Fiction

I forget things.

Memory is a fragile wisp, constantly slipping through my fingers, the value of them, priceless, as an artist’s work is always worth so much more once they are dead. Sometimes I wonder what a person is with no memories, a shell sentenced to being empty forever? There is little value to a blank canvas, its riches held only in possibility. A life sentenced to melting away to be bare, destined to be painted with endless scenes overlapping yet never coming to focus. The ultimate gift to a paintbrush, an eternity of creation, and yet it’s ultimate despair to never leave its mark. I wonder if I’ve ever lived the same moment more than once, if I’ve experienced love, loss, laughter, grief.

I often dance to songs my mind doesn’t know the words to, my feet remembering the steps. The rhythm carrying me through a past life I can’t quite grasp. Harmonies and bridges cradling the empty space, promising to fill the void. It’s not something you have to know to enjoy, to feel. I feel the soft breaths of existence, like the whisper of a melody brushing against my skin. I feel hints of emotions, the dull echo of something almost empty.

When memory is so fickle, and my hands are torn and sore from hanging on for so long, refusing to let the moments disappear into the abyss, I hide them. Each day is stored carefully in a box. Pieces of shattered glass explain the scars on my palm, shirts too small promise a childhood I can’t assure you was there, and smooth stones affirm that I’ve spent many days by a riverside. Rivers hold memories, you know, the water is always changing, moving on, but it leaves behind proof that it was there. The smooth stones are my favorite, the water eroding the rough surface behind. Sometimes, if I rub my thumb over the pebbles long enough, hard enough, I think the rock may hold my memories too, just as it does for the river.

So, I entrust my memories to the ground. Soil cradling these boxes, held in the way a motherless baby is held. Heavily. The ache of the void less, knowing that they are safe from my deteriorating mind.

Sometimes I dig them up. The little stones are the only indication of any existence. A garden of unmarked graves. The calendar of my life lost to me under the cover of worms and dirt. I’ll sift through the contents, waiting for the click of a memory to fall into place. A face to gaze upon me and to see more than a half-developed frame. It never does. But on occasion, I unearth the keeper of a letter, a box much smaller than the rest. My knees covered in soil much richer than any I’ve seen before, the blackened crescent moons of my nails filled with the secrets of a girl I grieve for. The dirty fingerprints marring the pristine pages promised I had held this life in my hands before they became calloused and assured I would hold it again as they wither with age. Its contents pledged a life wondrously beautiful, wicked, and utterly lost. The existence, her secrets blissfully absent from time, only persevered in ink and parchment. Until I find myself digging them up once again.

Her bathroom counter sits a mess ,with hair ties scattered around and bobby pins litter the floor. The single eyeshadow she owns is cracked and left open in the drawer from yesterday. She looks in the mirror; mascara from yesterday spackles her eyelids. “Shit…” her head throbs. Her phone vibrates from the counter next to her. She turns off Do Not Disturb for the first time in days. Fifty-five texts chime through at once. Fifteen come from her mother, all of which she ignores. Endless random Instagram reels and group chat notifications stream through. She puts her phone down.

Her closet stares back at her. Piles of clean and dirty clothes make homes on the floor, a shadow of what used to be the best part of her day. Now, it seems too much. Her only work outfit remaining sits in front of her. Sliding them up, she remembers why. “Where did I put that shapewear…” she mutters, hopping around her room searching for the shorts she hasn’t worn in months. With her head, still throbbing, she can hear her phone vibrating in the distance.

With a huff and a puff, they come on. She wanders back over to her bathroom and saw no one, other than her mother, is calling. With a gulp she picks up. “Hey mom-”

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN” her mother’s distinct shriek floods her eardrums.

“Ive-Ive been busy with work and job hunting and and I…”

“You what?” “Did you hear back about the position in Quebec?”

She sighs. “I didn’t get it…not enough experience I guess.” She drowns out the rest of the conversations, interrupting with a “Oh really” or “Okay”. Eventually, she hangs up the phone.

Opening the cabinet next to the overflowing recycle bin, she sighs as she remembers she used her last mug yesterday morning. She gras the last Solo cup off the counter. Her Mr. Coffee pot moans as she once again fired it up, warming up the pot she made hours ago.

She begins to rummage through her purse for her medication; uppers for this, downers for that, her personal cocktail. The bottle is suspiciously light.

It’s empty.

She aimlessly walks around her apartment—through her living room and out to the fire exit—tripping over last night’s takeout containers and cans. The breeze flows through the window, surprising her. A loud horn interrupts her coffee-scented daydream.

“What the fuck!? Again?” She thinks . The loud shrieking and clashing of downtown construction greets her for another day of relentless interruption. “I’m going to be at least twenty minutes late for work with this delay. Hopefully, he won’t notice.”

She is a receptionist at a law firm uptown. The walk is the same every day: just twenty-five short blocks by foot or a forty-five-minute subway adventure.

The corner store sits to the right of her apartment complex. It is run by an older couple, but she only sees Paul. He knows her order by heart, a medium hot cup with milk and sugar, not too dark. He is always open, and, sometimes, leaves the key under the mat for her to grab her cup before work. He always sees that she makes it up to her door after dark.

The outside is a faded green color, the windows now barred from years of robberies, and the hinges on the door are rusted. One wall is now a public art gallery of sorts, covered in posters for events and random graffiti now faded from years of pressure washing. They have a little red bell above the door that signaled someone is entering.

“Good morning, Paul, the usual, please.”

The scent of the place comforts her. It smells of homemade chicken soup and lavender. This contrasts with Paul’s intimidating appearance, faded tattoos, heavy feet, and broad shoulders. His smile, on the other hand, holds a warm and inviting presence .

“Hey, you forgot my milk…”

He has already moved on.

Her hair falls into her face, taunting her with the reminder that for the next sixteen hours, it must be pulled into a slick-back pony. Company policy.

