept, nice to see you again. In one piece. Youd be proud, I didnt light anything on fire, he joked, adding yet in his head. Well Elliots welcome here, just as anyone. Clarke reached out his hand. Elliot smiled, and handed her things to Clarke, who showed her to Deaths room, which they would now be sharing. Death was ecstatic. Ive always wanted a roommate, she kept muttering. Jim put his thing in his closet, which seemed not to have been touched in his absence. Suddenly a wave of compassion for Clarke fell over him. Then he remembered why he was here, once more, breaking his one rule, turning back to ignite the future. Ignition. What a word. Ignite the future, he thought. In the most literal way. He clicked his lighter open and closed, feeling the word ignite around with his tongue. It tasted somewhat sharp but had a smooth edge to it too. But mostly it burnt Jims tongue. He drank some water, and walked out the door. You leaving already? Winchester called out. Walk. And so Jim found himself staring at the rundown arcade. There werent any hobos in there, Jim had made sure. His lighter was squirming in his hands. It was growing impatient. This world was too afraid to light the spark to start the fuse of change, to freedom. The standards of an arbitrary rule are held up with gunpowder mortar, and every citizen held the match. But they all used the matches to light their candles, and stand in succession with everyone else. All crowded around the coffin of free will. All mourning the loss but too superstitious of ghosts to resurrect it. So instead of freeing themselves, they freed the capitalistic scoundrels, those who sell lies in a bottle to overly medicated couch potatoes. They freed the entertainers, who were so high sometimes they cant even see their own fingers, but that was okay, because it made for more interesting television. Jim watched them all walk by, blowing out their matches and stepping on the smoldering heads. The pillars had been erected around them, and they hadnt the courage to escape. Well, Jim did Maybe he was crazy. Maybe not. It didnt matter. All that mattered now was who

was sane enough to keep their match lit, to light the way. And the way told him to start a riot. Call death to the girl who waved the white flag stained with dirt of dug up cemetery. It was Jims own symphony. And let it play onto the stages of shambled discord, and watch the players in this tragedy dance in time to the music. No one was around. Jim had made sure of that too. The streets held their breath. Jim glanced to his right. A discarded newspaper was struggling to follow the wind, but its corner was trapped under a rubbish bin. Jim would pick that up later. He looked to his left. A Suit was lying, passed out, in the gutters. Jim turned back to the rundown arcade. No one was in it. He had made sure It only took one spark, and the fuse of revolution was lit. Jim reentered the house with a certain glow about him. How was your walk? Death asked naively. Good. Thought about some stuff. That was all he said. Winchester scooted over. Jim sat between him and Death. Candice was a tad less blurry than usual, but Death was reading a touch slower. Jim peeked over her shoulder, and realized soon that she was rereading Starship Serenade. She looked up, putting her finger where she left off. So indifferent were the words of the sun as it told the moon Jim smiled. She looked back down and continued reading. Sirens raced by. Clarke stuck his head out of his room. Whats going on? he asked, jerking his head to the sound of the sirens. Jim shrugged, but his heart began beating faster. They were all converging around an old rundown arcade, one that Jim knew was currently ablaze in a protest for a people too comfortable staying silent. Punk rock was playing in the background, but the sirens had drowned it out long ago. Jim tried focusing on the words, to tell him that what he had done was right. But now he was unsure, wondering how many people, if any, had been hurt in the act of arson. Then he realized, that he didnt care. Did the Suits care when they were bludgeoning Elliot? No. She was only the carrier of an enemy idea, so she had been tossed into the fire. The Suits meant nothing to Jim, so if they had stumbled upon his flickering flames and gotten themselves hurt, well, they were only the carriers of an enemy idea, and should be tossed into the fire anyways. Not even the stars would tell him that he was doing the wrong thing. They were just as fixed and stubborn as society. It would take someone like Jim to move them. Someone who didnt care about his, or anyone elses lives anymore. Someone who would rather descend into insanity than tell his love the truth. The truth was his. And only his. Death was still the light at the end of the tunnel, a light of which Jim wasnt deserving. And as long as she remained that light, Jim would never plague her with the knowledge that he couldnt stop thinking about her. Why would she need to know? Would it fill some void in her soul to know that she was needed? No. If it that were true, Winchester wouldve filled that hole long ago. The only thing that could come from telling her was the awkward glances from across the room, the constant responsibility that someone was dependent on her, beating in her chest alongside her heartbeat. Jim felt his chest, and touched the burdening weight of

just another secret to keep. But all of his empty laughter could easily mask that pain. As if without meaning, Jim smiled, the muscles reluctantly pulling at the corners of his lips. The smile buried all of his emotions, reflecting what the world wanted to see. What Death wanted to see. Now he understood why Harriets mother was so ignorant of her child. Harriet would just smile and wave, and her mother would watch whatever her twisted, shallow mind wanted her to. Was he doing that to Death? Was he telling her that everything was alright, when it was truly the suffering of the whole world beating upon his shoulders? He felt as though his back was going to break sometimes, if his mind didnt first. She looked over at him again, smiling serenely. He waved with his false smile bringing tears to the stars eyes. They told him to let go of the lies. To come to grips with the truth. To accept what he couldnt explain. Jim found it odd, that the only thing he was afraid to face, the truth, was the one thing he searched for so desperately. And until the fear shot him the street, hed keep searching. Jim looked back over to Death, who was still smiling, as blissfully unaware as Harriets mother. Jim was beginning to doubt that any of them, in essentials, were any better than the Suits. The now library was the fourth building he had burned. The city had shut it down two weeks ago and had already used the books as firewood. Jim thought it an awful waste, but the building was now only a building. The week before hed set both the old tollbooth on the east side of the city and the abandoned factory on the west side ablaze. So now, Jim watched the library burn, wishing that this would teach the city to put a higher value on literature. The broken door was the first to drop into the growing orange sea. The sign was next, and Jim clapped as the fire leapt up to catch the wooden letters. He wondered if Elena would approve. Probably not. He walked away as he heard the sirens. The fire engine raced passed him. The burnings had began to make the news. A horrible terrorist has been living among us, Candice began one day. He or she has been lighting fire to old buildings in Manhattan, causing mass destruction with a disregard for human life. Jim scoffed at this, thinking to himself what damage there was to four buildings that were scheduled to come down anyways. And as for his disregard for human life, he had made sure that no one would get hurt in the fires. Waste not. One of Jims many mottos. Where were you? Death asked. Feeding the birds. Dont give them too much, or theyll get as obese as the rest of America. Jim laughed, looking down at his own slender frame. People in school had told him, before they hated him, that he was lucky to be so skinny. Jim told them it was only because he missed meals. All through school he told himself that he was too weak to fight back. Too weak to do anything but make Eric Lawson angrier. Yet look at the state of things when he did flip out. Seventeen years of bottle raged. Maybe Death had a point to her concern. Maybe it wasnt healthy to suppress all of his anger. At school he just start clicking a pen until his thumb was sore. By his freshman year, he could go hours without stopping. It didnt relieve the hate welling up, but it tired him out so he wouldnt try anything

stupid. And the malice would sense this, and fall down to meet the rest of the suppressed anger. Seventeen years worth, and it had been all poised to kill Eric Lawson. It had almost succeeded. Winchester had brought his game system into the living room, and was working on it in there. Jim made a suggestion or two, but mostly Winchester was unscrewing things, putting new pieces in, and shaking his head every once and awhile. I almost had it, he muttered once, and went back to work on the power supply. A few hours later, Jim was burning the pizza place on the corner of fifth and main. The owner had a heart attack and died a few weeks ago, and now the restaurant was out of business. No one had even been inside the place since Monday, which was a good four days. He had taken his cigarette and tossed into the old stove, for a moment restoring the kitchen to its previous glory. Then, he doused lighter fluid on the counter tops, and kicked over the chairs. Standing outside the old pizza place, he waited for the lighter fluid to catch. When it did, the night was shaken with a beauty unmatched. The fire rose up to the sky, waving to the stars and trying to grab the night, as if to pull it down to the fire and consume the whole sky in the inferno. Jim grew a tad concerned as a heavy wind nearly blew an ember into the adjacent building. The wind died down, fortunately, and the ember collapsed in the dumpster out back. The sirens called out into the night, and wailed in pain. By now, a few of the population had warmed up to the fires. Spray-painted effigies to the old world, the one where modern society was still the epitome of freedom, were now seen on street corners. Jim smiled, only slightly. The world was removing the walls around them, brick by brick. Jim remembered the moment he had begun loving Death. It was the moment she had looked at him with a delighted incredulity and asked, You got all of that from the first chapter? They had both blushed then. When he had told her that he liked thinking, she gave him a kind look, one of understanding. A look that told Jim everything he need to know about her. She was a thinker. Someone who didnt just take the world for what it was, but questioned the little things, to better understand the big picture. Every grain of dust that rose from the ashes of freedom were of importance to her, and Jim knew then that she was the only person who could understand what it was like to have all the questions but none of the answers. Jim knew that she was the only person who could stop him from snapping and releasing all of his rage in one uncoordinated attack. Because she knew, she knew how to think past her own eyes, to wonder how a society could be free to impress their ideas upon everyone else, and steal their freedom. And every day he spent with her he just loved her more. The time he spent with her only reaffirmed his beating heart. Death was the only part of his life that Jim cared about. Without her compassion hed be lost in the sea of Suits, and if she ever stopped smiling hed relive all of the woes he had learned to forget, all swimming back to the front of his mind. Deaths gentle touch was enough to cure all ails. Even better than punk rock. And she was absolutely stunning.

Even the fading smiles couldnt deny that he loved her as no other. And, even the broad grins couldnt profess that shed ever love him back. Elliot cried every time the news would mention the various pro-gay institutions being shut down. Death would comfort her, and when Elliot began to smile and move her hand toward Deaths leg, Jim would throw her a stern glance, reminding her that Death was straight. Then, Elliot would stick her tongue out at Jim, and laugh a little. But Jim recognized the forced smiles. They were the same smiles that Harriet used to give him when the danced out in the back of the school. It was awkward, to dance with someone in a wheelchair, but Jim had gotten used to it. An now Elliot was trying to mask her fears behind the same smiles. Jim wondered if he looked that way when he told Death that everything was alright. His thought was interrupted however, when a police siren went by. Clarke stuck his head out of his room again, and they all shrugged. He went back inside. Winchester had fixed the game system four times, each time realizing that something else was wrong. First it didnt get enough energy. Then it wouldnt read the disc. Then the disc melted in the case. Winchester was now ready to pull his hair out, when the game system logo flashed up on the TV screen. His raised his arms triumphantly. Jim had expecting him to be shouting with joy, jumping up and down. But it seemed as though those two raised arms said everything for him, screaming his victory to the whole world. Then he realized that hadnt fixed the controllers yet. Smacking his head against the wall, Winchester turned the system off, and sprawled back out on the floor, taking the screwdriver to the two controllers. Clarke smiled and buried his head back behind a graphic novel. Howd you start reading those things? I wouldnt have thought that orphanages wouldve had the money for comics. Jim plopped down beside Clarke. They didnt. My grandmother did. She got me my first one, when I was five. The Golden Hawk. Hes still my favorite superhero. I have a whole three boxes just for him. Everything else put together only takes up two. My grandmother told me that you didnt need super powers to be a hero. The Golden Hawk was really just a vigilante when it came down to it. I didnt believe her at first, but after taking in Winchester and Death when they had nowhere else to turn, well, I like to think Im ding something important, you know? Yeah, I know what you mean. Jim smiled and picked up one of the comics himself. The Golden Hawk, it began showing a picture of a valiant looking man in a gold colored suit, was the only person willing to fight for justice in New York, New York. Jim set fire to the dumpster outside the nearest convenience store, then pretended to be asleep in the alley. He grabbed an empty beer bottle in his right hand to thicken the role. The police arrived in only a few minutes, desperate to catch the arsonist. Jim watched them through his eyelashes. One chucked a pail of water onto the fire. Hey, kid! one yelled. Jim shut his eyes tighter. They kicked him in the stomach. He rolled over, rubbing his eyes as though he just woke up. Yessirs? Did you see who did this? he shook his head lazily. The police officer got irritated

and punched Jim for good luck. He spat at the cop as he turned away. The officer turned back, and fingered his baton threateningly. Jim backed away, and the cop smiled. They left, the siren going full blast. Jim chuckled, and as soon as they turned the corner again lit the dumpster ablaze. The rest of the day was rather boring. Dinner consisted of cold pizza. Clarke tried heating it up, but the microwave broke. Death was served the only warm slice. She tried giving it to Jim, but he switched the pizzas back when she wasnt looking. He liked his pizza cold anyways. If it meant Death got a warm slice. She narrowed her eyes, and Elliot changed the subject. Death tells me that you two havent been hanging out as much lately. She raised her eyebrows at Jim. Why not? Ive been busy. And I dont know why youre complaining, the less she hangs out with me, the more time she spends with you. But, no offense Elliot, I want to talk to you Concept. I wish we could just walk down to the pond like we used to, or read a book or something. Youve been distancing yourself from all of us, and I, for one, want to know why. Ill tell you at the park tomorrow. He took a large bite of his pizza. He then realized that only he and Winchester folded their pizza and ate it Chicago style. He wanted to laugh, but thought the time inappropriate. Does that mean youre going to talk to us again? Jim didnt answer that, but rather chucked a slice of pepperoni at Clarke, which got the whole table laughing as if all the troubles in the world couldnt tear them apart. Jim skipped a rock, waiting for Death. He was contemplating what to burn next. It couldnt be just anything. It had to be safe, relatively, and it had to send a message. A message that the world they lived in wasnt worth it, and that as a people the average America needed to change. Jim decided on the orphanage. It had been shut down years ago because of the economy, and the city was too lazy to start it back up again. Maybe itd show the Suits to care about the children, the poor, and the parentless. Death still wasnt there. She said shed show up five past one, and it was now almost two oclock. He thought about leaving. But if she did ever show up shed think that he ditched her. So he stayed. And waited. He was staring at the pond, remembering the first time Death had taken him fire skipping. Then he was reminded eerily of the Philosopher. Death finally showed up at a quarter after two. Church gathering on Sixth Street, she explained, and Jim nodded. He took a hefty rock and aimed it at the nearest streetlight. It missed and hit a nearby car. The alarm went off, startling the surrounding Suits. Jim smiled. Death asked him why he was increasingly short with the group. I have a lot of anger. You havent done anything about that yet? Jim shook his head. Youre going to kill yourself one day. Youre going to flip and beat the tar out of some random Suit, which is going to get you shot by the police. If you say so. I see you havent stopped smoking, Death noted, watching Jim light a cigarette

and take a quick puff. He shrugged. Jims shaking knee stopped, and his hands relaxed a little. Death left, telling him that she still had to pick up some groceries for lunch. Apparently, Clarke was going to try his hand at cooking. Jim inhaled deeply. It made him feel worse. The smoke brought all of his pain to the front of his mind. All of those he had seen die. Those who he couldnt save from society, and his own injuries and scars inflicted from the subtle knife hidden within the Suits propaganda. It enumerated them all, as if he needed reminded. Jim remembered the blind Philosopher who could see more than a whole city of Suits. And the cigarette only diminished him, his thoughts. The cigarette trembled in his teeth. Jim blinked several times. Darkness tried to comfort him, but Jim didnt want comfort anymore. He wanted the truth. The cigarettes smoke clouded Jims vision, wafting up, offering a cold reprieve from the world. It was no better than the Suits religion. It told him everything that he thought he wanted to know, while hiding all of the things that he should realize. The cigarette grew limp, and slowly fell from Jims mouth onto the frosty ground. Jim watched it fall, and with it all of his excuses. His right foot came down upon it violently. Jim twisted the sole of his shoe into the white stick, ripping it apart. Then he stomped on it a few more times for good measure. He stared blankly at the ground for a few minutes, still surprised at what he had done. The black nicotine was strewn upon the cement, twitching slightly with the wind. Jim didnt think that he had fully understood what had just happened. In a way, he hadnt. But the longer that he stared at the discarded cigarette, which was still issuing a tiny flicker of smoke, he was sure that he had done the right thing. Jim stood up straighter, and fixed the collar on his jacket. He walked away with the faint victory trumpets calling from the solemn remains of the defeated cigarette. Jim watched the pack of cigarettes burn. He curled his knees underneath of him, and watched the flames spiral from the rubbish bin on the corner of Fourth and Appleton. He had chucked them in the bin, but later decided that it would be more than symbolic to burn them. He, however, stood a few feet away, so to not breath in the smoke. After awhile he kicked the rubbish bin over, and rolled it down a hill. Surprise for whoever was at the bottom. He walked over to the house, taking the long way so he could think about things. What, he didnt know until he thought them up. For a while he pondered religion. It seemed, he thought, that organized religion told you who to believe, what to believe, how to believe it all, but never really why to believe any of it. That was their problem, he deduced. Suits followed their leaders, whether political or religious (often being one and the same), into whatever ends that were picked out for them. They never questioned why, and their leaders never felt compelled to reveal their reasons, if they ever had any. Jim wondered who would finally ask why. Beg for a transparency into government and religion that only removing the Veil could provide. And yet, the bombers were still overhead. Following orders that were issued unquestioned, unexamined, and mostly

unwarranted. If the world stop living in fear, in a suspended state of anxiety, then all of the differences wouldnt seem to matter that much. Jim wished that were true. All of the lies would prevent that. People were so scared to put their faith in each other, because of the compulsive liars, that theyd rather put their faith in a man in white, with a long grey beard. And his son, who was somehow white while born in the Middle East. Jim thought of all the times the world had been killed slightly when the lies had blanketed the eyes of the innocent. Making them all Bats. And Bats couldnt dream. He finally reached the front door to the house. The long way hadnt been long enough. Jim sighed, and resolved to ask the Philosopher later, if their paths ever crossed again. His hand grasped the knob. Sighing, Jim thought of every moment of happiness in his life. Moments in time all flashed before him, and Jim realized that the Philosopher was wrong. There was time travel. You just couldnt change anything. Memories. Jim had just lived through years of his life, without ever taking his foot from the unWelcome mat. Half a minute maybe had gone by, and yet the past had taken him back, to show him what he longed for, grudgingly returning him to his place in the present. The last image to float back down into his mind was one of his mother, smiling from a portrait that hung over his bed. Death woke him up by rasping on the door to the closet. Jims head was resting on one of Clarkes jackets. He blushed to no one in particular, and opened the door. Death was beaming at him. He smiled back, his hair still sticking up in places and generally messed up. But it was okay, because he kept it like that. Winchesters favorite album was playing, the one that he usually kept under his pillow. Jim guessed that he was working on the controllers again. Last time he had fixed them the infrared beam that was supposed to relay messages from the controller to the console wasnt calibrated properly, and he had forgotten to insert the safety glass. The beam had burned a mark into the carpet. Jim had laughed at this, but soon the mark began smoking, and Clarke raced to get water to douse a fire that was edging dangerously close to the newly rebuilt console. Winchester was not happy. Jim now hoped desperately that he remembered to fit the tiny glass oval into the frame, for otherwise he might have his shirt lit on fire next. Or his arm, or something. Winchester had remembered to put in the glass, and was now being watched by Clarke. He hooked up the power source-a battery box two with AA batteries; one that was taken from the radio-and crossed his fingers. Player One, connected rang out from the TV. Winchester began jumping for joy, but Clarkes face grew increasingly worried. The controller began smoking, and Clarke rushed forward to take out the batteries. It was a simple mistake really, to have forgotten to solder two wires back together. They werent even all that important wires. But now, the joystick was melted slightly, gluing it in place. Winchester cursed loudly, and the pigeons that had been resting on the windowsill leapt up in fright. Jim sat down at the eating table.

