The hectic workday squeezed the last ounce of energy I had in me. The instant I closed my eyes, I dozed off like a dead chap. My wife, Clarissa, was a nurse, and she held the night shift that day. So, I slept with my lovely little daughter, Cassie; since she was afraid to sleep alone. But, this unusual fear did not exist in her until a few days before. Perhaps, it was a horror movie she watched, I assumed. But, I never knew, in the least, that I was letting her sleep with an evil spirit.

Somewhere in the midst of the silent night, I sensed someone at the corner of my bed. I was sure my limbs had felt the presence of some other person in this room; I was beyond terrified. The adrenaline my body procured in the next few moments were too much in quantity against the tiredness I procured from a day. My eyes were wide open, and I bounced away from the stranger who seemed like a man. On the second apprehension, I recognised this visitor, and a dread pervaded my mind.

He wore baggy brown pants with a plain white shirt, the suspenders of his trousers dangling relaxed on both sides of his ribs. His black-tie dragged down, the coat missing, he looked very distinct from his depiction in history books. It was the Fuhrer of Germany, Adolf Hitler himself, who was resting peacefully on the other side of my bed. He held his head down, his eyes vacant, and his iconic strands of hair tumbled over his blue eyes. He did not look like an arrogant, superior leader, but more like a weak, defeated man.

Though I recognised this untimely intruder, the first question that escaped the chambers of my mind was, “Who are you?” He glanced at me, surprised, but then lowered his head again as if he realised something. With trembling fists, he propped himself up and proceeded to the other end of the room. He stood near the windows. He was weak; only a shadow of the man who commenced a tumultuous World War and murdered millions of Jews. He could barely stand on his legs, his arms sought for support, but no shoulder served him.

He glanced up at the stars and muttered something; it was faint, but it possessed more power than I could ever gather, “I thought the world would remember me.” His vision danced around; he no longer had a purpose, he no longer had an aim, and his demeanour hinted that he no longer even had life within that frame. He did not turn around, not once; he could not even face a mediocre someone like me. His gaze transfixed to some point far away, and he again mumbled something weak, more uncertain this time, “I am afraid I was wrong.”

Six words. A total of six words summed up against the dictator’s entire life. Was this a confession? A regret? Was it that simple? Could grief possibly wash away his sins? Could anything? This man slaughtered millions, shattered cities, families, all in the name of a miserable objective; to cleanse the world. And he is afraid he was wrong? This man was wrong. Whatever perspective, whatever mirror reflects his story; no version of it will ever deem his motives pure as he stated they were. He was wrong.

All of a sudden, he turned around as if he could hear my thoughts. I was, for a moment, petrified; but his vacant expressions pulled me back together. He leaned against the racks and picked up the bottle of whiskey that I had stored away. He was not asking for permission, and I felt too feeble to question; he had dictated over an entire nation within his palms, and even proposed to dominate over the whole world. That man does not need an elaborate ceremony to take authority of an ordinary house.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked me, having found two glasses from the cupboard. The Fuhrer of Germany, the horrid nightmare of many, even seventy-five years after his death, and he wanted to share a drink with me. But, I politely refused; My daughter was strictly against my drinking habits, and I was putting in my best efforts to comply. But the lack of a company overnight did not stop him; he poured himself a drink and enjoyed the new flavours.

When he was halfway through his glass, Cassie exhibited signs of waking up; the noises inside the room was disturbing her peaceful sleep. Adolf quickly hid the drink behind his stocky frame. When I looked at him, surprised, all I could see was an innocent smile. It was the last thing I expected from such a figure in history, but yes, no matter, however powerful, it doesn’t change the fact that he was still human. And maybe, even a caring, childish heart.

He drew himself up and came closer to the both of us, but his eyes were not at all directed towards me. He only gazed at my daughter, and his features revealed nothing but the delight of seeing a little child. However, something unexpected happened. Just before he was close enough to Cassie, she moved back in fear; she hid behind me, clung to me so tight and her little eyes were full of fear. At this sorrowful sight, the epitome shattered; the happiness in his features faded, the hands once extended for caring trembled in mid-air, and his eyes turned gushing red. But before we could see the tears of someone who had never cried, he turned away swiftly, hiding his emotions and supporting himself against the windowpanes.

After a prolonged silence, he spoke again, “Children used to adore me,” He slowly turned, his voice almost breaking. His eyes were still red, and his hair covering his left eye, “But, I am nothing less than a monster, am I?” That moment, we felt weak air currents moving across our room, Cassie held on to me even tighter. Adolf again gained his vacant, expressionless face and held his body upright, though his left hand still trembled. A few moments later, one end of our room was not visible, but instead, some other infrastructure was present on the other end. A black border covered the places that no longer belonged in this reality; Adolf slowly moved into the portal, not looking back even once. All he left was a glass half-filled.

At last, he turned. An unbalanced grin crossed his face, but it was not one of happiness. But it was more like as if he retrieved a childish fantasy long forgotten. And before the portal closed in on itself, he uttered his last two words, glancing at my daughter, ”Blue Eyes.”