The door swings open with tremendous force as the kids pushed through for their daily dose of Red 40 and liquid sugar before the 7:45 train to school.

“Shit!” She looks down. Coffee covers her brand-new work heels, exactly 3.5–5 inches tall, in a rich, earthy rust color—one of the three color families she is allowed to choose from.

“Sorry!” she hears as one of the kids disappears out the door.

They cost $200.

“See ya later, Paul.” She continues to work, her mind racing as she concocts excuses for her boss.

Her walk usually consists of a podcast. Today, her favorite show featurs someone she once knew. A girl she went to school with; they were in the same degree program. She is talking about a job she recently returned from in Japan; some magazine sent her there to interview some protesters. The article was huge.

With a sigh, she switchs back to her playlist.

Her office is the epitome of wealth. Huge marble pillars line the inside hallways, fresh polish shimmering in the beautiful bright lights. It makes her sick. Men in black and grey suits wander the building, none of which bat an eye at her. She greets the janitor, Susan, on the way in, her lavender perfume overtaking her senses. She basks in it for a few minutes. Her
heels clack on the black tiled floor as she approaches the grand elevator in the back of the main entrance. With a deep breath, she clicks the 4th floor.

“You’re late again—second time this week.” She knows. She has counted every minute past 8:30. Today, it was twenty-seven minutes. Monday, it was thirty-three.

“They started working on that new apartment complex on 34th Ave—made me go around six extra blocks of traffic. Trains are delayed by forty-five minutes across my end,” she says, avoiding eye contact. She hopes he won’t smell the lies on her breath.

“Leave earlier tomorrow. And next time, use less perfume—it smells like a Starbucks in here.”

Success.

The workday is always the same: bat her eyes at Mr. Whose-a-what-its, who has a 50% share at Blah-Blah-Company. It’s okay that Mr. What’s-his-face does that—he pays blah and blah for this and that. She hardly knows why she applied here anymore. A picture of her degree in journalism collecting dust on her office wall flashes in her mind.

The breeze is cold as she exits the suffocatingly warm building after work. It’s rush hour. The streets are packed with people in designer coats and leather handbags worth more than her salary. There’s not a cab in sight. The subway is still delayed

“Evening, Paul.” The familiar blinding lights of the corner store consume her as it always does on the way home. As she saunters to the cooler, she stops in her tracks. It’s empty.

“Hey, you’re out of them again!” She throws the cooler door shut and makes her way to the register.

“Can I get a pack of—”

“Marlboro Reds and a pint of Stoli?” Paul interrupts her with a smile that screams judgment.

“Yeah, that’s it.” She slams a $20 on the counter and leaves.

A year ago, Paul didn’t even know who she was.

Silence greets her at her door once again. Without bothering to turn on the light, she slinks over to the fire escape, the familiar sound of clicking as she opens the bottle. It floods her tongue and throat with a welcome burn.

Her nightly routine begins.

The ledge of the escape has become her throne. It sits on the line between safe and not. She can feel the wind from eight stories below, her feet forever taunting her with the possibility of greeting the pavement.

The bottle drops from her hands.

“Shit!” She watches it fall.

She gets up to light her cigarette. A sudden buzz in her back pocket makes her check her phone for the first time all day. Seventeen missed calls from her boss, four emails, and three texts.

“At 11:30 p.m.?” She wonders if it has really been four hours since she got home. She didn’t even notice the sunset. She sets a reminder to call in sick in the morning. She kicks something on her way in. She left a rack outside to keep cold last night.

“Morning, Paul.” Her coffee is waiting for her once again, milk on the side with a note. “In the bathroom, it’s on the house today—closing early tonight.”

Great. She has beaten the kids to the store; it feels eerie. She can feel her own breath on her lips. She looks at her watch. It’s 3:45 a.m.

“How did he know I was awake?” She looks up. The perfect view of her balcony sits at an angle to the shop window, a perfect view of her stash.

How long has he been watching?

“How did I get here?”

Her vision begins to get blurry. The ground is getting closer to her. Blood fills her mouth.

“What’s happening?” She gasped gasps, clutching the ledge, her heart racing faster than a subway train on an express track. She must have drifted off at some point, her mind spinning like the fluorescent lights in the office. She sits with it for a moment before reality hit her again.

“I can’t fall. Not now.”

But the pull is there: gravity, destiny, or just plain chaos calling her to the ground. The streets buzz with life below, the sound of the drunk and broken fills the air, oblivious to her unraveling. She blinks hard, fighting back the edges of darkness creeping into her vision, each blink feeling like a heavy eyelid shutting down on a world she no longer understands.

Panic sets in, drowning out the sounds of the city below, honking horns and the distant rumble of trains. She staggers backward, her heart racing. The ground feels like a distant memory, and all she can hear is the drumming of her pulse in her ears.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She repeats the mantra as if it could anchor her in the chaos. What is happening to her? Is she really that far gone?

Her apartment, a patchwork of shadows and clutter, calls to her, but fear holds her still, frozen between the thrill of the fall and the safety of the inside. She takes a shaky step back, her heels digging into the metal of the fire escape as she catches her breath, each inhalation filled with the smell of rust and regret.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes again, a harsh reminder of the outside world. One missed call—her boss. She glanced at the screen: 1:17 a.m. Her heart drops. Did she really just lose hours? The panic begins to claw at her.

“Focus,” she whispers to herself. The cool metal of the railing bites into her palms, a tether to this reality, even if it feels like a cruel joke. She staggers back, her thoughts a chaotic mess of the last few months: the endless workdays, the hollow conversations, the nights spent waiting for something—anything—to change. She inhales deeply, the stench of the city mingling with her perfume, a burning reminder that she is still here, still breathing.

“I’m just tired,” she says, as if convincing the world around her. But the truth is heavier than the weight of the sky pressing down on her shoulders.

“I’m so tired.”