He had been poured a bowl of cereal, and mumbled a generic word of thanks, to whomever had gotten him his food. Elliot joined him later, only to realize that she too had been served. Jim ate the last corn flake, and put his bowl in the sink. See you guys later. It was the thirteenth, a Friday. Jim smiled at the superstition. For him, that day felt lucky. He burned the School of Forward Thinking, which was anything but, mostly because school was off that day, and itd be a big thing to burn to an institution still in operation. But, as he watched the flames, the word institution brought another idea to his mind. When Harriet had killed herself, his aunts kept telling him that if he didnt start smiling that he was going to go the same way, and he told them it was because Harriet wouldnt stop smiling and wouldnt tell people she was hurting that she died. They threatened to commit Jim into the Maxwell Institute for Mentally Instable Individuals. He smiled, forcefully. Harriets mother worked at Maxwells. Harriet often described how they over medicated their patients, all because the screaming and shouting say things that go against the accepted norm. Anything that wasnt socially acceptable was insane. Hes gay? Must be insane. Stupid liberals, they have to be committed. She still plays with dolls, crazy I tell you. Doesnt believe in God! Theres something seriously wrong with that boy. Well maybe theyre all just touched in the head Touched in the head. That was Jim. They tried to shut the crazy up by pumping them full of drugs and cutting their wrists for them when they cant move for all the morphine. It doesnt matter if theyre screaming at the ceiling, as long as the Suits cant hear them. So Jim found the one building of the nearest institute (Johnsons) that didnt have people-the storage building was shut down temporarily so a computer could scan and inventory the medicine-and lit it on fire. He thought those were some of the tallest flames he had ever seen. Jim spat onto the fire, and walked away. He could hear still hear the flames cackling when he reached the house. Whens your birthday Concept? Jim looked over, flipping a playing card into Clarkes upturned baseball hat. He shrugged, and went back to the game. Jesus, come on. We told you when all of ours was. Yeah. It was a week ago. The thirteenth. Jim picked up the last card-when it flipped he realized that it was the jack of spades-and added, you dont have to get me anything. Im not planning on doing anything big for any of you guys. Birthdays arent that big a deal. Hooray, you lived another year! he spat out with sarcasm. Fine. Maybe we wont. A crash, and the windowpane shattered and fell in pieces to the floor. Clarke sighed and picked up the stone that had done the damage. It was the third time that month. Jim wondered if they should even bother buying another window. He just wanted to board it up with wood, stifle the Suits fun.

The Suits were starting to get to Jim. Usually he could just ignore them, and bottle his rage. But now he was finding it hard to tune out the world, to live in his own little reality. Elliot told him he was growing as a person. That he was becoming more human. Jim said if this was humanity, then it wasnt worth being human. Elliot stuck her tongue out. Jim had begun to talk to her, because he couldnt speak to anyone else. Winchester and Clarke werent an option, because it seemed that all of his life females were the ones that tried to understand. The guys never tried to help. And he was just more comfortable talking to girls. Jim was still hopeless whenever Death entered the room, and he was avoiding Elena. He had a feeling that if he told her anything shed deduce that he was the arsonist, and scold him for it. So that left only Elliot. Being a lesbian, she didnt mind talking about who Jim loved (he didnt name names, of course) and being a thoughtful person always had something to offer. Tell her. Thats what the Philosopher said. Not knowing whom this was, Elliot just smiled, and put her hand on his shoulder. Im not going to. Dont you think whoever she is she would want to know? No. Hed then change the subject, with the always abrupt, I hate Suits. Jim would then spin a tale of his day, each of which seemed to get worse than the previous, and Elliot would again listen silently. And thats why I want to punch one of them. Its all of the little things and the big things, all mashed into a big ball of wrongs and I wish someone would make them pay for that. I dont know what to tell you Concept, I really dont. Hey Jesus, Winchester called. Want to go hit some balls at the park? Jim looked to Elliot, who nodded. Yeah, sure. The evening was mostly uneventful. They lost three balls, but ended up finding two when a large, stray dog brought them back, thinking it a game. They played awhile with the dog, and Winchester was reluctant to walk away. Come on, its just a dog. But he has nowhere to go Then Jim remembered someone who had always wanted a dog. He knocked three times. No answer. The door was open. Jim pushed lightly, until he heard a faint crying. The dog began panting. It wagged its tail, and spun about. Jim wanted to tell the dog, Not now, nows not the time, but he didnt think itd make a difference. It whimpered. Winchester had gone home, happy that Jim was finding the dog a home. Jim walked into the apartment, and the darkness caught his attention first. He flipped on a light. Antimony was crying in a corner, holding her knife limply by her side, a deep red gash on her left wrist. She didnt even notice the dog. Jim ran over to her, and kneeled down, so that they were eye to eye. Her once vivacious eyes swam with a self-inflicted misery. Hey Mr. Concept, hows it going? Jim wanted to puke. She had become so immersed in her pain, that it didnt seem to register anymore. Jim bet someone couldve amputated her leg and she would scream out, Wheres Derrick to see this? She tilted her head, and rested it on his shoulder. Jim wrapped the

wound with the cloth Elliot had given him so long ago. He wondered why he had kept it, lingering in his back pocket, but then realized it didnt matter. It just mattered that he had it now. What happened? The Suits, they t-told me I have nerve to walk around as if there wasnt anything wrong with me. That I was brave for expecting to be happy in their city. And I realized they were right. They were always r-right. I dont deserve happiness in this cruel world, only those tough enough, like y-you, can hope for anything. I was meant for only one thing, and that was pain. So, I lived my lifes worth. A l-little to much though. She smiled feebly, as if it was a bad joke. Jim wanted them to pay. He remembered Eric Lawson who had filled Harriets mind with lies. Telling her that because she was in a wheelchair, that she was inferior. All of the girls who mocked her for her hair, who poked and twisted, just waiting for her to snap. Well she had, and so had Antimony. And now had Jim. Jim left the dog to comfort Antimony, who was shaking slightly but recovering. He walked outside, the night air not comforting. It chilled his anger, trying to take it away from him. Jim held on though. He wouldnt let go. He wouldnt just push it down. Not this time. Elena would slap him when he got back. He didnt care. Jim pushed the first Suit he saw into the wall. Hey, you insolent moron! he shouted. Scared, the Suit tried to wrestle from his grasp. Do you know who lives in apartment number three? N-no, I mean, Ive seen her, but Ive never talked to her. Jim relaxed his grip. He swore, and turned away from the man. This man, however ignorant, wasnt deserving of his wrath. Reluctantly, Jim uncurled his fist, and made to walk away. Then, an idea dawned. Who has? Who had talked to her? Why would I know? And why would I care? She seems like a queer anyways Jim spun around and drove his fist into the mans nose. It broke, and began spurting out copious amounts of blood. He did it again. And again. And he kept punching until the blood had covered his knuckles. Jim was breathing heavily, and the Suit was whimpering like the dog, both hands over his face, kneeling on the floor. He couldnt stand for the pain. Jim kicked him in the stomach, and watched him topple over. The anger and malice flowed from him like the blood pouring from the Suits nose. Jim felt a burden lift from his chest. He was still angry, but at least now the rage was free to come and go as it pleased. Jim was finally free. Death smiled weakly when he told her about his dream. Jim had dreamed of an almost empty starship, with him at the helm and her at the console. Winchester and Clarke werent in the dream, but Jim said they were anyways. Elliot walked into the room so he loudly said that she was sleeping in her quarters at the time (which of course was a lie.) Winchester stirred his cereal unenthusiastically. Clarke too was tired. Both of them had stayed up all night trying to fix one of the broken machines at the factory. Eventually Howie, one of their coworkers, could reach into

the opening and reconnect the belt to the motor. According to Clarke, Howie had the largest arms in the factory. Unfortunately, his shift didnt start until five in the morning, and with his cell constantly broken they couldnt ask him to come in sooner. Apparently, he came to work to find the last three shifts all waiting by the machine, some trying to sleep standing up. Howie asked what happened, and all fifty-seven workers announced in an incoherent mash of explanations that the machine was broken. Clarke arrived home at six, when everyone else was waking up. Winchester came through the door fifteen minutes later. Jim felt somewhat bad for them. He had applied for many jobs, but every employer immediately sent him away. Jim asked Death if she wanted to see a movie. Death said yes much too quickly, but everyone at the table pretended not to notice. Jim felt like blushing for her, but decided against it. When no one was paying attention, Jim stole away into his closet. He went through his duffle, before pulling out a large silver chain. Joannes last gift. She had told him to give it to Death, but he wasnt sure if he could. Joanne had meant so little to the world, and because of that meant so much to Jim. And for that reason, Jim couldnt part with his only memory of her. He couldnt give up the effigy to the besotted woman. Jim closed his eyes, running his finger over the emerald. But Death meant a lot to Jim too. She meant almost everything. Death was the only answer in his life that was plagued with questions. Where are you going in life? Who are you going with? Why are you headed down that road? Death. And Joannes dying wish was for there to be a little more love in the world. And he knew if there was a heaven, she was watching him right now begging him to try and break down the barriers around his soul. Jim put the necklace back, and vowed to return to the debate later. But now, he had a date with Death. Death was exceedingly happy the next few days. Jim was happier still, although he didnt show it. Clarke was more tired than either of them happy. Winchester finally fixed the joystick, but was now having problems with the connection. When one thing fixed, the next broke. He was again sprawled about on the floor, the various parts and pieces laid out around him. Clarke was supervising, but Jim suspected that he was asleep half of the time. Winchester had bought some new tech magazines, to try and find his problem. Jim walked to Johnsons Institute, to watch them rebuild the storage facility. What he didnt tell Death was that if at anytime he could sabotage the construction, he would. Unfortunately, he didnt get the chance. Elena was watching him. She refused to leave him alone now, because he had bludgeoned that Suit. When she asked why, he responded, Hes a homophobe. I was doing it for Elliot. Jim never mentioned Antimony. He knew how much Elena had liked her. Hey, Elena, do you know what Antimony and I were talking about, when we met back up for lunch? Elenas face lit up at the word Antimony. No, what?

Nothing. We didnt really talk. Crestfallen, Elena went back to kicking at stones that wouldnt move for her. Is it weird, not being able to affect things? A little. But you get used to it. I guess. Oh But the part I really hate is not being real. You are real, Jim insisted. To you. No one else even knows I exist. I cant take it anymore. I think I love Clarke but to him Im nothing but your overactive imagination. Jim didnt know what to say. He was itching to burn something but he couldnt with her around. So they returned to the house. Elena began watching Clarke read comics, sighing occasionally, so Jim took the chance to ask Death if she wanted to see another movie. She declined, but offered to read with him again, like old times. The book Jim had chosen was written in the late fifties, and had a certain retro appeal to it. Death scooted closer when she couldnt see the next page. Jims heart began beating faster. Their legs were almost touching. Jim swallowed anxiously. Her hand was next to his, and it took all of his self-restraint not to reach out and hold it. They finished the book in a few hours. This time Jim looked up first, smiling when Death glanced from the page to find him already done. She patted him on the back, and he felt a lifting sensation in his stomach. Death was smiling. Jim asked her out again, before realizing that he had no money. He didnt tell her he loved her, just that, as friends, they should spend more time together. She told him that she wanted to go down to the park. Walk along the boulevard. Jim smiled far too broadly when she said it was just going to be the two of them. Death, as always, pretended not to notice. Jim asked if they could go at night. When all the stars were out, and Jim could see space extend forever. Death, who didnt know of Jims space fantasy, was beginning to look at him quizzically again. The darkness shrouded the world around them. Jim chucked a stone across the street. It hit the darkness, and vanished. Death put her hands around Jims arm. He closed his eyes, as to not show the happiness swimming around in them. Jim had the feeling Death knew anyways. The stars watched them, thinking of what a cute couple they wouldve made. Jim flipped them off when Death went to watch the squirrels. Everyone had told him how his life shouldve gone. How he was supposed to act. But it was his life. His feelings. And his choices. If he didnt want to tell Death, that was his prerogative, and the stars shouldnt try and make him. The stars shifted, a bit ashamed. They had become no better than the Suits. Jim told them it was fine, everyone made mistakes. The hard part was learning from them, something Jim never quite mastered. Otherwise, he knew, he wouldve asked Jennifer Harrow out the moment she burst through the doorway, exclaiming that everyone called her Death. Jim lamented to himself, while watching Death sit contently on the park bench. She turned and waved to him. Jim waved back, looking back up to the stars, who were

watching the lamppost. Jim looked over, hesitantly. The Philosopher wasnt there. He had been admitted against his will to the free clinic. Jim thought of him there, how his brain was now drugged and sedated, all of the once deep thoughts now extending only to the flavor of pudding the nurses were giving him today. Jim shuddered. Death was now holding his arm again, and they took off down the boulevard. Death, what do you think of the stars? She shrugged. What about space? Another shrug. Death teetered awhile, on the verge of speech, before saying, Theyre okay, I guess. I mostly like them in science fiction. I love them, Jim said, standing still. Death took another step, and then turned to face him. Space is the only place where all of the limitations we feel here seem to just float away. Its the new frontier, the largest empty expanse, the void in which only our thoughts drift on. The peace were looking for, the truth you told me wed find, its all out there because everything is out there. Its the epitome of different, the standard of unknown. All of the stars that dot the night sky are the beacons of hope that wont flicker and wave like they do on Earth. Space is the change we need. Its the basin for knowledge, and yet the safe for all of the universes secrets. You think you have free will? Were all just trapped by the violence and the unrest and the idea of ideas. There has to be a way to end it all. There must be a way to proclaim the truth, and know beyond a doubt that what we believe is true. Freedom of thought only means that everyone is free to impress unfounded ideas upon weaker minds. I want to know something, and not have to second-guess it. I want to be sure in life. I dont want to always be wondering what if when I tell myself that the Suits are the unjust. I dont want to have to wonder what if Im wrong, and explore the thought that maybe everything I know is nothing better than the unfounded thoughts of the Suits. I want to find a purpose in life, not only for me but also for everyone. And despite what theyve done to this world, Id give whatever I find to the Suits. I truly would. So you were the kid who wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up? I still do. Death gripped Jims arm tighter, and leaned her head on his shoulder. He felt like crying. So, as friends, they walked into the darkness of the night. The stars watched them go. Happy Birthday, Concept. Death held out a package. Its from all of us. Jim narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out what it was. The room was darkened, the only light coming from a small fire lit in the middle of the room. It was expertly contained, or so said Clarke. Jim smiled, feeling as though the room was made just for him. The fire cackled, and spread its warmth to Jim, putting his mind at ease. It was nighttime, and the stars watched through the new window, welling with pride in their son, who had finally found a purpose to live. For moments like these, where everything just seemed to go right. Where the only people in the world who seemed to understand could just convene under the starry night, just proving once more how far their lives could intertwine.

It was still, all of the Suits and Bats and inner workings of society put at rest for only the split second where Jims life was at ease. Where all of his problems couldnt exist because his world was absolutely perfect. Jim opened the brown wrappings. In soft cotton cloth was an old toy rocketship. Jim took a few moments, just staring at it. It was shaped like a bottlenose dolphin, with the main hull painted sliver. Lines along the sides were red. A small spaceman was painted on, as if he was sitting in the cockpit. Jim ran his finger over the painted tin. He wanted to hug her. But Winchester was watching. Thanks, he muttered, although Death could tell how he really felt about the present. That night, Jim slept out in the living room. He was lying on his back, holding the toy rocket up to the window, where the stars were visible. He moved it up and down, pretending he was up there, watching over the bombers watching over the world. Jim couldnt have thought up a better present, a better representation of his life. It was the only thing he had ever wanted, and yet as a toy it didnt symbolize the actual spaceship, but rather the dream of it. Thats why he loved Death. Jim fell asleep, still clutching the toy rocket in his cold hand. He dreamed of something grand that night. He dreamed of peace, of a world so much better than this one. Of an impossible reality, one that could only exist in his mind. Jim felt happier than he had felt his entire life, lying on his back living the delusion. The dream wasnt about space. Not originally. Jim was holding Deaths hand, watching the sun set. Behind them was their house, with their dog playfully prancing about the yard, trying to catch a butterfly. He was a big dog, a mutt but they thought he was mostly a retriever. Jim was watching the stars that emerged from the red and orange hues, and Death was waiting for the sun to drift beneath the horizon. There were no Suits in sight. Jim turned to his right, to look upon Death. She wasnt smiling. Suddenly Jims happiness shattered, and he let go of her hand. She didnt want to be with him. Distraught, Jim left Death to try and find a new life. He knew if he stayed on Earth, he would have the eternal urge to return to her. He boarded the first spaceship off of the planet, and journeyed into space. They boarded the International Space Station. Months went by, and he barely talked to the rest of the crew. One woman seemed interested in Jim, but he said his heart was already taken. When the time came to leave the station, Jim told them to leave without him. What about the people waiting for you back home? Tell them Im dead. Jim had grown old before he woke up. As he stretched, rising from his spot on floor, Jim could still see the echoes of his face, reflected in the shiny space station walls. Jim looked over to Death. She was talking with Winchester. They both laughed. Jim looked down, and began playing with his toy rocket. Elliot was happy to see Jim playing with his new toy. You never really had a childhood, did you? Jim shook his head, suddenly wondering how weird it must look to see an

eighteen-year-old playing with a toy rocket. He laughed, a picture forming in his mind. I found the toy you know. It was all Deaths idea, but I saw it when I was out. What were you doing? Walking. Jim suspected that this wasnt the full truth, but didnt really care. Jim soon went Walking too, and found himself watching the rubbish bin in front of the church burn. He had bought some more lighter fluid. So youve been lighting all of these fires? Jim turned around, casually. Elliot was leaning against the telephone pole. And youve been spray painting the walls? She nodded playfully. An effigy to Mary, you know? Jim kicked over the rubbish bin. Whyd you follow me? I wanted to let you know I was leaving. Why are you leaving? I want to get on with my life. Maybe see some of Paris. Where are you going to get the money? Odd jobs. They dont pay as well as you think. Jim chucked a rock at a nearby car. So, why are you really leaving? Im scared. Im scared that theyre going to find me. Realize Im not dead. Kill me. Or worse. I want to get out of this city as quickly as I can. Leave my life behind. Leave my woes and fears and hatred where the sewage can cover them up. I tried that. Itll always follow you. Well maybe you just have bad luck. With that she walked away. Jim never saw Elliot again. He liked to think that she had made something of her life. Then at least one of them would have a happy ending. Jim looked over to the church. Blasphemy. They said how atheists disrespected God by not believing in him. But in Jims opinion, it was they who were the heretics, for pretending to know God and his/her ideals. Isnt it a high insult to give a position of authority to someone who has no clue if what theyre saying is accurate? For all Jim knew there was a god/goddess or there wasnt. Maybe there was even more than one. But it was futile to try and figure out what they wanted. It was better just to think and dream and hope without impeding everyone elses freedom to do the same. To Jim, to assume such a strict version of reality was, and he searched for the right word, encumbering. It may give the masses a feeling of knowledge, of purpose, but they still werent thinking for themselves. Jim walked away from the church, the rubbish bin still smoking slightly. Empty laughter. That was what life had become. Jim stood out in the rain. He watched the church with an unmatched loathing. Three days ago, a new neighbor had moved in. He had a sixteen-year-old daughter. Death went over to talk to her. Because of the two year age difference, and the unrequited vivaciousness of Death, it was awkward at first-Jim had joined for the only reason of spending more time with Death-but it soon eased up and the three of them were laughing as if Jim hadnt the anger, or Death the sadness.