*****

First of all, thanks to @Prose for this wonderful challenge. Usually, the challenges rang no bells inside me. But this time, I was happy. I was able to come up with something. I don’t even know if the dictator is still applicable to the challenge. But, here it is. And, I hope you guys like it. As always, it’s your support that keeps me going ^-^

#fiction

I remember him from my Philosophy class. That insane mustache of a man and his ideologies of such kind always made me curious.

And here Friedrich Nietzsche was, right in my own bedroom!

I had just woken up from a dream (I don't remember, so don't ask), and I opened my eyes, and there before me was the ghost of the German himself.

"What in the world are you doing here?" I asked as I sat up in my bed.

Mustachio stayed silent.

"I have to say, you are looking fantastic, considering that you've been dead for over a century." I teased.

Still nothing.

I waved my hand in front of his face. His cold eyes stayed consistently solemn and unflinching.

I stood up from my bed and began to walk behind him.

Suddenly, his head turned to me.

"You don't get it, do you?" He asked with a thick German accent (as expected).

"Get what?" I asked, still walking around his figure.

"You don't get it, do you?" He said once more.

I laughed. "Are you a broken record or something? What is 'it'?"

"You don't get it, DO you?" He said.

I froze. Something had clicked in my brain. I felt a shiver go down my spine.

Ever since I had joined my Philosophy Class, it felt like everything that had happened in my own life had no meaning. Being able to question the very foundations of reality itself was always meant to be a challenge. But when one suffers as I have, the questions just keep hitting you harder and harder until all you feel is a sense of numbness in the heart.

I remembered my mom. Her sweet-smelling hair and gentle smile always made my day that much brighter.

Gone.

I remembered my dad, his muscular build, and his 5 o'clock shadow. His jokes always embarrassed me in front of my friends.

Also gone.

My grandma, the one who had always had some kind of cookie to bake for me whenever I visited.

Gone as well.

I shook myself out of my thoughts enough to begin to notice that I was on the floor crying. I got up quickly and wiped my tears away. I knew what to say to the philosopher.

"I don't get it." My tongue and mouth went dry.

"What don't you get?" Nietzsche asked.

I had had enough. "What do you expect me to say??!! Life?? Happiness?? Sadness? Pain? Death? Reality? What does it matter to focus on those now when I have a literal ghost in my bedroom?"

"Look up."

I looked above me.

A rope was swinging above my head.

I felt light-headed.

"You don't get it because you never will," Nietzsche said.

"What do you mean I won't get it? Also, why is there a rope above me?" I asked curiously.

"Come to me," Nietzsche replied. He stretched out his arms unnaturally. He was somehow able to grab my shoulders and pull me in.

"What are you doing? Get your hands off me!" I screamed.

I heard the door open. My older sister peeked into the room.

"Ben, dinner's rea..." She stopped.

A breath's worth of silence before...

"BENNNNNNNN, NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

"Wait, why are you screaming I'm right..." I followed her as she sprinted to where I had been standing.

Or rather, where I was currently hanging.

I felt nothing.

No sadness.

No pain.

No empathy.

I turned my head back to Nietzsche who still had his arms on my shoulders.

Nietzche shook his head.

I realized... Nietzsche was no ghost.

Nietzsche was simply a memory.

I looked back at my sister. She had started resuscitating me. I knew it would be of no use.

Too little, too late.

I was dreaming and I knew I was dreaming. I walked through the woods until I came to a secluded cove. I looked down into the water where I saw a technicolor whirlpool. A burly gust of wind poured through the trees. Suddenly I lost my footing on the edge of the embankment and fell, but where I should have hit the water, I just kept falling. Faster and faster, I was moving beyond the speed of light, my physical body stretching out into extra dimensions.

I woke up in my bed, screaming, drenched in sweat, and there was a stranger's silhouette at the foot of my bed.

“Ay Caramba!” I yelled.

The figure leaned into the moonlight and I could make out a rather stern face with a thick, bushy mustache.

“I’m Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?”

“I am Friedrich Nietzsche,” he said. The left corner of his mouth twitched and he cleared his throat. “Or at least, I used to be.”

“What gives man? What are you doing in my room?”

“Well, Bart is it?”

“Actually my name is Nemo but my mom says not to give your name to strangers.”

“Ah, Nemo. That is good advice your mother gave you. The answer to your question is a tricky one because I don’t honestly know the truth.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“In a way, I suppose I am. I died. I remember that. The principle of Occam’s Razor would suggest that as a logical conclusion.”

“I don’t know what that is man, but like, what’s your beef with me?”

He chuckled “No beef young man, no beef. I’m here to tell you some truths I have learned since I died. Are you listening?”

I was gazing out the window.

“Um, yeah. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Good. Now, picture the universe like an ancient tree. It never stops growing and the limbs and branches are alternate timelines of existence. Each leaf, on each twig, is a separate but connected reality. Every event that could happen, will happen, and has happened.”