She glances out, her neighbor across the way turns on the light. For a split second, she sees her reflection in the glass. Who is that girl staring back at her? The makeup is smudged, the hair a tangled mess, and the eyes rimmed with fatigue. It is a stranger, lost in the neon glow of a city that never seems to care.

“What do you want?” she shouts into the night, her voice cracking. “What am I supposed to do?”

Silence envelopes her, a stark contrast to the raucous life of the city. In that quiet moment, she hears something deeper, a faint whisper from within: “Let go.”

Her grip falters, the weight of the bottle once in her other hand suddenly feels like a burden too heavy to bear. “Let go,” she repeats, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

What now? she asks the universe, but the answer remains a mystery, swirling in the haze of smoke and streetlights. The weight of expectations and responsibilities begin to fade, and with it comes a hint of clarity.

“You deserve more,” she whispers to herself. The thought, though small, sparks a flicker of hope in her chest.

Her phone buzzes again, a reminder of the world waiting for her back inside. Seventeen missed calls from her boss, four emails, and three texts still flash on the screen, but for the first time, she doesn’t want to answer. “I’m not that girl anymore,” she says, a smile breaking through her despair.

With a deep breath, she steps back from the ledge and turns toward the door, her heart steadying. She takes one last look at the city sprawling beneath her, alive and messy, just like her.

“Tomorrow,” she vowed softly, “I’ll choose.”

With that, she opens the fire escape door and steps back into her apartment. The familiar clutter greets her, a chaotic collection of takeout containers, clothes strewn across the floor, remnants of a half-lived life.

As she flicks on the lights, the fluorescent glow from the overhead lights bleed into her space. But this time, instead of feeling trapped, she feels a spark of possibility. “I can start over,” she murmurs, the words feeling foreign yet liberating.

She sits down at her cluttered desk, pulling the dust-covered laptop from its resting place. “Let’s see what’s inside,” she says to herself, opening her emails. As she scans them, one chain caught her eye. It is a job she applied for months ago.

It is dated 5 months prior. They want to take her on as an editor. Her heart drops. The next one is dated 2 weeks later. They found another candidate.

She shuts her laptop.

Aware.

Conscious.

Riley could feel her body standing, but she couldn’t move. She found herself in a void. She couldn’t speak, or scream, or run. She couldn’t even look down to make sure her body truly existed as she could feel it.

Eventually, a dim light began to appear in the sky, illuminating her surroundings with a blue hue. Thanks to the light that she now recognized as the moon, Riley could finally see where she was. A lake, perfectly circular as far as she could tell, surrounded by thick pine trees. It took her a second to realize that she wasn’t just standing next to a lake, but rather on the surface of the lake itself. Riley could feel the cold water on the soles of her feet. It felt oddly refreshing and eerily familiar. Ripples began to appear, cascading across the water, emanating out from the center of the lake. A figure appeared from below the surface, slowly rising until what looked like the form of a human fully emerged.

Riley looked on, trying to identify who it could possibly be. She could make out the silhouette of a woman in long a dark dress, facing away from her and up towards the moon. Her hair was a beautiful gray, shimmering in the moonlight with a sort of opalescent quality, formed in a long braid falling down her back. The woman tilted her head downward, no longer looking at the moon. The woman began to turn towards Riley. As the woman turned, Riley suddenly noticed blood streaming down the woman’s face, bleeding tears from glowing red, bloodshot eyes. The moon began to turn a crimson hue as the woman’s face came into full view. Her face was mesmerizing but covered in scars. The woman grinned, exposing sharp fangs and bloodstained teeth, and began to stare at Riley.

Riley was terrified. She was still unable to move no matter the effort she exerted. She could only stand and wait for whatever conclusion may come. The strong sound of a heartbeat began to echo across the lake and through the woods. It was loud, but consistent. There was no hint of fear in its beating, though Riley still thought for sure that it must be hers. Finally, the woman spoke. “My heart, in your hand”

***

Riley jolted awake, covered in sweat, confused, scared, but her heartbeat was calm. She sat for a second to collect her thoughts. Clearly what she had just experienced was a dream, or a nightmare, but it felt so real. It was such a vivid experience that she could remember the tiniest details on the woman’s face. The slant of her nose, the curve of her smile, the coloration of her scars; it was all lodged in her brain like a bullet. The thing that stuck with Riley the most though was the red. The moon, the woman’s eyes, her teeth, the red was everywhere. It was all Riley could see. It seeped into the crevasses of her mind. Who was that woman? Where was that lake? Why did it feel as if she had seen it all before. She was still shaken from the experience, but she couldn’t stay in bed all day trying to decipher what her dream could mean. She had to go to work.The mind-numbing mundanity of Riley’s desk job was generally nothing but a detriment to her and her mental state, but today it was a boon. It allowed her mind to wander while filling out pointless paperwork and sending out stupid emails. It allowed her to keep thinking about the mysterious woman. Her memories didn’t fade throughout the day as they would with any normal dream, if anything they only grew stronger, and her feeling that she had seen this all before intensified. The fear she had felt in connection with the dream subsided soon after waking up, giving way to a sense of pure fascination, and perhaps even infatuation.

Riley’s workday ended unfortunately late, with her still not being able to place the woman’s face. It upset her to feel so out of control of her own memories. To feel so strongly that she had met someone before only to have any notion of their existence dashed from her head. She left her office, trying to simply put the thought out of her mind. She was fed up and believed there was no point in spending so much time on a mystery she would never solve. It was easier said than done, however.