They and the young woman, whose name was Taylor, watched the pigeons. Jim fidgeted the whole time, and Death told Taylor to pretend not to notice. Jim was much obliged. The pigeons were how they always were, still single mindedly focused on the bread, so once again they became the canvas for Jims philosophies. They went over the next day, and Taylor introduced them to her father. He shook their hands, and asked what college they went to. Jim said that they had recently graduated high school and wanted to travel the country before attending MIT. Death looked over to him, surprised slightly that he could lie that well. Taylor showed them her dolls. Like Antimony, she still played with dolls. She blushed when she opened her bedroom door. Jim noticed shortly after this, how her brown hair always seemed to be disheveled, and uncombed. Death played dolls with her-Jim had the feeling that this was for Taylors benefitand Jim looked through her yearbook. There was one boy, who was rather handsome, who had his picture circled in red, with hearts around it. Is this your boyfriend? No, she blushed, I just sort of like him. Death asked suddenly if Taylor wanted to join them at the park. Jims heart dropped, hoping that it would only be the two of them again. Taylor said yes, but her laugh was odd. As if something was missing. Today, her hair was perfectly straight. The circled boy was holding onto her hand, as if it was his lifeline. Taylor told them to leave and never come back. She smiled, but it too was missing something. Her father walked up behind her, and looked out onto the doorstep, where Jim and Death were standing. He was in his work outfit. He was the new minister. They had broken her too. Like they had Mary. Twist their arm behind their back; give them something theyve always wanted. Burn the only part of them that matters. Jim guessed that she had gotten rid of her dolls, but, seeing as he wasnt allowed inside anymore, couldnt be sure. They had broken her. That was the only thing that mattered to Jim. He was supposed to be cured from his anger. That didnt matter. Burning a church might hurt people. Who cared? They had broken her. It had seemed despicable when Elliot had described it, but now that he had seen it up close, beating up a thousand Suits wouldnt douse the rage. It could only build and fester and torment Jim, ripping at his chest. They had broken her, and he wanted them to die for it. Jim laughed. Empty laughter. As the final days of February died, Jim struck a match, and held it waveringly over the church lawn. His mind raced, and his whole life seemed to be but a speck of dust compared to this single moment. Dropping the match would define his life, whether as Jim or Concept. Jim was a eighteen-year-old kid who had been tormented with the deaths of the only people he cared about. Concept was the spark in the night, the idea that could burn a hundred churches, and know it was all for justice. His hand relaxed a touch, and the match inched closer to the floor. Every bone in his body screamed in agreement, but as he was about to drop the flame he saw the look in Taylors eyes when she had come to see them the second day. She

was so excited. And burning the church wouldnt bring her back. The rain eventually doused the match, but would never douse Jims fear.

March Darkest Before the Dawn Madeleine had pink hair. She didnt have people call her Maddy like all of the preps wouldve. She wore all black and cursed way too much. Her parents kept her in her room when company was over. She had two hobbies: listening to music and writing. No one ever read her work, but she liked it better that way. Yeah, she knew Jim. Everyone who wasnt a Suit either has or will meet Jim at some point. Madeline was sure of it. He was the kind of person who everyone seemed to assume they knew, but when they stopped to think about it, they realized they had only scratched the surface. Even Madeleine didnt know Jim that well. But in a way, that was better. She had never meant much to him anyways. To Jim she was always just the pesky young girl who cursed way too little and followed him everywhere. She wrote a book about him. She called it Modern Jesus. Because, to her, he was Jesus, and she was one of the apostles. Jim wouldve said that it made her no better than a Suit, but when it came to Jim she didnt really care. The book wasnt all that long. It mostly described how his devil-may-care attitude tipped the world and yet it just wouldnt fall. Why wouldnt it fall? She wanted to write a book on that too. Madeleine didnt think she enough material though. Jim was something special, she thought. Madeleine put her pen up to the corner of her mouth. The Suits didnt notice her there, sitting on the corner of Highfield Avenue. It was a warm day; the flowers were blossoming beautifully. She stopped to smell one. Jim used to live maybe a mile away, with his aunts. Madeleine hated Jims aunts. They were just in another school district. Madeleine thought it unfair that the only time that she had to spend with Jim was the week he was collecting his thoughts for his big bid for freedom. She said he could always stay at her place. But Jim wanted to leave San Diego as quickly as possible. Madeleine basked in the spring sun, and hummed to herself the only tune she could remember. Jim was right. A long time ago, he had told her that the world wasnt for them to change. It was for them to enlighten the rest of the people to the fact that it needed change. Then, just sit back and watch it all fall into place. Jim lips were almost touching Deaths. He woke up once more, and groaned. Jim rolled over, watching everyone elses breakfast through the crack in the closet door. They were all so happy. Jim wished he could be happy. Hey Concept, Death heralded when he walked out. But was he Concept? He hadnt the nerve to be Concept. But nonetheless, he responded, without much enthusiasm, Whats up? They all shrugged, and he poured himself some dry cereal. Death was wearing a dress. Jim couldnt help but smile when he saw it. You look nice, he said, far too quietly. Death blushed slightly.

Thanks. Winchester was attempting to fix the game console again, for now it didnt read the disk. A loud sigh of exasperation floated from his general vicinity. Clarke chuckled slightly, and used a comic to cover his face. Do you want to walk down the boulevard again? Death looked up at Jim, who was trying to hide the sparkle in his eyes that came whenever he looked at her. Fortunately, Death didnt notice, and agreed to meet him in the park at night. She wanted to walk under the stars. Jim smiled broadly, and waited for the sun to fall. Clarke was reading and Death painting when it happened. Jim was holding pieces for Winchester, occasionally offering up advice, when, Jesus, Jesus I think I fixed it. Jim nodded nonchalantly, for he had heard this many times before. The consoles logo flashed upon the screen, and then that of the game. Jim straightened up. PLAYER ONE, it read. Jim jumped up, wondering what was going to blow up this time. Winchester was still smiling. Winchester fell asleep with his head resting on the coffee table, his two-month goal finally over. Jim suddenly had the feeling that Winchester only stopped working on the project to eat. He turned everything off, and told Death once again, that she looked nice in a dress. Once more she blushed slightly, while Jim looked at the floor as to not lose his thoughts to the smile curling in her lips. Night was falling fast. Jim wondered where the day had gone, before realizing the real question was where had his life gone? Eighteen years and what had he done? Nothing. Death had her library, Clarke his household. Even Winchester had an accomplishment of sorts. Jim had his delusions and his paranoia. And, of course, his wishes. He wanted to be an astronaut, and hoped Death could love him. Jim even wished he could truly be Concept, but knew deep down the name was only an alibi. Concept was a lie. Jim was an insecure fault of the world. How could Death ever love someone who wasnt even sure who they were? How cold he do something with his life if he didnt even know which life he was living? So he simply decided that Death looked nice in dresses, and that he was no one in particular. Jim was just there, just a small figure in the background thats secretly wishing the producers would give him a line. Death asked him what he was thinking about. He said the stars. She smiled ignorantly. Jim took her hand and walked with her down to the park. They sat on the bench, and looked up at the stars. Jim had a feeling Death didnt really care about the stars, which, if it could, made him feel better. Concept cursed. It was like Jim was standing on the edge of the world and was wondering whether to jump or not. If he jumped, hed die, but would see a light brighter than the feeble flames that he had been setting. If not, then hed continue to live his life, the same story replaying on a fuzzy TV. Static interference. That was Jim.

Concept was urging him to jump, to light the church ablaze and die as Jim forever. Jim wasnt to keen on losing everything he had known just yet, for he had known Death. Jim put the lighter away. Concept cursed again and told Jim that Death could never love him. He said he knew. Jim began walking away, sometimes snarling at the Suits walking by, sometimes not. The boulevard was lit up with the shining lights of the glowing billboards. Jim looked up. No stars. Light pollution, he had read once. So many giant advertisements flashed from the sides of Times Square, that the light seemed to blot out the slight glimmer of the stars. Jim had the unpleasant feeling that there never were any stars. That they had all just been in his head. Jim didnt really care anymore. For all he knew his whole existence is just one long, hideous dream. He wasnt afraid, so it couldnt be a nightmare. He was just very sad. Lonely. Feeling as though the world without him would be much better indeed. Maybe Concept was right. Maybe he should jump off the edge of the world, and fall into the darkness. But would the world be better with Concept? Probably not. Jim skipped a stone across the lake. The air was still a little brisk, but at least the ice had melted. Another day was passing, and all Jim had done was convince himself that the world wasnt worth caring about. Jim had all of these thoughts rushing though his head, trying to make sense of a word he didnt believe in. Jim skipped another stone. He decided to follow the words of a certain young girl he met ages ago. Find whos most important to you and tell them something, anything thats important to you, and maybe then youll find a sympathetic ear, or wise voice. Or maybe even proof that youre human. Her name was Madeleine. Jim wasnt sure if she was alive or not. Some days, he liked to think she was, just to imagine what her life would be like. He, in his mind, gave her a fancy house, a large dog to play with, and someone whod treat her the way she deserved. If she was alive, Jim doubted her life would be nearly as well off. Death joined him a few hours later, when the sun was coming up. Beautiful isnt it? Several thoughts ran through Jims mind just then, one of them being what he wouldve said if they had been going out. He wouldve lowered his voice, not much though, and told her, while looking into her eyes, that it wasnt as beautiful as she was. Which, at least to Jim, was the truth. Yeah, its beautiful, he ended up responding. Death smiled, and watched the sun rise above the city. Can we just watch the sunrise in silence? I want this moment to show the world the solemnity it deserves. Sure Concept. Why not? Static. Clarke hit the back of the TV to rid it of the white snow. Jim winced a tad. He was sitting with Winchester, ready to play the game system he had fixed up. Jim didnt really want to play, but Clarke needed to head to work soon and Death was reading Les Misrables again, which was never a good thing. When Winchester finally released Jim, he headed out for a walk.

He found the Philosopher at his usual post once more. But there was something different. There was always something that didnt seem right. Something that made the world a little less real. Jim, every day, tried to brush it off. Yet it kept following him. Showering his life with the constant feeling of uncertainty. Jim didnt talk to the Philosopher. He just tried to scratch off the unreality, and took a walk down the boulevard. Empty laughter, Jim attempted to drown it out. But it assaulted him from all sides, reminding him of all the times he had seen Harriet smile at him, laugh with him, and yet he was so blind to not notice the pain and fear in every glance backward. Jim looked at the city behind him. Where would his life go? Where could it go? He spent his day dreaming of something better, and his nights knowing that the mercy of the darkness could all but hide his tears. So he would not cry. Every hour that ticked on quarreled with those already past, and each war waged could only soothe a bit of the angst and anger that plagued Jim. Concept told him that he needed to embrace the insanity of his life. Jim told him to stuff it. The bombers still hung overhead. Elena wasnt in the house when Jim returned. Concept, Death called. Jim turned around. Hey do you want to read Another Place and Time with me later? I know youve already read it but Sure Death, why not? Death blushed, and Jim pretended not to notice. Everyone pretended not to notice the shuffling glances, the awkward smiles. They ignored the blushes and the hesitant handshakes. Jim, however, did notice something then. Something that had stirred his attention a few months prior. That even those who avidly search for the truth, at times cant bear to come to grips with it. Jim watched as for years he had, in an attempt to be courteous, ignored the faults and stutters of his comrades. His friends. And it had cost one of them their life. One their sanity. And now Jim his ability to discern life from death. To live so blindly wasnt life. So what was it? What was the difference from cowering from the truth and dying? So many questions, and not the conviction to hear the answers. Jim wanted to scream. But Death was watching. Deaths flowers were wilting. The kerosene had been all burnt away. The hearts have bled out, and the rain had fallen so long ago. The cans of spray paint lie used up and forgotten, their works of art fading slightly in the darkness. Shriveled dreams curl up in the corners, grabbing at any hope that comes wafting their way, as if the tattered remains of optimism was a narcotic that could take away all of the pain. This was Jims mind. This was what had happened to the world once filled with starlight, and the glowing embers from a hundred rockets jets. A place where the world could live in peace, where the problems plaguing society had answers, and where Jim was determined to find them. It was a realm without Concept, without the constant anger and pleas with a God he didnt believe in.

Now the only fires that raged were those that burned from the rubbish bins, lit to warm the alleys and the darkening streets. The world seemed to be covered in all of the lies that Jim had told. He remembered every one of the three thousand twenty-seven he had woven in the past two and a half years. Most were repetitive. Some werent. Most were told to make his life easier. Three were born to make Lawsons life worse. Somehow, only seventeen of them were some variant of No, I do not need a psychiatrist. Over two-thirds, though, were a form of Im fine. One was even, Of course sir, the world is perfectly fine as it is. Jim remembered this one with much regret. So kid, a man started one day, hows life? Fine. Number one thousand thirty-three. Whatcha up to? Im looking for a newspaper arent I? Dont need to snap at me. Geez. A paperboy walked between the two of them, but neither seemed to notice. They were still staring each other down, trying to read the others thoughts. The new Secretary of States doing a pretty good job If you say so. You know, youre too uptight. The world is just how its supposed to be, you know? Its all in a delicate balance. The good, the bad, itll work itself out. Right kid? Of course sir and so it went. The mans name was Fredrick. His philosophy extended to: dont look them in the eye, keep your head low, and shoot the wind. That wasnt the life for Jim. Every day something waswrong. He couldnt explain it, but food didnt taste as good, clothes didnt fit right, and he couldnt sleep. Just walking around, Jim felt the air, and it was oppressive. It was if something was missing and all of his senses were trying to tell him that. Fredricks philosophy didnt fit Jim, who often contemplated faking his death, just to escape the world. Often he thought that the only life open to him now wasnt worth it. Jim didnt want every day to blur into the next because it was all the same-wake up at the same time, eat the same food, go to the same school with the same people who have the same problems-but to blur into the next because life wasnt measured in days, but in memories and events, ideas and connections. Each day should feel like its own lifetime, with its own lessons and its own personality. Even breathing soon became depressing, and Jim couldnt bring himself to listen to punk rock anymore. He wasnt angry with the world. He was angry with himself. For letting life mean nothing but the scurrying of mice and men who tried to live together, but soon went to war when the mice ate the mans cheese. When Fredrick was his mentor, he learned to stay alive. But couldnt figure out why he should. Jim sat in the piano store for hours on end, listening to this one girl play Beethoven. Her name was Alexandra. Her nimble fingers danced over the white and black keys, her eyes closed, concentrating on the notes leaving the piano. A few people stopped to watch like Jim. The solemner of notes floated in between the more playful ones, constantly reminding Jim of the pain within the laughter. Each piece took Jims woes and lifted them from his thoughts, freeing his mind to watch the birds fly by and bask in the suns warmth. It was a star too, Jim figured. It seemed that whenever Alexandra left, Jims world would suddenly become aware once

more of all its issues. Her playing cheered him up, yet made him more distraught than before as soon as it stopped. Like an addiction. An addiction to the sonata. Thats when he stopped crying for Harriet. When he stopped crying in general. But still, it wasnt the time when his dreams died. It was merely the funeral. Death was humming when Jim woke up. It sounded eerily like Ode to Joy. His cheek was stuck to the coffee table, but the rest of his body was oddly sprawled about the floor. He checked the clock. Three in the morning. Why are you up so early? Death shrugged, and took another sip of coffee. Jim felt like puking. It wasnt nausea, but something in his mind. Something that didnt seem right. Something that reminded him of an earlier time, one that didnt make any sense to him. It was unsettling, stressful, and got worse the longer it went unaddressed. So it was nausea. Nausea of the mind. You leaving already Concept? Heading to the piano store. I didnt know you could play I cant. Winchester woke several hours later. The first thing that he noticed was that Death was crying. Les Misrables was out again, but Death couldnt bring herself to read it. There were too many problems that are too close to the issues of their world. Death didnt want to think about it. Jim, however, did want to think about anything at all. He saw pain and liars and thieves and the world upside down. The piano-it wasnt as delicate and uplifting as when Alexandra played it-removed some of the uncertainty from Jims clouded head. Concept wasnt excited much by the piano. Jims head, in contrast, was moving side to side, with his eyes closed, trying to find something in the music that answered his questions. He was feeling the worse than he had in years. Of course, his mother wouldve had the optimistic approach telling him that it was the darkest before the dawn But what if it was so dark that all of the light was gone forever? Not even the stars could break through? Where would the dawn be then? Maybe the dawn had given up. Like humanity. Like God, if there was one. Jim knew that he had given up. Concept laughed at this. Jim was going to flip him off, but the pianist was watching. Jim left. He hadnt any of the answers. He bumped into a Suit on the way out. Watch where youre going you queer! he spat. Dont get too agitated Jim Elena put her hand on his shoulder. At least you still call me Jim. Are you regretting the title Concept? It isnt me. Neither is Jim. Jim shrugged. And we all know Jesus isnt. Then what is? Who am I? What will make life right? Elena looked him over quizzically. Theres always something wrong with you isnt there? Every time I get close to happiness I realize that the life Im living isnt the life for

me. Im either ignoring life, or Im too happy, or too cynical. Im not letting my anger out, or Im sending it from me in sparks of fire to burn around buildings that wont stand for anything. I expect the world to be the same every day yet I cant see past my own differences. I change daily. I just want to find who I am. Doesnt matter if Im happy or not. You dont mean that. I do. I would suffer for the rest of my life just to know what life should be like. Would you give up Death? Jim hesitated. He scratched his chin, which needed a good shave. He opened his mouth to answer. He could also remember the first time he ever lied. Jim was five. His mother had died several months ago. He hated his father already. The psychiatrist asked, Have you been having thoughts about killing yourself? No. Are you having thoughts about killing other people? No. the psychiatrists office had a fireplace. It was cackling. Jim stared into it, watching the black slowly creep over the wood, engulfing it. His yes flickered as the fires danced over the logs, although not seeming to touch any of them. Are you being bullied in school? Do you have any reason to seek adult help? Jim turned toward him very calmly and said, with very little emotion in his voice, No. I am not, and do not. The psychiatrist smiled, and handed Jim a smiley face lollipop. Jim smiled too, although he was thinking of how later his foot would drive into the yellow circle, and how the fine powder would blow away in the wind. You know Jim; most kids I have in here because of a parents death are simply hysterical. They dont stop crying and clinging and are often depressed but you, it seems, dont. Which, I hesitate to say is a good thing. The psychiatrist furrowed his brow. I just cant tell yet. Ok sir. The psychiatrist laughed. Would it be more comfortable for you to call me Jack? No. This was truth. Jim didnt want to call the psychiatrist anything. Jack stopped laughing. He looked down at Jim, trying to figure him out. Youre perfectly fine with death, arent you? Elena do you remember where I put my lighter? No. I know you do. Its underneath Another Place and Time. Jim pulled the book up, and, as promised, underneath was his lighter. Are you still? Still what? Upset. She said this quietly, barely audible over Winchester making lunch. Jim looked at her oddly. She was twirling a bit of silver hair with her finger, while biting her lip. Jim shrugged. You have to know No, I dont. All I have to know is whether I can live like this. And I can. So you can live not knowing who you are, what life is supposed to feel like, and without the love of the only person who means anything to you? Jim looked at her with

utter incredulity written on his face. Yeah. Of course. Well I cant. What are you talking about? Clarke still doesnt know that I exist, and he never will. Im not real, Jim. I cant feel anything but unrequited love and pain. If anyone, it is I who doesnt know of life. How many times do I have to say this, youre real. Elena made a sound somewhere between a sob and a scoff. Jim shrugged. He put jelly on his toast and walked out the door. It was raining. People with back umbrellas crowded the sidewalks. They looked like the veiled mass headed to the funeral of their own conscious. Jim laughed. He didnt know why. He felt as though it was the right thing to do, yet as he laughed it was disconcerting and odd. He paid the man at the newsstand two-fifty too much for the weekly paper-the one people throw out less than the daily-because it was the mans last one. Jim walked away irritated groaning. That two-fifty was supposed to go to buying some lighter fluid. He had spent the whole previous night watching the flame flicker in the darkness and had run out at around three in the morning. Now he had to wait until he could find another odd job or two. Hows the weather? Elena was currently pretending the conversation that had taken place earlier that day had never happened. She had started to do this whenever she realized she had become flustered and had started yelling. Wet, he thought. Good. Hows the weather? Death asked. Jim smiled. It was raining. Death nodded, and returned to her reading. What are you reading now? Jim plopped down beside her. Is it Safe to Breathe? Its about nuclear war. And its repercussions, Death didnt even look up. Its main characters name is Winchester. Although he, unlike our Winchester, is named after the rifle. Well then whats our Winchester named after? Ches? I think he said it was a racing horse. Lucky number twenty-one. Cost his dad three hundred bucks in a drunken bet. That was the point of naming his kid that, I guess. But Ches likes to tell people it was the rifle. He knows everything about it too. Death took her eyes from the book, and stared into Jims gaze. Its kind of sad isnt it? Yeah. Winchester came home a few minutes later. The only ting either of them said to him was Hope you had fun at the batting cages, even though they both knew Clarke had bailed on him again. Apparently, his job was on the line. Winchester understood, but was still crestfallen. Jim patted his back pocket. Hey Elena, do you remember where I put my lighter? Its under the couch mattress. It dropped out of your pocket when you hopped so eagerly next to Death, Elena told him with a sigh of exasperation. Jim reached under the couch cushion, and pulled out his lighter. He thanked her and scowled at her. Winchester had the last cookie.