As she walked to the train station, she kept seeing reminders of her dream everywhere. Puddles on the ground appearing as if pieces of the lake she had stood on, cracks in the buildings she passed shaped like the scars on the woman’s face, and most prevalent, the moon. Still rising in the distance, it was perfectly framed in the center of the street she was walking down. Unlike the bright full moon of her dream, the real moon was currently waxing. A thin, silver crescent shape in the sky. But even so, all she could see when looking at it was the full blood red moon. It’s as if she was being haunted. As she continued walking down the street, Riley began to feel strange, uncomfortable, unnerved. She felt as though she was being watched. The heartbeat Riley had heard in her dream started to fade into her conscious perception, growing louder and louder all around her, synchronized perfectly with her own. She began frantically darting her head around for who or what may be watching her. She knew it was irrational, but the sensation of eyes piercing her body wouldn’t leave her no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, and the stronger heartbeat she continued to hear only served to further add to her paranoia. She stared down every alleyway she passed with a frightening focus, looking for anything out of place, but only the darkness and shadows that had enveloped them stared back. Even with the loud beating of what now she could only assume was her own heart, Riley could still hear small sounds all around her. The wind passing through rustling the leaves, the creaking of pipes in the alleys, she could even hear the bugs scuttling through the sewers in the grates below her. Her peripheral vision and sense of smell also seemed to have elevated themselves somehow. She could see her own ears now, something she didn’t even know was possible, and could smell everything with a much greater intensity, which wasn’t exactly a benefit walking by alleys lined with garbage-filled dumpsters. She had become hyper aware of anything and everything around her, and whether it was simply a result of the adrenaline flowing through her body or something else she had no idea.

Finally, Riley was almost to the train station, almost home. Only a block away, she walked hurriedly towards her goal. Along the last stretch, she passed by a nearly empty parking lot, surrounded on all sides but the front by towering buildings. While walking by, she spotted out of the corner of her eye, someone standing directly in the center of the lot . They almost completely blended in with the shadowy space, save for the burning ash from a lit cigarette they were smoking. Riley tried to ignore them and just continued her walk home, but she was suddenly met with a strong shout coming from behind her.

“Hey!” the man yelled in a low coarse tone.

Before Riley even turned, she could hear the man’s footsteps walking closer to her. Riley was frozen, only able to turn her head towards the man now only about ten or so feet away.

“What’s your name?” he asked with a much calmer and kinder voice than before but still demanding in tone.

“Uh, Riley. Why?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to conceal her panic.

“Oh, ok. Sorry, a bit hard for me to see with how dark it gets this time of night. Probably not a problem for you though. Just wanted to make sure.” The man, still covered partially by shadow, took one final drag from his cigarette before dropping it and snuffing if out with his foot.

For a moment, both Riley and the strange man just stood there. She couldn’t see the top half of his body well due to him standing, seemingly intentionally, directly in the path of a shadow. But she could see his bottom half well enough. He was wearing pitch black pants that seemed to be a bit baggy around his legs and cuffed at the bottom. His shoes, also black, looked like some sort of athletic shoe, but a bit different than your average sneaker, looking almost custom made for the shape of this man’s feet. Finally, the man began to advance. Taking careful steps forward, he seemed almost cautious of Riley.

Riley, finally gathering the will to move, started to back up just as carefully. “What… what do you want?” she mustered through her nervous stutter. The man did not reply. Instead, he lunged towards her. Riley jumped back quickly, landing in the small park across the street. She was shocked. The action was almost automatic, as if she wasn’t in control of her own body. She had created a distance between them, and now that the man was out of the shadows and more easily visible, she could finally see his face, and more importantly, the fact that he was brandishing a sword.

Riley’s panic and dread were momentarily put on the backburner and replaced with a strong feeling of confusion. Why the hell does this random guy have a sword? Why would he be attacking her of all people? This isn’t just some normal mugging. That’s all she could think about for a few seconds, but her train of thought was cut short by another quick advance. The man closed the distance between them faster than her mind could react to, but her body moved on its own once again, only this time she didn’t jump back. She ducked as his slashing sword passed above her and countered with a quick punch to his stomach. It hurt her hand like hell. She had never actually punched someone full force like that, never had a reason to, but it strangely felt like an all-too-common movement for her at that moment.

The man became momentarily stunned by the punch, staggering backwards a few steps. Head down, one hand on his stomach and the other still holding his sword at the ready. Riley stood there, also stunned by what she had just done, looking down at her fist with a puzzled expression. Had her punch really been that strong? She wasn’t exactly the healthiest person when it came to keeping any consistent schedule for working out, and she rarely did anything that would strengthen her arms. Suddenly the man bolted towards her once more. The reaction to her punch must’ve been a fake out, tricking her into letting her guard down. Unfortunately, this time, her body couldn’t react fast enough. And the man plunged his sword directly into her stomach.

Everything went black. Riley couldn’t feel anything; she had gone completely numb. She was unsure whether she had died or simply passed out, but whatever had happened had left her completely devoid of feeling. Suddenly she could see in front of her as her eyes began to open. But it didn’t feel like looking through her own eyes, more like watching something on a TV screen. She was looking down at her stomach with the blade of the sword still lodged inside. Blood steadily flowed out and on to the ground, seeping into the dirt, and staining the grass a shimmering red. Looking up, she saw the man’s face. He had a thick, well-kempt beard, but even with it, he couldn’t hide the large smile underneath. He was clearly satisfied with himself for the trick he had used, enjoying every second of the proceeding gore.

At that moment Riley realized her vision was beginning to change. Everything in view became tinted a deep blood red. Her heartbeat also grew louder once again, loud enough that she could see the man’s seemingly stunned reaction to it. Her body began to move on its own again, except this time she couldn’t really feel anything. She was aware of where her body was and how it was moving, but it wasn’t the same as the normal sensation she would have moving her body. It felt much more external to herself, like she was being possessed.

Riley’s hand reached down, strongly grabbing hold of blade still stuck in her stomach. As her hands gripped harder to the blade, attempting to pull it out of herself while fighting against the man trying to push it back in, she could see that her palms and fingers had started to bleed due to the sharp edges of the sword. At that moment, Riley was glad she couldn’t sense pain. The man continued to struggle against her body as she gradually pulled out more and more of what now seemed like an infinitely long blade. Her eyes moved up and met the man’s. He was clearly beginning to become distressed, losing confidence, and realizing that he may not win this fight. Just as the tip of the sword left her wound, the man desperately tried one last time to push it back in. Riley’s grip held strong, not allowing any further movement. Suddenly, in a burst of strength and speed she didn’t even know was possible, Riley’s arm flung the sword, ripping it from the man’s hands, and lodging it in a tree at the edge of a small tree line further down the park.The man looked worried and annoyed, but not surprised, as if he’d seen things like this happen before and even expected them to happen here. He jumped back quickly and stood in a fighting stance, watching for any movement or sign of hostility from Riley’s body, but all she seemed to be doing was staring at him, a cold stoney glare. After a few seconds of this standoff, the man made a run for his sword, sprinting as fast as he could. Riley’s body did not move her feet an inch, however, her eyes continued to track his position, even in the dark. As the man continued to run, Riley’s body raised her right arm in front of her. Riley was perplexed watching this. Why would her body not move to stop the man before he was able to reclaim his weapon and attack again?

Without warning, Riley’s hand suddenly came flying back at her, piercing into her chest. Unlike before, Riley could now feel the sensation of pain coursing through her. She could feel her own hand on her heart, grabbing hold and starting to pull. Her heartbeat intensified further. She now could not only hear it but physically feel her heart convulsing in the palm of her hand, still inside her chest. Her hand began to pull harder against it, trying to rip her heart out of her body. Riley felt an indescribable pain mixed with a powerful sense of terror emanating in waves from her chest. She felt her flesh tear and her blood spill, and then suddenly nothing. The pain halted, and the terror subsided. As Riley gained back her strength, she realized her heart had disappeared. In front of her now, sitting in her hand, was a strange looking sword.

The blade of the sword, now resting in her grip, was a deep black that appeared to pull in all light around it like a black hole, drawing in her focus as well as the light. All along it was what appeared to be engravings that resembled veins, branching and even pulsing with red light the entire length of the blade. The hilt of the sword followed much of the same design, with the handle being wrapped in an alternating cloth of red and black. The guard was shaped like a backwards S, going out straight for about half an inch then curving towards the bottom of the hilt or the tip of the blade on its belly and backside respectively. The shape of the blade was familiar to her, reminding her of something she had seen hanging on the wall at her grandparents’ house as a kid. It was about two or so feet long, with an inch or two of height between its belly and its back. The curve of the sword was prominent. Both the belly and back curved parallel to each other until the end where a flat diagonal edge connected them. This created a fine point at the tip of the blade. One last thing about the sword caught Riley’s eye. The hilt had what looked like a small fleshy orb in the center where it connected to the blade. The orb would pulse every few seconds, and the veins on the blade along with it. Even stranger however, Riley herself could feel every pulse as well. What she was holding in her hand was truly not just a sword, but her heart.

While Riley’s mind was occupied analyzing the sword, trying to imagine how any of this could be possible, her body was still alert. Her eyes tracked the man through the darkness as he ran towards his sword still stuck in the tree. Once he had retrieved the sword, the man disappeared into the surrounding foliage and shrubbery.

Riley’s body began to make its way over to the edge of the tree line, eyes darting in every direction as to be certain she would not be caught off guard. A loud rustling in the trees drew her attention. Another trick. Both her mind and her body knew that he was once again baiting her. At that moment, the man jumped out from behind a tree, moving with as much speed as he could muster, preparing to swing his sword with all his strength. Riley’s feet stayed planted, not moving an inch. Her right hand began to raise, and just as the man began to swing his sword, she swung her own, seemingly ten times faster, slashing across his entire body. The man’s body fell to the ground at Riley’s feet. Face down, laying still, blood began to pool around him, creating a large puddle, soaking Riley’s shoes.

Riley’s eyes stared down at the body with contempt. She kneeled to get closer look at her work, grabbing the scalp of the man and lifting him up to more easily see his front side. The moment Riley saw the damage that was done she felt the overwhelming urge to vomit, but she was still trapped in her own mind, unable to act on this impulse. The man’s face was horrifying, not just because of the damage, but also because of the lifelessness in his expression.

Riley had never seen anything like it before. His cheek was cut open, exposing the inside of his mouth almost completely. The path of the blade’s damage continued downward to the man’s chest, where his ribcage had been exposed through the deep cut. His stomach was also cut towards its side with some of his organs peeking out, entangled with each other as they slid out further with every slight movement made easier by the slick blood still pouring out.

As Riley’s eyes continued to examine the corpse, she suddenly realized the man’s hands were gone from his body. She looked down at the still pooling blood on the ground and saw them clear as day, cleaved from the man’s arms, still gripping his sword.

Riley wanted so badly to scream or run or throw up or do it all at the same time. But her body wouldn’t let her. She was forced to stare an unbroken gaze upon a dead man that she was responsible for killing.

Finally, her hand dropped the body, splashing as it landed in the pool of blood below, further staining Riley’s clothes. She raised her right hand once more, pointing the sword now towards her own chest. Slowly she pushed the sword back through the wound she had created. It wasn’t as painful as when she had first pulled it out, but it was certainly just as frightening. Her chest fully enveloped the sword, and her heart began to beat properly again.

It was calming in a way, to have her heart back in its proper place. Despite all the horror that had just occurred, feeling her heartbeat in her chest normally again was reassuring to Riley. Her body relaxed, but only for a moment.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose and she felt goosebumps all over her body. Her eyes darted back towards the tall buildings across the street, and she began to scan the rooftops, but she had no idea what for. Finally, her eyes fell upon her target. She was in disbelief.

Standing above her, looking down from a perch atop the towering skyline, was a woman. A beautiful woman with a long gray braid and scars adorning her face, staring down at her intently with blood red eyes. Riley began to feel weak, both mentally and physically, the events of the night finally catching up to her. She fell to the ground, unconscious.