No one begrudged him it. Jim took a candy bar out of the fridge and split it four ways, between him, Death, Winchester and Clarke, who had recently come home. It wasnt a large bar or anything, but it was enough to give all a few bites. Jim didnt eat his at first, but rather held it loosely in his hand watching the sun go down behind the towering buildings. The stars didnt begin dotting the sky until Jim closed his eyes. He had never lied to Harriet past the time they met. But to him it felt that just talking to her was a lie. That he never deserved her, and that just pretending he did was just another lie. He felt that way about Death too. He tried shaking the feeling away, but he couldnt. Jim woke, the feeling pounding in his brain. He ate the rest of his candy bar. Jim raised his head. Howd you get your name Concept? Death was watching him eat. Which one? The one I was born with, or Concept? The one you were born with. I was named after my uncle. Did you like your uncle? Didnt really know him. My mom always used to say that as kids he always wanted to go to Ireland, so he did. I expect she didnt want to tell me that he was dead. But hey, maybe he is somewhere in the Green Isle right now. Whats your real name Concept? At some point Death. At some point. Death nodded. Jim left with her holding onto his arm. The rain fell slowly today, each a mirror in which to watch ones face fall to the ground. Jim looked past all the droplets, to a puddle on the ground. His face was uncertain, his life a bunch of choices yet to be made. Death asked him why he stopped. I thought I dropped something. They continued on. Death had an umbrella but that preferred to let the rain wet their hair. Several drops ran down Deaths cheek, making it look as though she was crying. She gripped Jim tighter. He soon wasnt sure if she was shedding tears or not. The rain softly dropped on Jims world. Darkest before the dawn, he kept telling himself that. If there was no light at the end of the tunnel, if the stars never reignitedJim thought about the possibility. It wasnt pleasant. Death shivered slightly. Jim offered to prop open the umbrella. Death said No. We came here to walk in the rain, to get our hearts a little cold, a little wet, to find something amongst the solemnity. What are you hoping to find? Its personal. You? Just the answers to a question or two. Like where to run to next. They stood in the graveyard, Death walking around and wiping the leaves and dirt off of the tombstones. Jim just stared at the corner where he had made the empty grave for Joanne. Death wondered what he was staring at. Jim told her he was contemplating something profound, when in reality all he was thinking of was how long people are buried here before their loved ones stop visiting. Before everyone seems to forget. The rain kept falling until they reached the ice cream shop about a block from the

house. Jim wildly thought of the old song, Singing in the Rain. He then asked Death if she wanted to split an ice cream. She said yes. When they left the ice cream parlor, it had started raining again. Jim lit his lighter and held it to the rain, just waiting for the cold winds to extinguish the feeble flame. The fire flickered and wavered, but never fell. Like Jim. Like Death. Like life. The wasps nest sat in the corner of the doorstep as it did ever week. To Jims right were the steps that lead to the condos above them. Behind him was the door to the house. And in front of him was wasps nest. He didnt want to get rid of it. Jim wanted it not to come again. But that was a unanswered request. And the window had been broken again. That was the third time this month. Death had started working part-time again just to pay for replacement windows. Even then the cost was a burden. Jim still said just to board up the windowsill. Death asked him where would the sunlight come in then. He asked why should he care. She reminded him that it was a star too. Jim growled, and began reading Redundant, a book about time travel. It reminded him a little of a TV show he had seen a glimpse of once. This was back with Madeleine. Jim picked up the nest. He was stung, repeatedly. But it didnt bother him. Jim watched the wasps fly in frantic circles, trying to cause him pain. Jim placed the nest carefully in one of the hedges that line the sidewalk. Clarke lost his job when the company had to recall the last shipment of phones. Corporate undoubtedly blamed the manufacturing plant, and Clarke was fired, with fifty other hapless employees. He was now interviewing for a position in the building of cars. Of course, the company would soon be run out of business by successful European and Asian car companies, but Clarke was desperate. Winchester was still employed at the phone factory, and had to make the commute alone every Thursday. Plus, he got stuck on the last level of his video game, which up until now could always put him in a better mood. Jim thought it was because one could relieve much anger by shooting the fictitious heads off of computer characters. Maybe thats why America kept going to war. It was a stress alleviator. Jim thought this was a stupid reason to die, but if one has their reasons there was no point in trying to talk to them about it. Suits were always right, and Punks wrong. Thats just how things went. Jim had taken to ignoring Elena most of the time now, because the only thing she would talk about was Clarke and how she wasnt real to him. Then, when he tried to help her, shed falter and crumble into an emotional breakdown, telling Jim that she existed to help him, and if she couldnt do that then she was a failure. Not only was Elena not real, but she was also a failure. Then shed cry.

He asked her once, How do you know that youre here to help me? For all we know Im here to help you. Jim. You can hardly manage your own life, how do you think youd do with mine? Im not trying to be mean, and its nice of you to try, but honestly theres nothing you can do. Jim patted her on the back, but he wanted to stick his tongue out at her and walk off. But he was better than that. Supposedly. Jim found himself spending more and more time with his toy rocketship. They were only a dreams, the voyages the ship embarked upon, but they soothed Jim most days. He continued waving the tin toy through the air long after Winchester gave up on his video game. Jim loved the rocket almost as much as his life. It was better than life. It felt right. Not perfect but right. Like how life should be. Jim smiled whenever he waved the toy in front of the window, pretending that the stars were there. He was a little disturbed that they hadnt dome back yet. But alas, what could he do? Death asked him one day if he wanted to split and ice cream. At first Jim didnt answer. He was too busy thinking up an ending to his latest space saga. Concept, Its been a rough day, so Im getting a coffee flavored scoop. I was just wondering if you wanted some. Sure. Death started for the door. Hey, wait. Since Ches and Clarke arent back yet, we can split a pizza for dinner too. Ill pick some up. Okay Concept, whatever you want. Care what kind? Pepperoni. Jim smiled. He had his ending. The crew, battered and exhausted, took the broken radio and told mission command, Make sure you have some pepperoni pizza down there, because were coming home. Houston cheered. Clarke got the new job. There was no celebration, nor cake, and now he worked twice as much for the same pay. Although, if it was any recompense, Clarke liked the job more than the previous. Better colleagues, he told them. Jim was still lying on his back, holding the toy rocket up to the light. Why dont you have a job? Elena asked. He didnt want to answer her. She asked again, this time standing over him. Ive applied for everything Ive seen. People take one look at me and cringe. Youre just that hated? Pretty much. Jim went back to his daydreaming. Lately, the daydreams and normal dreams faded into and out from each other seamlessly. Half the time, Jim couldnt tell if he was awake or not. He told Elena it didnt really matter if he was. As long as I eat and drink enough to stay alive every day, theres no real purpose to staying awake. What about the time you spend with Death? I think its more burdening on her that anything else. Are you sure about that? Jim shrugged.

Not really. I just like to pretend so. That way I have an excuse not to get closer than I need. Elena blinked a few times, in astonishment. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and opened it once more to say, Thats the first straight answer youve voluntarily given me. Jim shrugged. WhyIm afraid to ask-dont you want to get close? Because if I do, then Ill want to be with her more, and itll just end up hurting me more and more until I cant take it. So even treating her as a friend will slowly rip me apart. And youre telling me this why? You keep telling me you arent real anyways, so why does it matter? The piano notes reaffirmed a storyline Jim had planned in his head. Hed act it out with his toy rocket later. The person playing, despite being an apparently well-liked man and talent artist, wasnt nearly as good as Alexandra. Still, it helped Jims imagination puzzle through a block in the storyline. The astronauts had landed themselves on the dwarf planet Pluto, and Jim wanted to figure out what happened next. He found the best answer to be the most obvious. Nothing. Nothing but the slow decay in crew morale, the disheartening of the human spirit, and the inevitable betrayal of a crewmember who has waited too long for something to happen. Only, it seems that after he kills the commander so he could go back home, he is blessed with the sight of what happens on Pluto. Those who kill are killed. Thats what happens when they land. A tale befitting a deranged society. Jim fell asleep on the window seat, trying to remember how Alexandra played. When he woke up, the man was gone, and the pianos were silent. He sighed, and returned to the house. Death greeted him. Jim shrugged. She looked hurt, and continued reading the newspaper. Jim pulled out his mp3 player. He thought before turning to Death. You told me not all Christians were bad. Prove it. Although Jim didnt doubt this anymore, he still wanted an excuse to see some good in the world. Come with me. To Church Street. Its on the other side of town, butyou need to see St. Pauls Chapel. Jim looked at her quizzically. Please. Okay. The bus ride was uncomfortable. The two of them wouldnt talk to each other, in worry of ruining the suspense. Jim watched out the window. The wind was dancing around again, a slow, mournful, last dance of a funeral. He asked what had died. Something that had died years ago, the wind bothered to answer. Love. Although, Jim wasnt convinced that it was true: he loved Death; Winchester loved Death; Elena loved Clarke; Elliot, wherever she was, still loved and cried for Mary. The wind shrugged when presented with this. All unrequited, all worthless. Jim protested this point. The wind didnt want to listen. So he watched the wind curl up and around, rushing over the new sprung flowers. Dancing slowly, mourning something that wasnt entirely dead. It was only comatose. Jim wanted to laugh, and cry. So he hiccupped and called it even. The bus rolled to a stop. An elderly lady with cat food walked out.

Jim too exited, with Death by his side. They entered the chapel, which was nearly empty. To both sides were photographs of September Eleventh, with police badges and helmets with fire fighters coats and letters and questions and sorrow and remembrance. Concept, this chapel is across the street from what was Ground Zero. They helped whomever they could. They are Christian. They are good. Jim nodded. He wasnt listening anymore. A knot was curling in his stomach. The videos on the TV flashed before him. The screams. The wondering why. He watched the second plane crash, and he couldnt feel the sadness, or the pain. His dad was weeping like a small child. Jim didnt get it. Why did they have to die? Why now, why that way? Who was to decide? How could you pick one persons life over another, or make the decision to end a life? Why was it that all that people could ever do was burn or shoot or stab each other. Two thousand, nine hundred ninety-six people died in the crashes. Nineteen had scarred the world forevermore. Two thousand nine hundred seventy-seven didnt have a choice. Two thousand nine hundred seventy-seven were all killed in cold blood, without reason, without justification, just because it was Gods will. Jim hated God. It was one thing to wrench almost three thousand people from this world, but then Jim watched as his neighbors were lynched. For being from Saudi Arabia. He liked his neighbors. They cried more for his mother than his father had. It wasnt their fault. Nor was it the fault of those who worshipped Islam. But they were still persecuted. Slowly the death toll rose. The fear led to torture, and death. Innocent people were dunked in water, blindfolded, beaten. Their houses were ransacked, their shops burned. Islamophobes. It wasnt about being Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Pagan, Buddhist, or whatever. It was about being human, and that we shouldnt kill and maim because the guy next door believes in a different superstition than you. Death, do you know what Thomas Jefferson once said about Christianity? She shook her head. Jim smiled. Millions of innocent men, women and children, since the introduction of Christianity, have been burnt, tortured, fined, imprisoned; yet we have not advanced an inch towards uniformity. What has been the effect of coercion? To make one half the world fools, and the other half hypocrites. To support roguery and error all over the earth. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Jim walked away from the Chapel, and the wind tried to slip past him, muttering tidings of the bombers. I dont care! he shouted. The wind scampered, brushing the leaves of the trees. The Suits turned. Jim cursed far too loudly. Death ran out after him. Jim didnt want her to catch up. Shed try to make everything all better. But life didnt work that way. There was good and evil, and no way to rid the world of the latter without being forced to watch yourself become the villain in the mirror. Jim wanted to reach out and smash the mirrors. Jim sat on the park bench and fed the pigeons breadcrumbs. Give them a weapon, he thought. Give them religion

I take it you still believe the world is black and white? Where youre either perfect or completely faulty? I never thought that. Were all dark grey. Some intention to be good, but humanity just screws up and leaves everything in a worse state then we found it. Its what you call fixing a problem. Jim looked up at Death. He attempted a smile, but gave up part way and let his lips all back down limply. Death put her hands on her hips. Youre too cynical. Jim rolled his eyes, before closing them for the night. Ill see you in morning, he thought he heard Death say as she closed the closet door on him. Jim dreamed of the time he had met Alexandra. It was the seventeenth time he had watched her play. He stood when she was finishing, and cleared his throat. She turned. Bonjour. Alexandra turned her head to the side a tad. Bonjour. She dropped her notes. Permettez-moi de vous aider. Permit me to assist you. Jim bent over to pick up her papers. She blushed. Parlez-vous Franois? Can you speak French? Alexandra blushed again and nodded. Darn, because those are like the three lines I know. She giggled. Jim stuck out his hand. Im Robert. Hi Robert, Im Alexandra. Howd you know I speak French? Lucky guess. In truth, he had seen her with a French Two high school textbook. It was worth a shot. Youre really good, Jim pointed to the piano. Thanks. Do you ever compose? She furrowed her brow, then shook her head. No, its too hard and time consuming without the special blank books, because then you have to use a ruler and draw all the lines she sighed. It seems like fun though. Jim showed up the next time with one of those special blank books. Alexandra clapped her hands together and thanked him profusely. Robert, weve just met, I mean, how much did this cost, and why would you? Jim just smiled. Later that week another five hundred were killed in the Tunisia Civil War. Alexandra wrote a elegy for the dead. Jim left three days after that. He wished that he had a recording of her play, to listen to on his mp3 player. But it was too late. And dawn was early upon him, so his dream had to find somewhere to end. So Jim found the place where he had left Fredrick behind to journey for a life of his own, and waited to awaken. Yet, the pond was so still, the air so calm. The familiar wind had not yet reached this land, and Jim was finding the stagnation oppressive. He took a rock, and chucked it across the waters. Dawn wasnt far off. Jim curled back up, the morning chill slipping into the dream. Jim had never really loved anyone beforeHe thought about this as the wind picked up and rustled his hair. He put his hand up to fix it, but saw his reflection in the pond. Smiling he decided to keep it that way. So he laid on his back, the grass in his hair, and promised that if he ever truly fell in love, hed tell her. Hed tell her everything he thought. Because that was the kind of person he was. The kind that hoped.

Jim woke up remembering that promise. But who had he promised to? The birds, the waving grass? Jim shrugged and rolled over. He wanted to close his eyes, but was afraid that if he did he would see a younger self behind the lids once more. Jim watched Death laugh frivolously with Winchester, in an attempt to make him feel better. Winchester just went into his room. Death sat down, exasperated, by Jim. What would you do? Tell him the truth. Youd have me tell him that its were financially crippled if Clarke loses his job? Jim nodded. You have issues. Not everyone has to be depressed. Im not depressed. You act like it. Untrusting, quiet, sullen Im not depressed. You wont even tell us your real name. I mean, at first, sure. But youve known us for almost seven months. And you still dont trust us? Death voice had lost its accusatory tone and wavered a tad. Jim lifted his head, from his book toward her. Her eyes were watering. Sorry. But he wasnt Jim anymore. But he wasnt Concept either. So what could he tell them that wouldnt be a lie? Im just not sure if my real names applicable anymore. He went back to reading. Surely Concept isnt applicable! Concept was different. Concept was angry; Concept was full of hatred and a lust for vengengence and fell apart at every little thing. Youre just lost. Unsure of where you are and where youre headed. How is it you can always so accurately explain everyone around you? I listen. I watch Its not the same. Jim looked at her for a while, not saying anything. He just wanted to watch her hazel eyes dart over him. Concept, are you okay? Jim. Death smiled. Its Jim. Thanks Jim. Thanks a lot. She beckoned for a hug. Jim wasnt sure if he wanted to accept. It seemed, nowadays, that he was split on everything. Half of him wanted one thing, half wanted the other. Right now half wanted the hug, for obvious reasons, yet the other half didnt want to be hurt once more if he ever had to leave her behind. It was hard the first time, and hugging her would only spur his love. Jims mind fought and thought and tried to figure what was best. In the meantime, he hugged her as tightly as he could. He could smell her hair. Her heart started beating faster slightly, and his much more significantly. He closed his eyes. Jims warring mind stopped, to recognize what was going on. His heart slowed back down. The muscle in Jims jaw was twitching into a smile. They broke apart. Death hadnt noticed a thing. She just picked up a book, smiled at him and started reading. Jim wanted to relive the feeling, the utmost serenity that he had dreamed of all those nightsonly to realize it wasnt there. He hadnt felt anything when they hugged. How was it, the one thing he had most feverishly desired for many months, could

solicit no emotion? How was it that all of his love he felt nothing when they embraced? Concept was laughing. Jim wondered if there was something wrong with him. If society had finally broken him, as they had everyone else. Had they battered him so much that now he could not feel? Numb. Jim was numb. He felt like crying. DeathI have a question for you. Please, call me Jenny. Jim smiled. He looked into her eyes and his pains lessened. Well, go on Jim, she urged. Never mind. It was stupid. She turned back to her book. Im sorry, he mouthed, although she knew not. He got up and strolled across the living room. To his right was Jennys room. His immediate left the kitchen, and behind that was the hall to Clarke and Winchesters room. He had never noticed how small the house was. He kept walking forward toward the door outside, stepped right, and entered his little sanctuary, the foyer closet. He took out the necklace Joanne had given him. If he gave it to Jenny, it could only remind him of how he couldnt feel anymore. Or maybe, itd cause him to feel something. Jim decided that it was a choice best left for later, and packed it away again. He heard Clarke open the door. Clarke had gotten the new job. Jenny applauded. Winchesters footsteps came running into the room, and he smacked Clarke on the back, in a congratulatory way. Jim thought he should go say something. What, however, he would just make up as he went along. Jim smiled at the notion, and knew that as long as Jenny was in his life, the dawn would come. Eventually. Jim watched the rubbish bin on the corner of Fourth and Emerald burn. Elena was watching too. Im going to run away. Whered you go? Any place that isnt here. Have fun with that. You arent coming? Jim shrugged. I have too much here. Death? Jenny. And yeah. Well I cant take it anymore. Itll get betterjust wait awhile. Elena shot him a look of pure incredulity. Youve changed. You havent. The wind whistled through the trees. It didnt bother to stop to talk to Jim this time. A volley of cars raced by, as they were always doing, and frightened the pigeons from their resting spot. Jim laughed, then fell silent. You could be more supportive you know. I know. So, is this good-bye? It just seemsso anti-climactic.