The old man prayed for patience. He shouldn’t smack the punk; he knew he shouldn’t; Mary would be sad. He could already hear her chiding him, “Is it really worth it? It’s bad for your blood pressure. You’re too old to be getting in fights anymore.” She wasn’t wrong, he knew that. His scarred knuckles and clicking elbows had seen better days. Hell, long before she’d met him, his nose had that broken bend to it the doctors couldn’t quite click straight. That bend often caused a slight whistle noise when he breathed heavily.

The old man could hear that whistle now; he fell back into that familiar stance. There was the click of the jab extending out, the stretch of the scars pulling into a fist just before impact, and finally, that old iron smell he knew so well, getting dragged back with a snap. A broken nose wouldn’t knock him out, but it hurt like hell, and it stayed that way. Depending on how the fight went, the bend was a good reminder not to mess with its owner or repeat the arrogance that earned it. The old man was going to make this a lesson on both, relishing the excuse to do what he was great at.

His body could have one more fight; it was caustic to the soul not too. The old boxer prayed for strength.

And suddenly, it all ended. The weight of the world lifted from your shoulders, no longer a burden to bear. It was not your concern anymore, but a problem for your family–your mother, father, little brother, and undoubtedly, your girlfriend’s distress. An eerie calm washed over you, a strange feeling of freedom coursing through your veins and beating in your fingertips. Darkness enveloped you, obscuring everything from sight.

“Where am I?” you asked, hoping for an answer that never came. You began wandering aimlessly, surrounded by bushes and trees, the cold alpine air chilling you to the bone. You ascended through the clouds, but the sun’s warmth was nowhere to be found. Fear crept in, a palpable presence that sent shivers down your spine.

Suddenly, you caught sight of your parents and brother, their faces contorted with sorrow, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Why are they crying?” you wondered, yearning for an elusive explanation. You reached out to them, desperate to offer comfort and shield them from this anguish. But as you ran toward them, they drifted further, further away, darkness closing in once more.

Loss.

“I am scared, Mom,” you whispered into the void.

“Me too, Son.”

Conscious.

Aware.

Riley could feel her body standing, but she couldn’t move. She found herself in a void. She couldn’t speak, or scream, or run. She couldn’t even look down to make sure her body truly existed as she could feel it. Eventually, a dim light began to appear in the sky, illuminating her surroundings with a blue hue. Thanks to the light that she now recognized as the moon; she could finally see where she was. A lake, perfectly circular as far as she could tell, surrounded on all sides by thick pine trees. It took her a second to realize that she wasn’t just standing next to a lake, but rather on the surface of the lake itself. She could feel the cold water on the soles of her feet it. It felt oddly refreshing, and eerily familiar. Ripples began to appear, cascading across the water, emanating out from the center of the lake. A figure began to appear from below the surface, slowly rising until what looked like the form of a human fully emerged. Riley looked on, trying to identify who it could possibly be. She could make out the silhouette of a woman in long a dark dress, facing away from her and up towards the moon. Her hair was a beautiful gray, shimmering in the moonlight with a sort of opalescent quality, formed in a long braid falling down her back. The woman tilted her head downward, no longer looking at the moon, and began to turn towards Riley. As she turned, Riley suddenly noticed blood streaming down the woman’s face, bleeding tears from glowing red bloodshot eyes. The moon itself began to turn a crimson hue as the woman’s face came into full view. Mesmerizing, but covered in scars. The woman grinned, exposing sharp fangs and bloodstained teeth, and began to stare at Riley. Riley was terrified. She was still unable to move no matter the effort she exerted. She could only stand and wait for whatever conclusion may come. The strong sound of a heartbeat began to echo across the lake and through the woods. It was loud, but consistent. There was no hint of fear in its beating, though Riley still thought for sure that it must be hers. Finally, the woman spoke. “My heart, in your hand.”

Riley jolted awake, covered in sweat, confused, scared, but her heartbeat was calm. She sat for a second to collect her thoughts. Clearly what she had just experienced was a dream, or a nightmare, but it felt so real. It was such a vivid experience that she could still remember the tiniest details on the woman’s face. The slant of her nose, the curve of her smile, the coloration of her scars, it was all lodged in her brain like a bullet. The thing that stuck with Riley the most though, was the red. The moon, her eyes, her teeth, it was everywhere. It was all she could see. It sept into the crevasses of her mind. Who was that woman? Where was that lake? Why did it feel as if she had seen it all before. She was still shaken from the experience, but she couldn’t stay in bed all day trying to decipher what her dream could mean. She had to go to work.

The mind-numbing mundanity of Riley’s desk job was generally nothing but a detriment to her and her mental state, but today it was a boon. It allowed her mind to wander while filling out pointless paperwork and sending out stupid emails. It allowed her to keep thinking about the mysterious woman. Her memories didn’t fade throughout the day as they would with any normal dream, if anything they only grew stronger, and her feeling that she had seen this all before intensified. The fear she had felt in connection with the dream subsided soon after waking up, giving way to a sense of pure fascination, and perhaps even infatuation.

Riley’s workday ended unfortunately late, with her still not being able to place the woman’s face. It upset her to feel so out of control of her own memories. To feel so strongly that she had met someone before only to have any notion of their existence dashed from her head. She left her office, trying to simply put the thought out of her mind. She was fed up and believed there was no point in spending so much time on a mystery she would never solve. It was easier said than done, however. As she walked to the train station, she kept seeing reminders of her dream everywhere. Puddles on the ground appearing as if pieces of the lake she had stood on, cracks in the buildings she passed shaped like the scars on the woman’s face, and most prevalent, the moon. Still rising in the distance, it was perfectly framed in the center of the street she was walking down. Unlike the bright full moon of her dream, the real moon was currently waxing. A thin silver crescent shape in the sky. But even so all she could see when looking at it was the full blood red moon. It’s as if she was being haunted.