Yeah, they usually are. Good-bye Elena. Good-bye Jim. Jim stood there for awhile. He was watching the church across the street. The one he almost burned. He also thought about what Elena said and climax. It was nearing the end of March. Jim laughed, finally remembering St. Patricks Day. They had all forgotten, despite it being both Jennys and his favorite holiday. Despite the Christian conquest motif. It was fine though. They had other things on their minds. Maybe next year. April would come in a few days. Then May not long after that. Itd be October again before long. Then he could celebrate Jennys birthday. Even if she protested. Then, December would roll around (November was always short lived) with Christmas, and then the New Year, his birthday, and March again. But still, this March felt as though it needed to go out with a bang, to use the common phrase. Jim was thinking of climax, and how fire would end the month as abruptly as it started. Jim clicked his lighter anxiously. Hey, Jim! He turned his head. Death was waving to him from the park. Clarke and Winchester were there too, and there was a picnic. Jim capped his lighter. He smiled, and ran toward them, one action for which he was not torn. Madeleine cried herself to sleep now. She contemplated suicide. The girls at school had told her that she was emo for so long that she actually started cutting herself. If Jim could see her now, if he could see what had happened to the girl hed helped up and then left. Did he expect her to be able to stand on her own? As soon as he left he took her crutches, and she fell back down, into the mud. With the filth. She tried to smile still. It didnt work too often. But it fooled her friends. And thats what mattered wasnt it? To keep the people ignorantly happy? The Suits had taught her that. Jim would be ashamed, but she didnt care. She didnt care about much anymore. March needed to end in fire. She wanted to burn her school down. It was her last year anyways. She had the match and everything. But, as the cheerleaders often told her, she didnt have the spine. She cried herself to sleep again. And dreamed of dolphins. They were so pretty. She loved dolphins. They didnt mock her. They werent like the Suits. They didnt force the universe into a book. It was one thing to hold yourself to something that couldnt be proven, it was useful for moral and intellectual growth. But to then hold everyone to the same standard, the same pillars or reasoning, the same God and the same hell Madeleine was dreaming of dolphins. Jim was dreaming of stars. Yet both were dreaming of a world where they had their own little sanctuary of thoughts and ideas, free from the Suits. Madeleine was looking for a way to never wake up. To stay in this world forever. Jim was just looking for Jenny. She told him that April first was expected to be raining, and that they should use that time to read together again. Jim had a better idea,

however. What that idea was, he told Jenny that she had to wait. It was a surprise.

April Jenny and Jim Jim thought wildly of Singing in the Rain. Jenny was shivering in the downpour. Whatre we doing out here Jim? He began skipping. Jenny smiled. You dont have to do thiswe can just go home and watch the news. But I want to. What ever happened to you Jim? Whend you change? Jims smiled faded. I realized some things in life are more important than the problems. Such an optimistic thing to say. Im just hopeful that Im right. What if you arent? What if life is the troubles and the act of fixing them? Then I dont care anymore. I tried fixing the world my whole life, and the only ting Ive ever accomplished is realizing that in trying to fix something that has endless woes, you either forsake the world or yourself. Im either happy, or the people I care about are. To repair an indelible wound, one must cut themselves. Ive grown tired of running with scissors, not to get cut but burned. Maybe the indelible wound isnt your problem Jim. But what if it is? What if by not caring anymore Im neglecting the world? Jim cursed. The rain morosely hung in the air. Jenny began skipping too. They skipped their way down to the subway station. Jenny was humming. Jim watched her dance on the sidewalk, both of them an island in the stream of rushing Suits, all of them with their umbrellas up and the rain glancing from the cloth to pound the cement beneath them. Jenny and Jim split another ice cream. Jim laughed the whole way home. Maybe it was the bitter winds, or the calm fog, but Jim loved April first. He looked over to Jenny, who was singing a slower song from her favorite band. A raindrop fell down her cheek, but it followed the gentle curve outward and dropped from her chin, only enumerating her delightedness. Jim stared off into space. He could dream of the promises and the faults of this society washing away. Jim could pretend that his new outlook on life included a blissful unawareness of his previous cynicism. But then he couldnt burn life away. Then he couldnt watch the world for what it was, and sit up on the rooftop enjoying the sun setting on another one of the Suits days. If Jim gave up his contempt for society, hed be giving up his love for life. Jim wondered if it was too late. Then he smiled. It was never too late, unless one was dead. Even on the verge of eternal slumber, one change in character could save or kill the world. Jim, what are you thinking about now? Life. Oh, cause thats not specific at all, Jenny rolled her eyes. She spun around in the rain. Jim brushed his bangs out of his eyes, and scratched his stubble. You know were best friends, right? Really? Jim. I know you dont trust people. So that you trust meit means a lot. And, I

guess I trust you too. More than I trust Winchester, or Clarke. I mean, you seem as though every little thought that enters wont come out for a thousand years. Jenny, I have a question for you. Shoot. Are you content with your life? No. I think I have more to offer than I currently am. Jim nodded. Are you? He just laughed, as if the hollow chuckles were all the answer in the world. The toy rocket was held up to the windows, the light casting the shadows of another story Jim was hurriedly planning out in his head. It was based upon the Apollo Thirteen mission. It was a mission to Mars, the second, and the transmission blew. Jim was attempting a commentary on the fight or flight aspect of human instinct. One person can escape the ship, and they spend hours arguing who, because half the crew wants to leave, and half the crew doesnt. Jenny was watching Jim think. Hows it coming Jim? Good. I figured out the point of the story. Theres a point? Jim just turned to her. Theres always a point. Otherwise why create anything? This story is trying to show the contrasts of a lack of conviction and overconfidence. Jenny smiled slyly. She raised a single eyebrow in curiosity. Jim almost dropped his toy. Jenny jumped up, smiling. I did it, I really did it! Jim sat up and she ran over to hug him. Jim blushed but Jenny was too happy to notice. Jim, her voice grew quiet, thanks. I didnt do anything. I wasnt talking about the eyebrow thing. Youre always there. Always. I mean, yeah its a bit inconvenient that you dont have a job but being here is your job. If you werent here whod I share this with? Its not a big thing, but its still great knowing that no matter what the significance of the accomplishment youll always be there to congratulate me and give me a friendly hug. Well, youre welcome I guess. Jenny laughed. So, whatre you doing now? Trying to find a way of giving a brief inclusion of my view of war into the story. Wow. That sounds, she paused, in depth. She looked Jim over while he was intently staring at the cockpit of the rocketship. Have you ever considered writing some of this? As a book maybe, or a short story, she suggested. Jim shrugged. You should. I dont really want to. I mean, I just do this to get some of my ideas out. You said that it always has a point. Well, is there a point if other people cant experience it? Is there a purpose? One can argue that there is. Well, still. Itd be a lot more useful to people if they could read it as the masterwork you intended it to be, then realizing all of the human and political commentaries that you so eagerly express. Jim thought about it for a moment, opening his mouth to express some dissent, but before he could Jenny continued with, Ill write it with you. A joint-authorship. Itd be fun. Sure Jenny. If you want. The little toy rocket had brought Jim so much, and now

it promised to bring him and Jenny closer. Jim looked out the window. The only things it couldnt bring back were the stars. He squirmed. Jenny told him that the stars were only a figment of Concepts imagination. Jim said he didnt care, he liked them. Jenny was upset that Jim kept obsessing over them. It wasnt Jims fault, though. Jim had now taken to spending countless hours watching the bombers. He couldnt see them anymore, but he still knew they were there. A political crisis was nearing between America and the Middle East. Even after major terrorist movements were rounded up and disbanded, America continued an extended occupation. And now the bombers watched Jim watch them and wonder why. Jenny wanted to start writing right away. Jim wasnt ready yet. He wanted to come up with the ending. He always thought up the ending first. Then, he could give the story the harsh reality it deserved without second guessing his choices. If he wrote the ending at the end, hed hesitate, for at that point he had developed the characters and wont want to see his creations suffer. So he wrote the ending first. And this story ended with a kiss. And the kiss ended with an atom bomb going off, burying a nation in rubble. Jim guided the rocketship with his hand, causing it to dip and dive over the living room carpet, which now was the sandy dunes of Mercury, which had become the country of Hedgewood, for Walter Hedge, its heroic founder. Little did the inhabitants know, that the world would succumb to nuclear war. It wouldnt start with nukes, but any war that ends with them is a nuclear war. Little did the people know, their ending was already chosen for them. To be or not to be, that was the question. Or was it? No. the question was how to be. Because living wasnt being. Being was understanding and acting upon that knowledge, to not callus the world but exist with only a purpose to fulfill. Jim was too young to be thinking about things like this, but too old to change his life even if he found the answer. He smiled. Jim, whered you put the cocoa? Winchester wants it. Top left cupboard. Thanks. Hey, and Jim, she began. Yeah Jenny? Are you okay? You seem, she paused, trying to find the right words, distant. Yeah Im fine. He wasnt. But who was? The ignorant. Those who couldnt see that people were dying all around them. Jim thought of those alone he had known. So no, he wasnt fine. But he could deal with it. Hey Jenny, can we skip some fire tonight? We can do it now if you want. I want to watch the fire leap in the dark. Jenny nodded. Is that okay? Yeah, sure Jim, her voice was quiet. Jim coerced the wind to divulge a few secrets of the world and the bombers. All the wind could say was farewell. Jim grew more than a tad annoyed. The fires that night jumped up from the pitch-black pond. Jenny and Jim sat inches from each other, throwing one stone after another. Sometimes they collided, and Jim blushed. Luckily, Jennys attention was fixed on her throws. They didnt talk much, but it was okay that way. Jim really didnt have much to

say. And, it seemed, neither did Jenny. Jim began thinking of the story. He wanted to think up a title. Itd make writing the story a lot easier, if he had a few words to encompass the story, the struggle. Maybe Jenny could help him with that later. So for now Jim mentally wrote the struggle between the two feuding families. The Hedge family and the Covacs. Walter Hedges first officer in the Second Mercury war was a Covacs. Kyle, compared to the rest of the soldiers, was only a kid. And now, Kyle Covacs, second in his class graduate from WestPoint, back on Earth, and could only watch as his sister was torn from the hands of George Hedge by their respective fathers. Romeo and Juliet. In a way. Only, their relations didnt end in an apocalyptic war as Kyle could guess that his sisters would. When the adults werent looking, Kyle shook Georges hand, and told him, Theres a ship leaving for Mars in an hour. Treat her well. Youre a good man. No, just a concerned brother. Jim frowned, thinking of what was going to happen next. He almost didnt want to write it. But he knew it had to be written. The rocketship taking poor, ill-fated Mr. George and his fianc, crashed when the pilot drank at the wheel. Jim swallowed loudly. Two characters dead already. Now only to await a hundred million more. One cannot think about this world with only pain, lest they go crazy. Nor, however, can they glorify the misgivings of life and wash away the misery without forgetting how to live. One should try to change the faults of the world, but only after one accepts their own faults and weaknesses. Jim came up with this when he was thirteen. Just more proof that people never change. The pianos were silent today. The violas and violins were both in use, however, and resonated with a miraculous sound. Jim wished someone would play the piano. But alas, the two string instruments carried on the works of classical composers today, and Jims thoughts were kept to the mundane realms. Jim was reading when Jenny came home from another job interview. She shook her head as he looked up, and Jim went back to his reading. You okay? she asked. He nodded. You sure? He nodded again. Jenny picked up a book too. Is it any good? Jim asked. Yeah. Its about a world without religion. Jim smiled. Youd like it. Maybe sometime. Jenny looked over to him, on the verge of speech. She closed her mouth, and went back to her religionless book. She scanned over three or four pages, before turning back to Jim. I want to show you something. How many times have I heard that before? Seriously, I think youd really enjoy it. Jim shrugged, not doubting at all that something Jenny wished him to see he would enjoy. In fact, he was yearning heavily to see whatever this new surprise was. This time, Jenny didnt grab him by the hand, and lead him to something magnificent. This time, she just smiled. Its raining, she said. Skipping in the rain. What a glorious way to pass time. Each

little droplet seems to split the air, and touch the floor briefly, before being thrown back up with the clattering of light, frivolous footsteps. All of the woes of the last week were now lying in the puddles. The bombers couldnt do anything but watch. Jim laughed at them, laughed at the Suits who had never true happiness like this, and laughed at his aunts who told him that he didnt deserve this life. No, he didnt deserve to be a Suit like them. Jim was his own person. The birds were chirping, despite the rain. The flowers drank lavishly, and reached for the skies. The world was a silver grey, a great improvement, or so Jim concluded, from the bright blue. Jenny giggled when they sat down on the park bench, which was soaking by now. Thank you Jim. This was the most fun Ive had in awhile. Thank you Jenny. I finally feel as though I have a reason to live other than to spite the Suits. Now I can say that my meager existence brings joy to someone. Now I can look at the world and have a place to be. Right here. With you Clarke and Ches, through whatever the Suits throw at us. Really? Jim nodded. Jenny blushed. The slight pitter-patter of light raindrops sprinkling upon the pavement enumerated the silence between them. Jim wiped the water from his forehead. His bangs hung limply in front of his eyes. Jenny reached over and brushed them out of the way. Jim felt a line of goosebumps run up the back of his neck. They returned to the house smiling serenely. Where were you guys, I was going to make a round of cocoa but I couldnt find you. Winchester was holding a few empty mugs. And why on Earth are you all wet? The first line of Jim and Jennys story was, The only force great enough to sustain great religions, drive powerful empires, and cause everything from spaceflight to the atom bomb is tragedy. Jenny thought it was too pessimistic. Jim thought it was realistic. That was the difference between them though. Jenny thought the world would be better without tragedy. Jim thought the world would be even more moronic. The only thing driving even them to yearn for more was the struggles they have had to endure. Why was the written word created? Because people died, and their ideas couldnt last forever. Because they needed a vessel for that information, some way of communicating great truths beyond the grave. Jenny just shrugged, and said it was too pessimistic. Jim laughed. Everything for her too pessimistic. It was as if, as enlightened as she was, she didnt want to believe in the pain. She didnt want to watch the world fall apart. Not again. Not like it had last time. If she couldnt watch the world, then how help it grow? Jim left to ponder this. This contemplation helped shape Kyle Covacs. Kyle turned away as people died in war. He closed his eyes as the first shots were fired. Kyle was just like Jenny. So eager to help but so blind at the same time. Jim wrote that down. Jim thought Jenny was too optimistic to once bear the title Death.

Imagine the irony there. Imagine the twisted wordplay and succulent irony that life so readily provides. What to do with it all? Just endure it and watch the leaves fall in fall and the flowers bloom in spring? Or revel in the self-satirizing world? Jim could forget that he wasnt alone, but he couldnt ever forget of the dark humor that has so constantly plagued his life. He laughed while he could, forced back tears when he couldnt. And so the irony entertained him, as he watched Departments created for Homeland Defense grab innocents and force them to their deaths. Where wars in burning deserts felt no heat from the public, and went without criticism. And so Jim laughed that day, as he wondered whether his story was to be a warning for apocalypse unheeded, or a monument to a world already dead. Edward R. Murrow once bid the nation, Good night, and Good luck. The world would a great deal of good luck. Plenty of rabbits feet, horseshoes over the doorways, and five leaf clovers to counter-act the disrepair that the world had fallen into during the Cold War. The army marched with their drum roll echoing the sound of their heavy footsteps, and their rifles against their sides. Jenny opened the door, and the whole house turned to watch. She waved gaily, and Jim smiled in response. She held up a new book to read. Jim furrowed his brow. The Beauregard Chronicles, she explained. Its about a young dress sewers daughter who is caught in the French Revolution. I thought youd like it. It commentates heavily on the social strife. Thanks. The night was setting over the damp ground. It had rained a few hours ago, but had stopped as the sun began to fall. Are you going to bed? Yeah. Good night. Night. Have good dreams. Ill try, but no promises. Jim cracked open the book, and fell asleep watching the first page. The words Call me Joanne, sent him back to a different, struggling time. Luckily, Jim would wake to remember only the end of the dream, which was a matronly standing over him telling him to give Joannes last gift to Jenny. But the gift was meant for Death, and she wasnt Death anymore. And he wasnt Concept. Would it still be the same? Would Joanne still have wanted him to follow his heart if she knew the real him, instead of the lie he had been telling himself? Jenny kept telling him that Jim was better than Concept, so Joanne surely wouldve liked him as he is now. Right? Surely, surely Surely the problem was the tragedy. But without the problem there could be no solution, right? Jim smiled in the dream, realizing that he was, at the same time, darkly fatalistic and yet almost as optimistic as Jenny. Then his smile faded. Jenny. And again the issue of the necklace was brought up. He woke up contemplating this. Then, Jim decided on a scene for the story. He pulled out a pen and paper, and began writing. Jenny could edit it and make it sound better later. Kyle Covacs loved Mary. And he thought she loved him back. But he couldnt be sure. He couldnt think of any reason why she would love him, for he had ordered for the deaths of hundreds in war. But, it was only his job right? Those questions now plagued his

sleep. He lie awake thinking of her, wondering if he thought hard enough, would she begin to dream of him? For surely she was already soundly asleep, being the perfect angel she was, had no moral troubles to keep her up at night. Mary, contrary to belief, was twisting and turning in bed too. She was wondering if not doing anything was good, for it harmed no one, or evil, for it also helped no one. Shed ask Kyle in the morning. He was a soldier, and always tried to help people, so surely he was sleeping now, conscious clean and blissfully dreaming. She hoped he was thinking of her while he slept. Kyle fluffed his pillow. Mary fixed her blanket. Jim snapped his pencil in two, wondering why the world could be so two-sided. Why couldnt someone just tell them how to act to be good? Like some sort of organization that held meetings to discuss the morality of life. Jenny walked in. He asked her about it. She told him that he was talking about religion. ReligionGodWhat did it really mean? Jim had spent the last week trying to figure that out. On one hand, organized religion encouraged moral development. But on the other, it instigated violence against those who had slightly different ideologies. Religion was created to question the universe. Those who question the religion are excommunicated. Jim wanted to wonder why, but he wanted to do it on his own. He wanted to push the moral boundaries of life without someone telling him he was wrong all of the time. Religion and philosophy werent the problem. It was the confounded idea that one could franchise it, and to expect anyone who doesnt follow the same guidelines you have set for yourself to go to hell. Jim chucked a rock across the pond. So how would ideas progress? Open debate, hopefully. But that would only create a desire for propaganda and cheap slogans. Then the forums of moral law would become nothing more than the next presidential election, which itself has shrunken to a glorified popularity contest. Jenny tried to help Jim think about this. Her ideas were good, but like anything Jim could come up with had flaws, and major ones. So he realized there was no perfect belief. So he trusted the world to picks its superstition and find a way to sell it to everyone else, and vilify those who wont buy. At one point Jim became so frustrated that he added an almost irrelevant scene to the story only to show his disdain for religion, and his frustration with it. Kyle listened to the preacher preach from his pedestal, catching only a few words every now and then like Courage and Preservation, and once Military. Kyle didnt really care anymore. Mary had left him. His thoughts had transgressed her moral law, and were therefore unholy. His desire to save as many people as he could brought upon him only the visage of a ineffective general. This, in Marys family, was intolerable. Just because he refused to kill more people. Because he thought their deaths were unnecessary. He had lost his love.