As she continued down the street, Riley began to feel strange, uncomfortable, unnerved. She felt as though she was being watched. The heartbeat Riley had heard in her dream started to fade into her conscious perception, growing louder and louder all around her, synchronized perfectly with her own. She began frantically darting her head around for who or what may be watching her. She knew it was irrational, but the sensation of eyes piercing her body wouldn’t leave her no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, and the stronger heartbeat she continued to hear only served to further add to her paranoia. She stared down every alley way she passed with a frightening focus, looking for anything out of place, but only the darkness and shadows that had enveloped them stared back.

Even with the loud beating of what now she could only assume was her own heart, Riley could still hear small sounds all around her. The wind passing through rustling the leaves, the creaking of pipes in the alleys, she could even hear the bugs scuttling through the sewers in the grates below her. Her peripheral vision and smell also seemed to have elevated themselves somehow. She could see her own ears now, something she didn’t even know was possible, and could smell everything with a much greater intensity, which wasn’t exactly a benefit walking by alleys lined with garbage filled dumpsters. She had become hyper aware of anything and everything around her, and whether it was simply a result of the adrenaline flowing through her body or something else she had no idea.

Finally, Riley was almost to the train station, almost home. Only a block away, she walked hurriedly towards her goal. Along the last stretch she passed by a nearly empty parking lot, surrounded on all sides but the front by towering buildings. While walking by she spotted someone standing directly in the center of the lot out of the corner of her eye. They almost completely blended in with the shadowy space, save for the burning ash from a lit cigarette they were smoking. Riley tried to ignore them and just continue on her walk home, but she was suddenly met with a strong shout coming from behind her. “Hey!” the man yelled in a low coarse tone. Before she even turned, she could hear the man’s footsteps walking closer to her. She was frozen, only able to turn her head towards the man now only about ten or so feet away.

“What’s your name?” he asked with a much calmer and kinder voice than before, but still demanding in tone.

“Uh, Riley. Why?” She said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to conceal her panic.

“Oh, ok. Sorry, a bit hard for me to see with how dark it gets this time of night. Probably not a problem for you though. Just wanted to make sure.” The man said in a strangely light hearted tone, as if they were simply having some casual conversation, yet it still contained an air of danger.

The man, still covered partially by shadow, took one final drag from his cigarette before dropping it. Snuffing if out with his foot.

For a moment, both Riley and the strange man just stood there. She couldn’t see the top half of his body very well due to him standing, seemingly intentionally, directly in the path of a shadow. But she could see his bottom half well enough. He was wearing pitch black pants that seemed to be a bit baggy around his legs and cuffed at the bottom. His shoes, also black, looked like some sort of boots, but a bit different than your boot, looking almost custom made for combat and movement, and roughed up from heavy usage against what looked like it may have been rugged terrain. Finally, the man began to advance. Taking careful steps forward, he seemed almost cautious of Riley. Riley, finally gathering the will to move started to back up just as carefully. “What… what do you want?” she mustered through her nervous stutter. The man did not reply. Instead, he lunged towards her. Riley jumped back quickly, landing in the small park across the street. She was shocked. The action was almost automatic, as if she wasn’t in control of her own body. She had created a distance between them, and now that the man was out of the shadows and more easily visible, she could finally see his face, and more importantly, the fact that he was brandishing a sword.

Riley’s panic and dread were momentarily put on the backburner and replaced with a strong feeling of confusion. Why the hell does this random guy have a sword? Why would he be attacking her of all people? This isn’t just some normal mugging. That’s all she could think about for a few seconds, but her train of thought was cut short by another quick advance.

The man closed the distance between them faster than her mind could react to, but her body moved on its own once again, only this time she didn’t jump back. Her body crouched down in an instant as his slashing sword passed above her, and she countered with a quick punch to his stomach. It hurt her hand like hell. She had never actually punched someone full force like that, never had a reason to, but it strangely felt like an all too common movement for her at that moment.

The man became momentarily stunned by the punch, staggering backwards a few steps. Head down, one hand on his stomach and the other still holding his sword at the ready. Riley stood there, also stunned by what she had just done, looking down at her fist with a puzzled expression. Had her punch really been that strong? She wasn’t exactly the healthiest person when it came to keeping any consistent schedule for working out, and she rarely did anything that would strengthen her arms.

Suddenly the man bolted towards her once more. The reaction to her punch must’ve been a fake out, tricking her into letting her guard down. Unfortunately, this time, her body couldn’t react fast enough. And the man plunged his sword directly into her stomach.

Everything went black. Riley couldn’t feel anything, she had gone completely numb. She was unsure whether she had died or simply passed out, but whatever had happened had left her completely devoid of any feeling. Suddenly she could see in front of her as her eyes began to open. But it didn’t feel like looking through her own eyes, more like watching something on a TV screen. She was looking down at her stomach with the blade of the sword still lodged inside, blood steadily flowing out and on to the ground, seeping into the dirt and staining the grass a shimmering red. Looking up she saw the man’s face. He had a thick well-kempt beard, but even with it he couldn’t hide the large smile underneath. He was clearly satisfied with himself for the trick he used, enjoying every second of the proceeding gore. At that moment Riley realized her vision was beginning to change. Everything in view became tinted a deep blood red. Her heartbeat also grew louder once again, loud enough that she could see the man’s seemingly stunned reaction to it. Her body began to move on its own again, except this time she couldn’t really feel anything. She was aware of where her body was and how it was moving, but it wasn’t the same as the normal sensation she would have moving her body. It felt much more external to herself, like she was being possessed.

Riley’s hand reached down, strongly grabbing hold of blade still stuck in her stomach. As her hands gripped harder to the blade, attempting to pull it out of herself while fighting against the man trying to push it back in, she could see that her palms and fingers had started to bleed due to the sharp edges of the sword.

At that moment Riley was glad she couldn’t feel any sense of pain. The man continued to struggle against her body as she gradually pulled out more and more of what now seemed like an infinitely long blade. Her eyes moved up and met with the mans. He was clearly beginning to become distressed, losing confidence and realizing that he may not win this fight.