But she was his love no more. Her ignorance had killed that. And so Kyle waited in church, praying for the judgment day they promised him, waiting for God to come to earth and slaughter those unholy and praise the virtuous, just so he would know who had it right. Winchester strummed a few notes on his guitar. He had found his guitar pick behind the eggs in the fridge. Clarke glanced at the floor when Winchester asked himself, How on earth did this get here? Jim laughed. Jenny asked him to play something. Winchester blushed, and began puling at the notes. He tripped up once or twice, and Jenny pretended not to notice. She reminded Jim of Kyle once more. Jim waited for Winchester to start playing without fail. A few moments in, he began singing. Even Clarke turned to watch. Sometimes life is just too hard, But when no one can ever see past the shallow smiles and faded grins. Like a photo-shopped life, a broken image of a fractured mirror, He continued on, the subtle rhythm of the slow, emotional song pulling at Jims memory. Winchester was close to teas by the end. Did you write it? Yeah. Jenny nodded in understanding, and Jim was thinking of Harriet. I had a friend who would never tell anyone if she was upset. Shed just keep pushing on, despite the growing urge to kill herself. It was if she was smiling just to let her pain go, but it never worked. Thats why I called the song Smiling is the New Wincing. Whatever happened to her? She drank bleach. Almost died. Is now in a mental institution. Could be dead for anyone cares. She cant think anymore. She just sits there and watches her sister visit everyday to play her the piano. Jim swallowed. Im sorry to hear that. Do you know why she was so Jenny didnt want to finish the sentence. She was beat up. So was I. Thing is I fought back. Thats why I was sent to boarding school, and why I was the first suspect when the bathroom was blown up. She bottled it up, and fought herself instead. Write some more songs, Jim suggested abruptly. Hm? Write some political songs. Play them on street corners. Itd be as close to making a difference as any of us can get. Jenny looked toward him, glaring as if to say that he was too pessimistic. Jim stuck out his tongue. Performing just isnt for me. I have a whole binder of songs. But I just wont play them. Jenny glanced sideways as she realized that he hadnt just sung for them, but for her. Just because she asked. Jim realized this too, and his stomach clenched. Winchester slumped his guitar across his legs, occasionally tapping it with his fingers. Jim put the headphones of his mp3 player into his ears and turned it up. Jenny continued talking to Winchester but all that Jim was thinking about his childhood fantasies. He had dreams once. They were quite far-fetched, but they were

something to look for, rather than his current goal of staying alive look enough to see everything that he predicted occur exactly as warned, and watch the world end. When that day finally came, Jim would crack open a soda and watch the mushroom clouds rise. Then hed take a long sip just to spite it all. Jim was thinking about a nice girl he had met in the park. She had told him her name when he had flashed his false smile and told her his name was Robert. She had given her his number. At that point, Jim reached the conclusion that people were too easily deceived. Sarah had thought he was normal. She didnt know his real name, and thought he was a straight A student. Sarah just smiled when he said he played soccer, or otherwise spun lies as thick as wool. Sarah loved rollercoasters and could tell him everything about World War Two. Her grandmother always wanted her to learn the piano, but preferred the violin. Sarah had a brother who was constantly bugging her. She had a father who liked to play chess in the park. Her life was full of exciting experiences. Sarah once kissed him on the cheek. They went to an amusement park afterward. Sarah kept gripping Jims hand whenever she was scared. Jims heart panged with the memory of Harriet. Yet just looking in her eyes, and her happiness put him at ease. She smiled at him one time, asking Is everything alright Robert? No. Because I havent asked you to the dance yet. Sarah wouldnt stop giggling. She nodded, and hugged him. And kissed him on the cheek again. But it didnt feel as though Jim thought it should. He felt more like crying than rejoicing. But Sarah was happy, and in all logic Robert should be too. Robert should be buying her cotton candy, but Jim had no money. Sarah asked him if he wanted to go on some rides, or if they should just sit and think for a while. Jim told her to do whatever she wanted, hed follow. A month before the dance was the anniversary of Harriets death. You okay? No. She was my friend, you know? Aw, how sweet, to hang out with someone as socially crippled as she. Jim clenched his fist. Sarah had her flaws, undoubtedly. One of them was the inconsideration that had seemed to come packaged with everyone in that generation. She was my friend, and I would like if I could just be left alone today. Sarah nodded, and kissed his cheek again. Jim had never kissed her back. He never wished to. See you later honey, she said. And she left. Jim was alone in the cafeteria. Eric walked in. Jim contemplated how low an intelligence one could have and still be able to function. Lawson seemed to sense this, because he turned and snarled. He hated anyone who thought too much. An apt representation of the masses. Lawson flipped Jim off, and Jim just smiled in a challenging way. Eric sat with his back to Jim, and began talking about this kid who had tried punching him. Apparently, he was in the nurses now. Jim tried biting into his chicken. Rubbery, as always. He smiled, and aimed for the back of Erics head. Sarah thought that Jim left her. She was desolate without her Robert. Eric laughed at her once when she referred to Jim as Robert. You know that wasnt his real name, right? He lied to you. Your love wouldnt even tell you his real name.

Sarah cried for weeks. Jim knew exactly why he lied to people. He had always known. But even so, he regretted ever shaking Sarahs hand. She had thought he was someone else and fallen in love with him, and for what? So Jim could prove that he lie to anyone about anything. He smiled weakly as Jenny walked in. His life was nearly perfect now, and yet his time was spent now remembering all his mistakes, his faults, his struggles through life, wondering how he could possibly deserve a life like this. Jenny told him just to love life. But he couldnt let himself off the hook for all his mistakes. So maybe he didnt change all that much. In order to dull his thoughts he began writing, Jenny watching over his shoulder. She would occasionally change things, and make suggestions. But mostly she watched. Trying to figure out Jims thought pattern. It was usually only after Jim had finished writing that her true contribution in this project shone. She would talk to Jim for hours about where the story was headed, how the characters acted, and why the world was the way Jim portrayed it. Jim was very grateful for her help. Kyle was watching the moonrise. The potatoes were plentiful this year, as were the wheat and barley and most of their other crops. Yet Kyle watched his hands as the moon crept up through the sky. There were too many calluses. Too many scars of war upon his young flesh. And yet what did he complain about? That he couldnt have died for the war, as to not remember all of the murder and slaying. He wondered occasionally what had happened to George, not knowing of his brother-in-law-to-bes fate. He also wondered of the fate of all of those he served beside in the Mercury wars. He hoped they were as morally discontent as he was. As disturbed by what they saw as he was. Kyle wished the world cared about death. But they just didnt. If there was one thing he could do in this world, or any world, it would be to save someone. If he had one wish it would be to give him a chance to protect an innocent life. All of the agony would be worth it. He would jump on a grenade, step into a bear trap, and endure countless other pains if it would clear his conscious. No war could stop him. No lost love, or book laying still on the bedside table. The preachers told him he was absolved of any sin, that his heroics had purged away the act of killing. But he wasnt so sure. Nothing could take away a mistake, a lost life. And now he was suffering slowly, still expected to fight the faceless enemy, artificially constructed as an excuse to flaunt military might over the rest of the world. So where did that leave him? To continue down one path while everyone congratulated him for traversing another. Kyle smiled. The moon was awfully big. Then Kyle remembered that there was no moon on Mercury. He frowned. Then what was he watching? What was so bright in the night sky rising slowly to accompany the stars? Surely no one in their right mind would launch a missilebut then again no one in their right mind

would ever believe the lies the world tried to tell them, and yet many believed avidly. Kyle closed his eyes and waited for the white flash of light and the war to take his life. To end all the suffering. But it never came. The missile touched the other side of the planet, killing another three thousand people. Not one of them knew what was going on. Kyle cursed. And cursed enthusiastically. Each angry syllable rose to the whitened sky. He cried. Kyle Covacs had just witnessed the starting of the biggest massacre of human history, and deep down he knew it. He knew it was truly the day that Mercury, along with the hope for sanity, had ended. The bombers were watching Jim. He didnt really care. How would you feel about going to a literary dinner? Jenny asked him as she took a bite of his cookie. It was chocolate chip. WellI mean, who would what to read my ranting? But I thought the point of this story was to share your ideas with the world. I still dont know Jim, please, she pleaded. He slowly nodded, and she smiled. Im sorry but I think itll be good to get your ideas out into the world. Your ideas are of value, you know. Jim rolled his eyes. Im serious. You are very thought provoking. Jim continued eating. When do you think the short story is going to be finished? I dont know. Before the end of the month? Maybe, probably. Is that the literary dinner? Jenny nodded. Yeah. I can finish it by then. How long is it so far? About twenty pages. Jenny smiled, impressed. I plan on writing another two or three. I just want to write Kyles death and then the ending scene with the atom bomb going off several days before. Jenny nodded. They sat in silence as the morning rose up from the night. Jim didnt watch the sunrise, but rather the moonset. Jenny laughed when she realized this. They spent the morning satirizing American foreign policies and singing punk rock in the park. Jim got another half a page finished, but stopped when Jenny tapped on the window from outside and beckoned for him to come outside. He immediately dropped his pen and grabbed his jacket. Before Jim darted outside, he yelled to Winchester, Im heading out with Jenny, youre welcome to come if you want. Sure, Ill be out in a few minutes. Winchester was warming up some cocoa. Jim smiled as he walked out with steam rising in spirals from his cup. Jenny asked for a sip, and Winchester blushed. In a hurry to give her the cup, he almost spilled the whole thing all over her. Jenny laughed a little, but when Winchesters face reddened she patted him on the shoulder, and said, Thanks. The three of them hung out at the park, skipping stones across the pond. Winchester and Jenny started talking, soon engaged in a long, deep conversation. Once more, Jim thought of his past.

He tried to remember a time before Jenny when he was happy like this. And he just couldnt. Ive read what you had last night and its really good. Thanks. Whats wrong? I just finished. Oh, may I read it? No. Its a surprise. For the dinner. Sorry. Jenny nodded, and later explained to him that all the greatest projects had to end. Its not that. I know I had to finish some time. I knew I had to let go. But I just destroyed everything I had created. Everything that I have now worked three weeks on. Gone. But its not just the three weeks I spent writing it. Its the eighteen years I spent living in this world and looking for any outlet for my ideas. Its the three years of middle school and two and a half years of high school that I had to deal with Lawson, the three that Ive mourned Harriets death. The fourteen years Ive been without my mother, and the lives Ive lead in between then. Jim, Robert, Concept, Jim again, and every time I learn something new. And all of that knowledge has been poured into this short story. But with the last few sentences I manage to make it all worth not, I manage to kill it all and watch my life burn in vain. They tell you that the pen is mightier than the sword. Well no sword has ever made me feel this way before. Jenny put her hand on his shoulder. No sword could pierce my life like this. Jim, your life isnt gone. I didnt mean it like that. Nor did I think you did. All I mean is just because all of your characters are dead, doesnt mean you and your messages are. Maybe the fictitious funerals will just enumerate the political satire. Maybe. Hey, we should go and mess around at the park again. It was fun a few days ago. Sure, if you want. Clarke was playing catch with Winchester. He threw it to Jim as he walked up. Jim caught it, and tossed it unenthusiastically to Jenny. Soon, however, he was just as giddy as the rest of them. Clarke told Winchester to go long, and threw it as hard as he could. Winchester ran backward and tripped over a rubbish bin, but still caught the ball. He stood victoriously, and Jim clapped. Jenny giggled when Winchester came running back like an obedient Retriever. Jim stopped clapping, and shuffled away, pretending to go out for a pass. Jenny looked over to him, and tossed him the ball. Jim caught it with his left hand, and threw it with most of his might, aiming for Clarkes outstretched hand. It came into contact with a solid thump and Clarke winded back for his throw. They continued on like this for a long while. Only when the sun finally set on them did they send Winchester to fetch the ball from the bushes and begin home. Winchester returned to scolding Jim for overthrowing it. Jim didnt care. He just wanted to follow his heart, but his mind told him to burn the path and curl up on the pavement. His mind was too pessimistic. But his mind was right. Jim mentally counted how much money he had accumulated from doing various odd jobs. He always

gave two-thirds to Clarke or food and other things like that, but Jenny insisted he keep at least some. They all did. Jim at first refused, but they wouldnt accept more than two-thirds. So now Jim planned a trip to the September Eleventh Memorial. He thought hed leave Joannes necklace there. For his mother. But now wasnt the time. Hed do it in August. Nothing was really happening then. They wouldnt miss him for a month. They had each other. Winchester had Jenny, and Jenny always had Winchester. Jim felt sick. He knew they were both his friends. He knew he shouldnt be jealous. But that didnt stop him from snarling to himself every time they walked by. Jim was ashamed to feel so hurt by them, but still dreamed of himself with Jenny at night, and every time she got close shed back away into Winchesters arms. Jim spat on the sidewalk. The church cast a shadow over them as they walked by. Jim still had the urge to light it on fire, but his prolonged exposure to Jenny was waning that urge. Even so, the phoenix lighter jumped in his pocket. Shh, he hissed, not today. Jim vowed then, to someday return to the church and watch it burn. But only if his life had fallen back apart. And so he pleaded with the rising moon that his life wouldnt crumble again, that this morsel of happiness was allowed to stay with him, and he was granted permission to remain here, like this, until he died. The literary dinner was but a day away and Jenny was shopping for a dress to wear. Winchester and Clarke were both at work, and Jims odd jobs had come and gone, so obviously Jenny chose him to take her to the mall. Why she couldnt go by herself, Jim didnt know. Jim bought a new satchel to replace his duffle. It was black and had a thin white stripe running horizontally across the middle. Jenny said it looked nice when Jim slung it over his shoulder. They then went into the womens section of the formal wear store. Jim suggested something green. Jenny tried a long flowing strapless gown that was a light green, but Jim thought it was too light. Jenny agreed, and tried on something similar, but a different shade. But before she even came out of the dressing room she called out Too long. After Jenny had tried on all of the green dresses, dismissing all of them for one reason or the other, she asked Jim what color he was wearing to the dinner. Blue shirt, black pants. Any tie? Black. I didnt know you owned a tie! she exclaimed. I never wear it, but yes I have one. I bought a set of dress clothes for job interviews. Jenny smirked. What? So I should try something black, thatll go well with blue, right? Jim shrugged. Yes, I should. Ill be back in a minute. She slipped into the changing room again. Jim tapped his feet to a nice beat, and when Jenny reemerged Jims jaw dropped. He was tempted to call her Death again. The dress was longer than the rest, coming halfway down her shin. It was a tight

dress, mostly fitting to her figure. It came up over both shoulders, and on one of them was a black flower sewn from a somewhat translucent cloth. Jenny turned around completely. Jim smiled. It looks lovely. She blushed. Jim paid for it, after talking Jenny down. She kept insisting on paying for her own dress, but Jim told her that if it wasnt for him she wouldnt even need one. She sulked for a while afterward, but eventually just hugged Jim and thanked him profusely. Later that night, Jim tried on his suit, while everyone else was sleeping, of course. A blue dress shirt, his normal jet-black jeans, and a black vest. He wrapped the dark tie around his neck and tightened it. It looked nice. Jim refused to wear a jacket however. Then hed look too much like a Suit. He took it all off and put back on his tee shirt. He clicked the light in the closet off and fell asleep with his head resting on his folded suit. Jim dreamed of Jennys new dress. Jim tightened his tie once more. Jenny zipped up the back of her dress. Living with a bunch of guys she learned pretty quickly to reach back there and not have to ask for help. She came out smiling, and found it her turn to stop and stare. Jim was brushing off any dust from his vest. You look fabulous Jim, why dont you wear things like that more often? Jim shrugged. Really, Jim. Its nice. You mean it? Truly. Jim grinned broadly, and Winchester walked in, and dropped his jaw to both of them. You clean up well Jesus, he complimented. You too Jenny. She giggled. Soon, she and Jim parted arm in arm for the dinner. Clarke and Winchester would join them in half an hour, but Clarke had to work late. And of course, Jim suggested that Winchester wait for Clarke. The somewhat bound copy of Jim and Jennys story was thumping against his leg. Jenny squeezed his hand, whispering for him to calm down. Jim felt his Adams apple jerk up and down, a metronome timed to his heartbeat. They were photographed coming in, and where told where to sit. And elderly woman and a British young man with a charming smile shared their table. The fifth seat was empty. Jim was rasping his fingers against his leg. Jenny grabbed his hand again and scowled at him. He stopped. The British man, whose name they found to be Norman, began checking his phone, each time he sighed and shoved it back in his pocket. With every disappointed glance, he began pulling out the phone more frequently. Norman soon began rasping his fingers much like Jim had been doing. At one point the elderly woman, Catherine, laughed and asked the irritated man, Is there any of you young gentleman who are not slaves to the subtle beeping of a text message unanswered? Can we live without these electronic dictators, who force out most intimate conversations into the pushing of buttons? I assume this issue is one of the many addressed in your book this year Catherine? he started. Then, under his breathe Norman added, It always is. Yes it very well is! she began indignantly. And no one ever bothers to listen.

I wonder why that is. The edge of sarcasm cut at the air. Oh dont give me that Norman. We all know how disastrous your commentary on the war on terror went two years ago. It wasnt a disaster, the time just wasnt ripe for a satire of that skill Then why not resubmit it? A true author has several works peddling through their mind at once, they need not rely upon the work of an earlier time. Excuses! Catherine shrieked gloriously. The two of them collapsed into laughter. Norman my old colleague, I have years more wisdom to tell you to revisit your war piece. Really? Anti-war novels have been around since war. And none of them have done much to help our situation. Maybe yours will be the exception. Thank you Catherine, it means a lot coming from a legend as you. Catherine smirked serenely, and raised her champagne. They toasted each other, and sipped slightly. Jim was utterly confused, but Jenny was grinning. A waiter brought the table their meals. Jim didnt remember ordering, but Jenny just nodded as if to say, I already took care of it. The waiter placed in font of him a steak, medium-rare. Jim smiled. So, Norman, hows the wife? Still upset that I cannot publish past my first two novels, but loving nonetheless. Hm, I believe you first work was the tale of atom bomb, correct? And the second its follow-up. All fictitious of course, but based upon the real threat of the Cold War. I can see the appeal. Jim tried to cut his steak. Jenny was already eating her lobster, smiling. Remind me, what does poor Beatrice do for a living? Artist, a dying profession. Were all artists Norman. And therefore all poor. Dont be so cynical. The fifth seat was brought a clam chowder, despite the obvious lack of occupation. Jim continued cutting his steak. Ten minutes later, a middleaged man sat between Norman and Jim. He patted Norman on the shoulder, scratched his thick beard, and asked the waiter, Do you have any utensils? Mine seem to be missing. Of course Mister Covacs. Jims hand jerked away from his steak and crashed into his wine glass. His face went red. Jim hurriedly began wiping up the wine with his napkin. The man beside him, Mister Covacs, just laughed. Did I give you a scare kid? Jim didnt know how to answer. Now that he thought about it, the mans accent was distinctly Russian. Here, let me call the waiter. Covacs called. The waiter simply smiled and told Jim, Were in a building of authors, the most thoughtful, yet simultaneously insane group of people there are. This happens quite often. Covacs laughed uproariously as the waiter placed a new glass on the table, sweeping up the shattered fragments onto his empty tray. A few of the other tables turned to stare. Catherine, who seemed to just notice Jenny and Jims existence, looked them over. You, know, you two would make a cute couple. Ah Catty, stop bugging the kids! Covacs chimed in.

And you would be wise as to discontinue the use of that demeaning nickname, she hissed through clenched teeth. So what are two as young as yourselves doing in such a bleak place? Norman asked unenthusiastically, while stirring his tea. What do you mean bleak? Jenny mustered the courage to ask. Covacs decided to answer this one. He put his hand on Normans shoulder. Norman grew increasingly uncomfortable, as Covacs explained, Writers are the few who really look at this world. Politicians just watch the polls raise and decline, deciding their next move on what the people would want to see, rather than what would be best. Everyone else just looks at the Public Announcements, listening to the news as if it were just a commercial for the franchising of Government. We dare to take in the complete picture, and then satirize it until we have not only a compelling story but also a mockery of the things we hate. Without us, all of humanity world be content to watch the world with rainbows and butterflies. Thats why were so bleak, because its our job to watch the death and make black humor out of it, he ginned, to show a filling in his left canine. So kids, Norman began once again, bushing Covacss arm off of his shoulder. What brings you to the seventieth annual Literary Dinner of Manhattan? The collection of the citys finest authors and commentators of modern life, and etcetera, etcetera. We wrote something we hoped would shed some light on war and religion, Jenny responded. Norman nodded, taking a sip of tea. I hope that kind of work is welcome here. It is not only welcome, but encouraged dear lass. I went to my first literary dinner when I was your age. Although it was in good old Lockerbie, Catherine remembered nostalgically. So whose idea was it? Who started this danse macabre of yours? I did, sir. Jim had finally opened his mouth. Well, then young lad, Catherine began. What on earth gave you the idea? Norman finished for her. Covacs, all the while, was virtually silent. Occasionally one could hear him breathing, but that was hardly his fault. Well, life. Life and the idea of war. Wherever you go, there will be war. Ive been across America, and all Ive seen is war. Between artificial enemies of foreign lands, and between the Suits and the artists, he eluded to Normans earlier pessimism. Norman nodded his understanding. So I thought about religions role in the whole thing. I thought about the groups and factions we split ourselves into. How they can brings some of us closer together, but will mostly just force us apart. Like high school all over again. The chess club pulling pranks on the football team, who then reassert their authority by beating up the punks. We all try to become something in this world. But we arent something, were someone. We look for any way to hate each other, and as Jenny was telling me several months ago, humanity has become like rats, scurrying over each other to reach the light. All the attempts go in vain, but if we worked together, we might be able to find the truth. But no. The peak of civilization refuses to be civilized. I just wanted a book about the great divisions we hold ourselves to, and why they will only harm us in the end. Religion, country, race, everything is a dispute and an argument. Why cant we go back to when we were kids and just believed that anyone who

would play nice was worth our time? Catherine and Norman were struck dumb. Covacs was wheezing. Norman hit Covacs on the back, and he coughed before his wheezing stopped. That was, Catherine began, wonderful. Im glad that not this whole generation has been brainwashed to believe that the stars and stripes are the Lords work. Youd be atheist I suppose? Covacs asked. Jim nodded. Makes sense is all he muttered. Norman drank more of his tea. Jenny asked him which kind. Earl Grey of course. She smiled at his accent. It truly was as charming as his smile. Jim clenched his fist underneath the table. Catherine was soon called up to read the opening to her new book Muffins for Cats. Jim wasnt sure where she had come up with the title. But he applauded avidly when she reached the podium. He glanced around. There were about a hundred-fifty people there, and all were to give a couples minutes of their work during dessert. Covacs noticed this too. they better keep the torts coming, he muttering, drawing laughter from Norman. Catherine began. When all the flowers bloomed, Alice came home from the schoolhouse where she was taught many things. The flowers greeted her. She had stacks of homework, and was already on her phone, even as the school bus with all of her friends pulled away. Norman laughed quietly to himself at this. As is sensing this, Catherine smiled and continued one, She was told innumerable truths about our world. Not one of them did she question. There was a generation long past where people wouldve raised their hands and asked why. Where people found it better to over analyze everything than to under analyze the world and the meaning behind it. Alice, unbeknownst to her however, was about to embark on the most influential journey of her life, and all of this happened because she turned on the news one morning, looking for the Saturday morning cartoons. the news reporter-who was going to lose his job after this, although he didnt know that-told her something she couldnt quite comprehend. She even dropped her phone when she heard it. He said, impassively, that the first bomb had been dropped on Berlin. It was the successor to the hydrogen bomb, and had killed the entire population of Germanys famous capital. As promised, Alice dropped her phone. It clattered on the floor and Alice scooted closer to the TV, only to see images of the carnage. She suspected that many others who had been watching this had turned it off, for the pictures and videotapes were too grotesque. Thus dawned an idea in Alices young mind. That people should know more than the omnipotent pamphlets that they hand out at school. Thus began Alices quest for the truth. And, as promised, this is the story of hypocrisy and a young girls devotion to a philosophy she had only just learned. Catherine stepped down, and began walking toward a thunderous applause. Covacs even boasted that he, Will be the first to read Muffins for Cats. Then the moderator called, Jim and Jennifer Harrow, the moderator paused after he read their name. To read their story he looked hastily over the manuscript. Apparently its currently unnamed. Jims heart leapt. He began rasping his fingers again, and this time Jenny didnt stop him. She just turned and said, Sorry, I didnt know your last nameso I just said you were a Harrow.

And so Jim and Jenny walked up to the podium, arguing whod have to actually read the first page.

May After the Rains Jims life with Jenny meant everything. Winchester had bought her a new camera. It was a one-time-use one, where when you ran out of pictures, you developed the film and threw the camera away. Jenny was taking pictures everywhere, trying to capture life how it was then, where everyone was happier than they had been in awhile. Jim didnt smile in too many of them. If he did, then hed only remember all of his old dreams, where they were so closeClarke was always tired, but seemed to wear an eternal smile on his face anyways. He worked hard, and liked coming home to the people he worked for. It gave Jim just another reason to admire him. Winchester was the goofiest. When it finally came time to develop these pictures, Jim refused to look upon them. He didnt have a good history with cameras. He used to have a bunch of pictures with Harriet. Never at school, she wouldnt talk to anyone at school. But afterward, she was always with Jim. When she died, he couldnt bare to look at the pictures again. They only reminded him of happiness, and that his life didnt feel right without it. If Jim didnt look at the pictures, hed soon forget what happiness felt like, and life would feel normal. Not good, but normal. He didnt want that to happen with Jenny. He didnt want to lose her and be forced to stare at the picture of them standing together by the pond. So forever on he refused to look at the shelf above the TV. It held up a collection of these pictures now. Clarke thought this was stupid, but Jim shrugged. They got a letter in the mail the eighth, a Friday. They never got mail. Hey, Jim its to you. Jim ripped it open. Hey kid, Its Covacs, from the dinner. Catty and I were talking (dont tell her I called her that) and we wanted you to give a speech at the park in a few weeks. About unity and all of that stuff you were preaching to us at dinner. Normans going to be there too. For the love of Mother Russia he annoys me. Dont tell him I said that. So we thought youd be interested. Its an all night deal, were having a bunch of other authors and speech givers present their views on modern war. Norman, on Cattys advice, is going to present his war piece from a few years ago. I never liked it much, but it had its strong points and the message is certainly what were going for. You can bring that lady friend of yours, but please show up. Catty and I have sunk a bunch of money into this project and we would love it if the youth of America could be represented, especially with a mind like yours Jim. You may not have the message America wants to hear, but we certainly do. Plus you have the writing to back it up. --Covacs P.S. If youre wondering how I obtained your address, youll be surprised how much information you can buy out of a waiter. Jim read over this with utter shock, and Jenny leaned over his shoulder to read it

too. Her jaw dropped. She gabbed Jim and hugged him tightly. Jenny then quickly wrote back, using the return address. Of Course, Wed love to come Mr. Covacs. And tell Ms. Catherine that we are glad for the invitation. We want nothing more than to express our political commentary openly and professionally. I despise when adults think of us as anything less because we are younger, or as they put it Less Experienced. You and Ms. Catherine have been more than encouraging, and I wish both of you the best of luck with next years Literary Dinner, and we hope to see you there as well. And tell Mr. Norman that his anti-war piece will be fine. Trust me. Theyll love it. --Jenny, Jims Lady Friend Two days later, they received an invitation to Sunday tea with Catherine and Norman. Jenny spent the whole morning fussing over Jims suit. Does your tie ever stay straight? Jim shook his head. Jenny was wearing a different dress today, one that was apparently bought for her ages ago. It was red, and flowing. Her lipstick matched it perfectly, and her smile made everyone around her smile too. Once, Winchester walked by smiling so broadly that he exuberance caused him to lose focus. He walked right into the door, thinking it was already open. Rubbing his nose, he watched Jim laugh. Jenny was still fixing Jims tie, which at least gave Winchester something to laugh back about. At eleven, they left for the park, where supposedly Norman and Catherine would meet them. How was your week young ones? Catherine smiled matronly. Jim smiled too, and looked to Jenny who was placing a napkin over her lap. Jim did the same, while Norman poured them some Earl Grey. It was fine. But its a grand opportunity to spend time with people as intellectually curious as you, Jenny doted. Catherine giggled, and replied, Oh how flattering. Isnt it Norman? Yes, quite, although he wasnt really paying attention. Jenny smiled, trying to draw attention back to the tea. Taking hesitant sips, Jim watched the conversation for a few more minutes. It was a beautiful morning, and Catherine was carrying a splendid parasol. Norman, however, was merely drinking his tea and watching the pond behind them. Occasionally hed lick his lips tentatively, and then often proceeded to bite his lower lip. Jim watched this more closely than the conversations, and many times lost track of what was being said. But he never missed a time when Norman glanced nervously over his shoulder to the still waters. Every time someone skipped a pebble he would watch the ripples dissipate. Jim thought this odd, but couldnt take any meaning from it. What do you keep glancing at dear? Catherine asked Jim once. Nothing. Just admiring how all of that water could be disturbed by just one stone. It reminds me of September Eleventh. A few people could reap that kind of damage to a country. This of course was made up on the spot, but even as Jim said it, it became truth. Hm. Deep, as I assume you always are Mr. Harrow. Oh, its not Harrow. Jenny just didnt know my last name.

And yet she wrote a short story with you? Yeah. Whats the big deal? Writing with someone takes a deep connection with that person. Your thoughts have to be so in tune that all of your comments and political messages line in with each other. So Jim, what is your last name? I hate it. Reminds me of my dad. What about your mother? Would she have born the same last name? Catherine interjected. Not if she didnt change her name when they married, Norman replied, finally taking his eyes off of the water. Jim, please. Jennys red lips were frowning at him. Jim shook his head. Norman went back to watching the pond. Catherine could help but feel the air of anticlimax gripping their tea. She announced that she must really get going, bid the three of them farewell, and left. Norman waved unenthusiastically. Jenny, now cross with Jim, decided that it was best for them to leave as well. Jim, however, didnt want to let Norman be alone. He was eyeing the pond the same way Antimony kept eyeing her knives. Jenny just gave him a threatening look, and Jim stood from the table, and made to shake Normans hand. Norman flinched. Jim drew back, said, good-bye and walked away. Jenny didnt want to talk on the way back. Jim didnt want to talk either. He was too busy wondering if he was the reason people continued on, or if he was the reason they continually gave up. Harriet plagued Jims thoughts for the next few days. Did he drive her to her death? Jenny told him not to think things like that, even though she was still upset with him. Jim tried to explain to her why his last name was nothing but another prison. She wouldnt listen. He told her to read the ending of their short story, even if it still had no name. Kyle Covacs, in no relation with any one else of Mercury, shouldnt have cared that they were all dead. He shared no nationality, no blood, no religion, and no love. Since he was in school, they had told him to define himself by other people. To cut the world into sections. To see black and white everywhere, and to pick a side for everything. Never compromise, not even in the face of Armageddon. Never Compromise. And yet he cared deeply when half of the world lost their lives. Why? Because he was a human, and all of the petty differences were nothing to him. Everyone else was a human as him, and they all deserved life. All except those who thought it was moral to kill the world because of the conflicts, the disagreements. They deserved nothing from him. They expected everything from him, and yet gave him nothing in return but fire and brimstone. And napalm. We cant forget the napalm. Never forget the napalm. The wars had brought animosity to a once peaceful colony, splitting their people into two sections of land. The Covacs and the Hedges. Now the descendants fought each other with endless flame to scorch a world that had done nothing but support them.

Mercury was crying, and so was Kyle. So, from the topmost balcony in all the land, Kyle screamed of his last name. His real last name. He was not a Covacs. He was a human being, a mark of the last standing war on peace that had been lost so long ago. A monument to the world before the was, the world back when civilization meant being civilized. Kyle screamed until his lungs grew sore. When the bombs dropped over his city, he was still screaming from the balcony. And all who heard him, cried a little. The tears stained the floor, and the bombs would burn them into the earth. Even as the scavengers would look years later, they would find the tears untouched. The last anguish of people. A people who found Kyles anguish to be their own, twisting their innards until they too screamed. Washing down the counters in the bakery, was a man. There was no reason to be washing the counters. But it took his mind off of his death. The man had loved a woman since they were five. She was a Christian, and he a Atheist. So naturally, their parents forbid their love. The man took a loaf of bread and tore off a piece with his teeth. The woman was so beautiful As he was going to die without holding her. Their names werent important. Kyle had already expressed this. So as Kyles voice reached the bakery, and his anthem of hatred at the divisions that had killed the world, the man chucked his bread away in anger. Tearing at the eyes, he watched the woman come strolling down the street. Her dress was black, with a flash of red going up the center. As the bomb exploded behind them, he grabbed her and kissed her. And as the world was torn apart they died together, as humans should. Hey, kid! You made it! Covacs patted Jim on the back heavily. Jenny was no longer upset with him, which eased Jims mind. She was, however, continually glancing at him quizzically, just like the old days. It irritated Jim, but it was better than her being angry with him. Yeah, wouldnt miss it for the world. Ah, if someone offered me the world, Id miss this piece of- Hey Norman! Jim laughed at this. Jenny looked over him again, with an amused expression. Norman came up to them, and congratulated them once more. I finished reading the copy you left me, and the last line absolutely enthralls me. Thanks Norman was now shaking Jims hand so hard that his whole arm was jerking up and down. I was wondering if I could base a book on warfare, the sequel to my new publication, on that last line. Id cite you of course. Jim nodded before fully taking in the meaning of the sentence. Wait, new publication? You published your war piece? Jenny asked. Norman nodded ecstatically. He then left to chat up Covacs. Jim massaged his limp arm, and turned to Jenny. So, what do you have prepared for the speech? Well, Jim started. I know what I want to say, but I havent exactly written it down Jenny slapped him. Ow, why- Do you know how important this is? And youre just going to wing it? Yeah, pretty much. Before Jenny could make some retort, Jim was called up to the podium. He looked out to the thirty people who had decided to attend. He gulped

loudly. Hi, Jim started lamely. I dont know what you expect me to say. I dont know if you think my speech is going to hold some great truth, or social observation. Well it wont. Just a question. Why do we keep running? You and me, we all keep fighting. We fight the atrocities that we face, and try to make the world perfect. But how can we be sure were steering the world in the right direction? Are we granting people their freedom, or just taking it away? All this eager dissent is for naught if we cannot stop to see the world we are supposedly helping. Just stop for a moment or two. We cant be running around all of the time. Look at what youve done to the world, and evaluate if youre doing the right thing. And if it truly doesnt matter, then why push it? For those who have read Jennys and my story, youd understand what I mean by a death apart is worse than a death together. If everyone took their ideas to the world in an attempts of a utopia, wed have a billion different perfect worlds all only applicable to a few people. So how can we fix a world when we disagree on what needs repair? I heard this philosophy years ago, and I just now fully understand it. A man, a good man bear in mind, once told me something to the extent of, One has the freedom to think and act upon such thoughts, as long as those actions do not impeded anothers right to the same. If we find a way to spread this message, we can have a more untied world, not separated by things such as nationality and religion. We can accept all of the punks, homosexuals, Christians, Atheists, Communists, Capitalists, all of the races, and we wont look at the world that way anymore. We will no longer see the world in black and white. We wont be labeled. We can all be human once more. And with that, Jim stepped down. Here we are, to say farewell to the only true hero of the war. The one who refused to launch the missiles. Walk on sweet savior, and return home, wherever you came from, and may your trip be watched by those you saved. Jim was starting a new story. Jenny was reading it over his shoulder, entering in her constant advice and still trying to judge Jims thought process. So far she had been unsuccessful, and consented to tapping her pen against her thigh. Dont worry, called the savior. Ill be home by nightfall. Jim purposefully wanted to leave the name and gender of the savior a mystery. Those, he said, werent important. Jenny thought that this was smart, however when reading it grew tiresome to read the savior over and over again. Jim said hed find a way another way of referring to him or her without mentioning gender or name. They began spending prolonged times at the park, just swinging on the swings. Occasionally they would talk, but mostly it was quiet. Jim asked her once, What would be a good name for our first story? I dont know. Okay. Then quiet once more. Jim scratched his head, writing down various titles on a scratch piece of paper. Mercury was one of them. The Day Humanity Died was another. Nuclear Winter was Jims favorite, but still wasnt good enough. It wasnt about the nuclear holocaust. It was about the hope afterward. The last gift Mercury gave to humanity was the realization that life should go

undivided. It wasnt the nukes. It was the truths derived from the mass deaths. Derived from the pain. Frustrated Jim just scribbled I love you Jenny, and crumpled up the paper. Hed burn it later. Winchester walked in, playing his guitar. He stopped singing when he saw Jim and Jenny. Hey. Jim nodded. Still working? Jenny nodded. Clarke then entered, an air of certainty about him, and a casual swagger that was only promising. Guess what just happened? Jim refused to guess, but Jenny said, You got a promotion. Clarke shook his head. A better job? No. A raise? It wasnt about work. A girlfriend? Close. But I found someone I love. Whats her name? Jim asked, before Winchester could. Clarke raised an eyebrow. Or his Hers is Eve. Beautiful, Jenny muttered, silently wishing that her name were Eve. Jim leaned over to whisper in her ear, Jennys prettier though. Jenny giggled. So I was wondering, Jim, if you and Jenny would come to the park with Eve and me. He put his hands together, and looked up at Jenny pleadingly. Wait like a double-date Well I wouldnt call it that Because Jim and I arent dating On no, of course not, Jim started in. Winchester looked from one to another, to another. He smiled as if it were all one big joke. Everything to him was just one big joke. Jenny glared and Jim hit him on the shoulder. Clarke merely blushed, his intentions misunderstood. Well still come, Jim added, and Jenny turned her glare to him. What? Itll be fun. I hope. Jenny, however, was still upset that Clarke insinuated that she had feelings for Jim. Clarke didnt see what the problem was. People got things like this mixed up all of the time. Even Jim said it was fine. So why was she so reluctant to talk to him? Clarke thought he should spend more time out of the house, give her time to think. As a consequence, he began spending a lot of time with Eve, who, Jim figured, was staring to love Clarke back. Jim thought this was great, but was hesitant to say anything, lest he be wrong and get Clarkes hope up unnecessarily. Jenny was crying in the bathroom again one morning. The door wasnt locked, so Jim opened it, and very slowly walked in, his gaze never leaving the floor. Jenny, is everything okay? Im dressed, you can look up, was all she said. Jim still focused on the tiles. No, not everythings okay. Somethings seriously screwed up. Jim asked what. I was so sure until last week, when Clarke asked if I liked you. So sure of what? So sure of myself. Why would his mistake throw you off like this? Jenny wiped her smeared mascara with her sleeve. Why does it matter? It just does. Remember when I wouldnt talk to you? Or even look at you? Jim nodded. I

didnt want to spend any more time with you until I realized who I was and why I was so happy with you. I didnt want to love you and not know it. I wanted to make my intentions clear with myself. Well? Jim wondered. Well what? Did you love me then? Do you love me now? Jenny smiled and hiccupped before answering, No Jim. Sorry, but I dont think I ever will. Which is fine anyways right? Its not like you love me, she giggled, the very idea preposterous. And why ruin our friendship by loving you, and having you love someone else? Jim nodded in agreement, while painfully yelling in his head, But I dont love another person. Jenny didnt seem to hear, though. Jim swung on the swings back and forth, every time he and Jenny went up Clarke and Eve went down, and vice versa. It was kind of funny, he thought. But kind of sad at the same time. Winchester was sleeping in, but Jim thought that he looked kind of hurt at not being invited. Next time, Jim thought. Then theyll all be together. All five of them now. It was weird, how their group started with only one, Clarke, and now had amassed to five, after previously reaching this number and then soon losing that fifth member. It was as if five was cursed. As if when the number five was reached, someone had to leave. And it was a shame too. Just stupid superstition, Jim thought. He wondered what life would be like with Elliot, and whatever had drowned itself in the pools of blood at Antimonys that one day. Did she give up on her cutting, or give up on herself? Although Antimony had never truly been part of this group, he still worried about her. Suddenly Jims thoughts drifted to the Philosopher. Maybe hed visit if he passed one of these days. Passed by the sacred lamppost. Suddenly all of Jims past was spilling into his brain like a sink overflowing. Each memory reached the top and dripped to the floor, dampening the world below, and making everything more slippery. His mother, Harriet, his aunts, Eric Lawson, Sarah, Madeleine, Elliot and Antimony, Elena, Death-back when she was known as such-, Winchester and Clarke, Joanne, the pigeons, the winds, the bombers, Norman, Catherine, and Covacs-both real and fictional-even Concept tugged at his memory. He was only brought back to reality when Eve snapped her fingers in his face. Jenny giggled and Clarke laughed. Eve smiled slyly, and put her hand on Clarkes knee. They both blushed. Jenny fell silent. Jim, who had been caressing his memories lovingly, now put them softly aside and looked toward Eve. Jenny motioned for them to leave. Jim nodded, lying as easily as always. I want to show Jenny the pigeons, and he raised his eyebrows as if not following them would be a favor from Clarke. Clarke nodded, clearly understanding exactly what Jim wanted him to. Jenny and Jim took then a leisurely stroll through the park. The Philosopher wasnt thereJim wanted to cry for the old man. But Jenny told him to just enjoy the flowers, and