Just as the tip of the sword left her wound, the man desperately tried one last time to push it back in. Riley’s grip held strong, not allowing any further movement. All of a sudden, in a burst of strength and speed she didn’t even know was possible, Riley’s arm flung the sword, ripping it from the man’s hands and lodging it in a tree at the edge of a small tree line further down the park.

The man looked worried and annoyed, but not surprised, as if he’d seen things like this happen before and even expected them to happen here. He jumped back quickly and stood in a fighting stance, watching for any movement or sign of hostility from Riley’s body, but all she seemed to be doing was staring at him. A cold stoney glare. After a few seconds of this standoff the man made a run for it towards his sword, sprinting as fast as he could. Riley’s body did not move her feet an inch, however, but her eyes continued to track his position, even in the dark. As the man continued to run, Riley’s body raised her right arm in front of her.

Riley was perplexed watching this. Why would her body not move to stop the man before he was able to reclaim his weapon and attack again? Without warning, Riley’s hand suddenly came flying back at her, piercing into her chest. Unlike before, Riley could now feel the sensation of pain coursing through her. She could feel her own hand on her heart, grabbing hold and starting to pull. Her heartbeat intensified further. She now could not only hear it, but physically feel her heart convulsing in the palm of her hand, still inside her chest. Her hand began to pull harder against it, trying to rip her heart out of her body. Riley felt an indescribable pain mixed with a powerful sense of terror emanating in waves from her chest. She felt her flesh tear and her blood spill, and then suddenly nothing. The pain halted, and the terror subsided. As Riley gained back her strength, she realized her heart had disappeared. In front of her now, sitting in her hand, was a strange looking sword.

The blade of the sword now resting in her grip was a deep black that appeared to pull in all light around it like a black hole, drawing in her focus as well as the light. Along it was what appeared to be engravings that resembled veins, branching and even pulsing with a faint red light along the entire length of the blade. The hilt of the sword followed much of the same design, with the handle being wrapped in an alternating cloth of red and black. The guard was shaped like a backwards S, going out straight for about half an inch then curving towards the bottom of the hilt or the tip of the blade on its belly and backside respectively. The shape of the blade was familiar to her, reminding her of something she had seen hanging on the wall at her grandparents’ house as a kid. It was about two or so feet long, an inch or two of height between its belly and its back. The curve of the sword was prominent. Both the belly and back curved parallel to each other until the end where a flat diagonal edge connected them. This created a fine point at the tip of the blade. One last thing about the sword caught Riley’s eye. The hilt had what looked like a small fleshy orb in the center where it connected to the blade. The orb would pulse every few seconds, and the veins on the blade along with it. Even stranger however, Riley herself could feel every pulse as well. What she was holding in her hand was truly not just a sword, but her heart.

While Riley’s mind was occupied analyzing the sword, trying to imagine how any of this could be possible, her body was still alert. Her eyes tracked the man through the darkness as he ran towards his sword still stuck in the tree. Once he had retrieved the sword, the man disappeared into the surrounding foliage and shrubbery.

Riley’s body began to make its way over to the edge of the tree line, eyes darting in every direction as to be certain she would not be caught off guard. A loud rustling in the trees drew her attention. Another trick. Both her mind and her body knew that he was once again baiting her. At that moment, the man jumped out from behind a tree, moving with as much speed as he could muster, preparing to swing his sword with all his strength. Riley’s feet stayed planted, not moving an inch. Her right hand began to raise, and just as the man began to swing his sword, she swung her own, seemingly ten times faster, slashing across his entire body.

The man’s body fell to the ground at Riley’s feet. Face down, laying still, blood began to pool around him, creating a large puddle, soaking Riley’s shoes. Riley’s eyes stared down at the body with contempt. She kneeled down to get closer look at her work, grabbing the scalp of the man and lifting him up to more easily see his front side. The moment Riley saw the damage that was done she felt the overwhelming urge to vomit, but she was still trapped in her own mind, unable to act on this impulse. The man’s face was horrifying, not just because of the damage, but also because of the lifelessness in his expression. Riley had never seen anything like it before. His cheek was cut open exposing the inside of his mouth almost completely. The path of the blades damage continued downward to the man’s chest, where his ribcage had been exposed through the deep cut. His stomach was also cut towards its side with some of his organs peeking out, entangled with each other as they slid out further with every slight movement made easier by the slick blood still pouring from the gash. As Riley’s eyes continued to examen the corpse, she suddenly realized the man’s hands were gone from his body. She looked down at the still pooling blood on the ground and saw them clear as day, cleaved from the man’s arms, still gripping his sword.

Riley wanted so badly to scream or run or throw up or do it all at the same time. But her body wouldn’t let her. She was forced to stare an unbroken gaze upon a dead man that she was responsible for killing. Finally, her hand dropped the body, splashing as it landed in the pool of blood below, further staining Riley’s clothes. She raised her right hand once more, pointing the sword now towards her own chest. Slowly she pushed the sword back through the wound she had created. It wasn’t as painful as when she had first pulled it out, but it was certainly just as frightening. Her chest fully enveloped the sword, and her heart began to beat properly again. It was calming in a way, to have her heart back in its proper place. Despite all the horror that had just occurred, feeling her heart beat in her chest like normal again was reassuring to Riley. Her body relaxed, but only for a moment. Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck rose and she felt goosebumps all over her body. Her eyes darted back towards the tall buildings across the street, and she began to scan the rooftops, but she had no idea what for. Finally, her eyes fell upon her target. She was in disbelief. Standing above her looking down from a perch atop the towering skyline was a woman. A beautiful woman with a long gray braid and scars adorning her face, staring down at her intently with blood red eyes. Riley began to feel weak, both mentally and physically, the events of the night finally catching up to her. She fell to the ground, unconscious.