to revel in the glory that was mid-May. He was too busy watching her lips dance playfully as she talked. Her radiance shone brighter than all of the spring sunshine. Jennys hair was longer than usual, and pulled back in a ponytail. It looked nice. Jim turned back, to where they left Clarke and Eve. They were kissing now. He smiled for them, and wondered briefly why he had never had a girlfriend before. Sarah didnt count, for they had never officially stared going out. And even if they had, Jim doubted Sarah loving Robert would count. He wasnt Robert. But these thoughts passed quickly. Jenny hugged him, as friends of course. She had once thought she had loved him. That was something, right? If Elena were here she wouldve called Jim pathetic, to live for the brief moments where he was near Jenny. Hed tell her that she wasnt real. And she would run away, crying. Not being real was the only thing that ever bugged her. And yet Jim would exploit this whenever she got on his nerves. Jim laughed to himself, remembering when she was only the voice in his head. Simpler times, they were, but not nearly as joyous. A scream echoed from the corner of the park, resonating in Jims twisting gut. Both he and Jenny turned. A group of Suits were drunk, and assaulting a poor homeless man. They took their empty beer bottles and smashed them on the floor. Broken glass rose up and assaulted the hobo, falling back to the ground in time with the hoarse laughter. Pretend what you may, Jim told himself, but you know you need to help, but if you do your perfect life is ruined once more. The Suits convened in murderous circles around the hobo. Help him, and your conscious is clear. Yet, how long do you think youll last in this world after confronting it again? Youve played this game before. Fight back and run. There is no middle ground to hold with these people. Be willing to leave everything behind if you dare to help for once in your life Jim. I have helped! How? By giving an emotionally unstable girl a crutch? Antimony wasnt my fault Was Harriet? Thats not fair Neither is life. Save his skin. Save your soul. I dont have a soul! I dont believe in it! Shutting your eyes doesnt mean it doesnt exist. Jenny was growing fearful for the mans well being. The taunts and jeering had evolved to threatening jabs and the switching out of pocket knives. I still dont have a soul, Jim muttered to no one in particular. Picking up a rock, he threw it as hard as he could at one of the Suits heads. They all rose and turned. He flipped them of angrily. Close to tears, Jim started running for his life, calling back to Jenny, If I dont make it home, dont wait up on me for dinner. No final farewells. No heroic good-byes. As anti-climactic as ever. Eventually, the drunken Suits caught up and tackled Jim, pounding his face into the concrete. He kicked, bit, punched, and spat on anyone who came near. The fists all came toward him now, and he flayed around, trying to stand.

All for some random hobo he never met before. That was Jim. He would throw away his life for just one person. And yet he was the enemy of society. He was the wronged, the sinner. Sure, he cursed too much and had a bit of a temper. But Jim was constantly looking for a better world, for a more united state of being. Wasnt that worth something? That was Jim. He would throw away Jenny for just one person

May-part two Starless Nights When Jim was only four, he looked up to the stars, and asked his mother what they were. Theyre new opportunities if you want them to be. So enthralled by this answer, Jim continued watching the stars. He tried counting them once. Seeing how many opportunities he had, how many he could blow. Even then he knew he was bound to screw most of them up. Jim wasnt a pessimistic child. But he still didnt understand his dad whenever he talked about religion. Its simple you moron, hed start. Hey, dont talk to Jimmy like that, his mother would say. Fine, kid, its simple. God is the ruler. He knows whats good. Follow what he says and everything will be good. Okay? But how do you know what he says? At that point his dad would give up, and walk away muttering things. When he met Harriet, Jim was relieved. At least someone, after his mother, who would listen to him. Listen to his philosophies. He was the one who came up with One has the freedom to think and act upon such thoughts, as long as those actions do not impeded anothers right to the same. Harriet agreed fully. She also agreed with his darker mentalities, his increasingly pessimistic view of life. Maybe he was the reason why she killed herself. So he looked up at the stars, imagining several of them burnt away, several chances he had already wasted. And he was only fifteen. His favorite teacher was his sophomore English teacher. Mr. Hudson. He always encouraged Jim to write what he thought about politics, society, or life. Most of the time he ended up writing about Harriet, however. Mr. Hudson was laid off halfway through the year. He was replaced with Ms. Schnell, who was one of the most repulsive women Jim had ever met. Jim got an F in her class. He didnt care. She had him write about things like The Presence of God in my Everyday Life and The Effectiveness of the Surge into Pakistan. Jim ended writing something sarcastic or openly critical of Schnell or her ideals. She suspended him. He still didnt care. Math was always a bore. He was exceedingly good at it, but none of the teachers cared for him. So he was stuck in remedial, getting Cs and still not caring. Science was the same. Jim did, however become fluent in two other languages. He still failed the classes, despite being able to speak both better than the teachers. Maybe it was because he was better than the teachers. His aunts were furious. Jim still didnt care. The only thing he cared about was getting revenge on Eric Lawson. That, and come his junior year, Sarah. Although, now he was reconsidering how much she actually meant to him anyways. He shed no tears over her, so he assumed not much. But at least she tried to listen to him, even if she was a Christian. A Bat.

The first several months Jim had run away, before he had met Antimony, he was dreadfully alone. But that didnt bother him too much. The only thing he cared about then was if he was going to eat. And even then, he wasnt too picky. Hed skip several days entirely, only eating when it was hard to walk. And half of the time, hed give away most of his lunch to the local hobos. He spent but a few days in each city, quickly moving from San Diego to Albany in a matter of months. Yet he spent the almost ten months in Manhattan alone. Was it the people? Had they changed him somehow? Or was it just life? Had life changed around him? Jim, utterly confused, woke up in a ditch. It was twelve at night. It wasnt that odd, it was in fact where he had laid his head to rest. He just didnt expect to fall asleep. He was in Boston. It was only a week past when he had left Jenny and everyone else behind. He had finally gotten his old life back. And he felt like crying. Jim tried to remember that night, the night when he came home after being beaten up by the drunkards, and where he had gathered his things, and left. But Jim had suppressed that sordid memory. Now he was staring at the church. It was one that mirrored the church in Manhattan perfectly. The one he was constantly tempted to burn. And now he had his lighter. And no restraints. His old life included a Jim that would burn anything with the slightest provocation. So he pulled the small metal splinter that had fixed the lighters leak so long ago, and wrote something in the dripping fluid. He clicked it open and chucked the whole thing into the churchs windows. Instantly the whole square was glowing with the light emanating from the burning church. The fluid on the floor caught too, and anyone standing up above could see that he wrote, I love you Death in the middle of the New England square. I love you Death He had come home at two in the morning. Winchester was waiting for him. Clarke and Eve are going out, he said, as if Jim wasnt covered in blood. Im leaving. I figured. How? Jenny told me you helped a hobo out. Usually whenever someone helps another they have to jump town the next day. Depressing right? Winchester shrugged. He strummed a few notes absentmindedly on his guitar. Wheres my stuff? Still in the closet. Jim opened the closet, and tore out all of his things. His duffle was ripped, so he pulled out all of his clothes and piled them into his new satchel. On top of them he dropped his lighter, but then yanked it back out and shoved it in his pocket. Jim grabbed some food from the fridge, and placed money for it on the counter. Winchester watched all of this with indifferent eyes. Jim argued with himself whether or not to take his short story.

I can always write more, he finally concluded. The short story without a title. Jim looked it over, and laughed to the world. Not even the bombers could rip away Jims influence from the earth. He had given his message, and watched it light the fires in peoples minds. He picked up a pen, and thought of the perfect title, one that not only defined Kyle Covacs life but Jims as well. And Clarkes and Winchesters. Jennys too. Everyones. When he finished he stepped back to admired his work. May I have this dance? This was the only question that made sense anymore. Are we doing the right thing? What is God? Who is right? Why do we keep fighting? Yet Jim could just imagine all of the bombs falling upon this earth and a young teen asking another to dance with them for the first time. And amidst the fire and brimstone would be the stepping on of toes, the shady smiles, and the final farewell. It seemed odd to think that even now people were dancing with each other, that some good in this world could shine beyond the overshadowing darkness. And yet, five words made it all possible. May I have this dance? May I try to forget the pain I feel, and lose myself in your tantalizing beauty? May I try and entertain this world with a touch of love left in this social wasteland? Yes. And always yes. Jim took Joannes necklace from the bottom of his torn duffle. He placed it on the short story, and let the candlelight illuminate the clear emerald. The house was silent, except from Winchesters soft guitar playing. And he was paying no attention to Jim anyways. It was if good-bye meant nothing. Maybe he thought itd end up like last time. Maybe he thought Jim would always come back. Jim almost shed a tear when he realized this. He was never coming back. Jim crumpled up his duffle and tossed it into the rubbish bin. He set it on fire. Watching the flames, Jim wondered whether he should say good-bye or not. Itd give him closure, but would make Jenny cry. He hated to see Jenny cry. Jim truly did. So he continued pondering this as the flames arced and spiraled, almost leaping out of the rubbish bin itself and onto the sidewalk. Jim watched the shadows dance on the walls across the street. They were all whispering things about him. He chucked a bottle that he found on the floor at them. It shattered, and the shadows were still there. Jim cursed loudly, and a few neighbors turned on their bedroom lights. Ches, what would you do? You have to leave dont you? Well You shouldnt stay. The Suits hold grudges. Eager to see me go? No. Im just being realistic. Not like you though Jim commented, trying to inspire a little laughter. Neither of them broke the silence. So where to go? Where youve always gone. So life just becomes what it was? Winchester didnt answer, but took a deep sip

of his hot chocolate. Jim watched him, and thought of all the times he had to run out to the store specially for that stupid drink. But it was worth it. It was all worth it. Jim looked up above the TV. The photos were still moments of pure happiness. Hard to believe it was only this morning when Jims biggest concern was that Jenny was crying the in the bathroom, telling them that they were best friends, even if she didnt love him. Now he was doubting that hed ever see her again. Jim walked around the house, just to remember the good times, before shutting the door for the last time. He saw the burn mark on the floor that Winchester had singed in when trying to fix up that game system. Jim saw also the couch that had held most of his love. Every time they had read together, the various days Jim would sit and hold Jenny as she cried over the news. Occasionally they had even fallen asleep that way. It was all on the couch. And the first day he spent here (conscious) he had retaped that stupid couch. One of the best things he had ever done. What else do you need before you go Jesus? Should I say good-bye to everyone? Winchester shrugged, and leapt up on the kitchen counter, his guitar leaning against his legs. He grabbed a cigarette from his back pocket. You smoke? He shrugged again. Just dont tell Death. When will I ever have the chance? This had obviously skipped Winchesters mind, and he blushed. Jim also didnt comment that he had called her Death again. It was just a little weird. I started smoking when I stopped loving Death. Jim furrowed his brow. When was this? A few weeks ago. I dont know. Life just seems a little bit harder now, and a little more serious. Maybe Ive finally matured, but it just seems that my child-like crush on her was a bit pathetic and stupid. Its not stupid Face it Jesus. I have no reason to like her. I cant name one, other than shes pretty. Which she is, but thats not the point. Clarke sees something in Eve. Something special, something I want to see in someone eventually. Jim nodded, understanding. Shes still my friend, he added hastily. Oh yeah, I know that. Oh, ok good. Silence overcame them once more. Hey, I just thought of something. What? Jenny doesnt want you to go, but we all know you need to. And youre Jesus right? Well does this make me Judas then? Because he let Jesus die even though no one wanted him to. But he needed to. And its like that right? Except you arent dying. But you might as well be, to Jenny. Its not like shell ever see you again. Sure Winchester, whatever you want. He nodded, and hoisted up his guitar again. Winchester began playing. Jim smiled, and took one last look around. And the savior left the only place they had ever known, to embark on an adventure, not of their will but the will of the world. It was as if the gods and/or goddesses had

planned something for this savior, and took everything from them in order to steer the savior in the right direction. To force the savior into a path of righteousness. To the savior, they didnt seem like very just gods. Jim closed the door, but before he had taken but a few steps it opened again, and out came Winchester carrying his guitar limply. Jim was hoping it was Jenny. Hey Jesus, you arent coming back are you? No. Then I want you to have this, he handed Jim his guitar pick. I have others. I just love that one, and I want you to remember us, always. I couldnt ever forget you You could if you really wanted. But why would I want to? I dont know. Maybe you want to suppress all of the good times so the bad ones to follow dont seem as bad as they really are. I wouldnt give up these past ten months for the world. Winchester laughed. If someone offered me the world, Id give them up. Jim smiled, and shook his head. See you someday Jim. He stuck out his hand. Jim shook it avidly, and muttered, See you someday, Winchester. A brief pause, and Winchester leaned against the wall and began playing again. Jim waited to listen for a short while, and then turned his back to the house and began walking. Winchesters voice carried on for a couple of blocks, and rung in tune with Jims footsteps. When all of the houses are lit on fire Kerosene and used up matches on broken floors, Creating for the world a funeral pyre, Of many blazing convenience stores. The world is how you see it, And all of the voices in my head tell me To see it as an endless pit, Lest we toil for the Holy See. I wont give in, I wont give in The stars were still not visible. This irritated Jim. He took out his toy rocket and began waving it about. He could almost handle a government taking away peoples freedoms. But Jim couldnt stand it when they took it from each other. From themselves. Imagine the world fading to black. The whole world, everything from the last glimmer of hope to the darkest moment we as a people can create, and imagine it all eclipse by a single word. All humanity faded to black as someone muttered fire. Like a movie ending, just before the credits, the last black panel in which the whole movie is silence for but a moment. That was the night of the twenty-second of May 2015. Where everything seemed to stand silent until the white flash erupted over Islamabad. Clarke, who had awoken to find Winchester outside, singing his songs, had seen it happen on the news. Jim would find out too, soon enough. When he looked through the rubbish bins the next morning. Some newspaper is bound to have it.

Then again, many papers are more likely to have the breaking story of some celebritys engagement, yet will easily forget to mention the thousands of deaths. If Jim did find out, he would then wish he was back with Jenny. He would wish that all of the worlds pains could go away as he dreamed they would. Eve came knocking at the door late at night. She was crying. Her sister had woken her up to show her the news. Eve asked to see Clarke. Winchester pointed to the couch. Clarke got up and walked to the door, slowly, the deaths still torturing his mind. Winchester gave them their privacy. Eve sobbed onto Clarkes shoulder while the TV continued on. Eventually, Clarke took her head in his hands, brought it up. They kissed for a good long while. It couldve only been a few seconds, or it couldve been several lifetimes. They didnt really care. Not anymore. As the bomb exploded behind them, he grabbed her and kissed her. And as the world was torn apart they died together, as humans should.

Epilogue: June-July And the Bombs Keep Dropping The alleyways overflowed with spilled beer and cocaine. And all the Suits ever bothered to do was straighten their jackets and take care not to tread in the puddles of blood collecting at their feet. Their last rights were all forsaken, so that they could murder and maim quicker. If you could believe that life was a lie, where would that leave you? Jim had tried to be perfect, and now saw the world for what it was. And it wasnt worth it. The railway carried him up the east coast. Why, he didnt know. Why he chose this direction was only a guess of the Suits. Radioactive signs could been seen spray painted on the sides of walls. Hows Charlotte holding up? She stared talking last month. Good. Jim laughed. How small the world was. He turned to see one of the men scolded for smoking on the railway. Some people never learn. Jim looked out of the window, to see people hosing down the streets, trying to wash all of the blood down to the drains. What if they overflowed? What when all the blood collected in the sewers, and drowned the city? Or when there was no one to continually push it down? What when no one was left to clean it up? Jim put his headphones in his ears and turned up his mp3 player. Drown the world out in punk rock. Wasnt life just so easy? Jim counted how much money he had left. Thirteen fifty-nine. When he reached Portland, he needed to look for a job. Although he doubted anyone will hire him, he thought he should still try. Flash some false smiles, its not as though it was hard. Maybe hed wear his vest, and dress shirt. No. It reminded him too much of Jenny. Jim hadnt, as it seemed, been thinking about her much since he left. He had mostly suppressed the memories, as Winchester said he would. But no, he would never forget them completely. Jim touched the chain at his neck, which now strung through Winchesters old guitar pick. Whenever someone even mentioned death, hed involuntarily imagine her short black hair, dancing in front of her cheeks. The railway screeched to a stop. Jim stood to leave, and one of the Suits made some snide remark. He flipped them off. The Suits snarled. Jim exited the railway, and basked in the sunlight. He wondered what it would feel like when all of the skies were covered in ashes from the bombs. He passed a church, and cursed loudly as he walked by. This drew angered looks from the congregation, but Jim just smiled. He almost wished he still had his lighter, but thought that its last legacy was worth it. Jim consented to watching the rubbish bin fires the hobos started to warm their nights. Jim passed one of the television shops that have working models in the windows. He stopped to watch the news. At first it was merely a montage of soldiers fighting. It then proceeded to tell Jim why each and every one of them protected American values by killing the people that were slightly different. Truly bleeding red, white and blue, Jim thought sarcastically. Someone asked if he needed help. If he was lost. I dont need anyone, he

responded. Never have, never will. Jim was lying to himself again. The man walked away. Everyone who walked by muttered something obscene. Jim was too lazy to flip them all off, so he saved the gift for those comments particularly insulting. One man he even tripped. Jim bought a sandwich, and watched a wedding from afar. They were holding it in the park, and Jim was eating amongst the pigeons. So he watched, wondering how something so ordinary like a wedding could occur in the middle of the end of the world. And yet the pigeons flapped about his ankles. Even under impending doom, the pigeons scrambled for the bread. Jim took out a cigarette and scratched a match against the sole of his shoe. He lit the cigarette, and took a deep puff. He then stared at the burning match for a few minutes, before it smoldered and withered to an ashy stem. Jim chucked it into the grass. Jim had once likened society to a prostitute. Remembering this he laughed fondly. Reality was just the same. Everything from whats up and down, to the meaning of life was created by those who had money and power. Jim wondered why he hadnt noticed it before. Everything was only a figment of an overworked world. Reality was a prostitute, and life was a journey from one lie to another. Jim snarled as a mean looking Suit whispered something to their counterpart. May I have this dance had become a big hit with political authors. It wasnt as though Jim was going to be a major part of it anymore. In the newspapers, he had read that Jenny was now giving a lot of speeches in light of current events. She kept telling people of Jims message. Jim cursed, half in anger and half in regret. He was paid by an old woman to find her cat. Fourteen dollars, which wasnt bad for a nights work. Jim had a burger, and watched the sunset from the inside of a railway car. The seat was uncomfortable as always, and he couldnt fall asleep As the stars began to dot the sky, Jim took out his toy rocketship and held it up to the window. Once again it was flying in space, each little white dot another opportunity. Although, he lamented, no future opportunity could be as grand as the life with Jenny that he had thrown away. He began waving around the rocketship, drawing a few glances. The Suits were staring. But they were always staring.