“Wow,” I said, trying my best not to sound nonplussed. I didn’t really understand what he was saying and I wanted to go back to sleep, but it kind of seemed like I was still dreaming.

“Wow is right! But that’s not even the half of it. The universe tree is actually a simulated perception. Your brain acts as a storage device for all the scenarios particular to your consciousness. You’ve done it all. You’ve been a prince and a pauper. A ruler of nations. A pious holy man and a mass murderer. A drug addict, a fishmonger, a philosopher, and a famous writer. Take anything you can imagine and you’ve already lived it, infinite times, forever. Your brain, that provides you such a rich interaction with your perceived world, is nothing more than an exquisite computer simulation of a prison. A prison from which you will never escape alive.”

I yawned. “This kind of feels like a dream Freddie.”

“In a way, it is, because you’ve never actually woken up. What you recognize as sleep is nothing more than a reboot of the whole system, a calibration.”

I sat up in my bed and reached out to touch his spectral form . I grabbed his arm and was surprised that it was solid.

“Please do not touch me,” he said, waggling his mustache.

I had had enough. I kicked out at Mr. Nietzsche as hard as I could.

When I did, it felt like I had caused a ripple that echoed through the whole universe. My body slowly convulsed, stretching out in strange directions, and waves of nausea and euphonia rode slowly over me, through me. I closed my eyes until it seemed to stop.

When I opened them, a new stranger perched on the end of my bed. He had a mustache like Freddie’s, but just the middle part, and his face was much more weaselly.

“Aww, c’mon man. I just want to go to bed. I got school in the morning!”

“You are in school right now young man! I am here to tell you a number of very important things!”

“I already know dude. My brain is a video game where I can play any character I want and there really aren’t any consequences. The other guy already told me.”

He looked appalled. “Hmph! I see that fool Nietzsche has already been here. Well forget what that moron has told you! There are very real consequences! I am in hell for eternity for my crimes against humanity! I knew very well that my quest for ultimate power would be at the expense of anyone in my path, but I took my moral compass and I threw it against the wall as hard as I could and I laughed!" He started to cry. "But I don’t laugh anymore!”

Clearly there was no going back to sleep now. Everything this guy said, he yelled it. He got himself so worked up he was sweating. I guess ghosts sweat.

“So who are you man?”

“I was Adolph Hitler. And what is your name?”

I squinted my eyes with concentration. Where had I heard that name? Then I remembered. My Bubbee had sat me down once and told me some nightmare stories about her time in a concentration camp. Without hesitation, I kicked Hitler so fucking hard that the interdimensional spasms I’d created felt like they might actually tear me apart.

It took a while but slowly the waves of distortion resided and another body appeared. Finally, one that I recognized.

“Woah! You’re Tekashi 6ix9ine!”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, you're dead? I thought you were just in witness protection.”

“Yeah. I was. They got me though.”

“Okay. Man, you did some shitty stuff with your life.”

“Whatever man. I did some good shit too. You don’t know me, You don’t know my struggles.”

I had no argument. “So, like, what are you here to teach me?”

“Just do whatever man. Light can’t travel backwards. Yolo.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded, then flipped me off.

“I’m out. Suck a dick.”

He stood up and jump kicked me in the chest. It knocked me into the headboard and propelled him out into the interdimensional ether.

I just lay there with my eyes closed, hoping maybe no one else would visit me. I was wrong.

“Nemo. Nemo. Nemo? Look, I know you can hear me. I just wanted to ask what you thought about the modernization of my classic story ‘A Christmas Carol’? Pretty funky with the sci-fi twists on the multiverse and all, hmm?” He leaned toward me, eyes wide, erratically interlocking his fingers and twiddling his thumbs. “I know, I know. Hitler wasn’t my first choice either but I think the whole fire and brimstone angle really works as a juxtaposition to Tekashi’s Y.O.L.O. perspective.”

Begrudgingly, I opened my eyes. “So you’re Ebenezer Scrooge?”

He looked confused. “No, I’m Charles Dickens. Ebenezer was just a character.”

“Okay Mr. Dickens, if I tell you what I think, can I go to sleep?”

“Oh, no. Of course not. You’re in a coma. Do you remember falling off your bicycle trying to do that trick where you ride real fast and stand up to balance on the seat?”

I shook my head.

“It didn’t go so well, and since you might be here a while, I just wonder if you wouldn’t mind giving me a review.”

I shrugged, taking a deep breath. “Well, I don’t really get it. What’s the take away? Am I damned if I do? Doomed if I don’t? Do I just do what I want since unfiltered light only travels in one direction or have I done it all already on a never ending loop?”

He began to belly laugh. “I don’t fucking know kid,” he said. “I’m a ghost and it’s a work of fiction. Sometimes stories are just for fun. Sometimes you don’t learn anything. I just wanted to know if you liked it or not?”

Now I was really annoyed. I pulled my hair and screamed. “No! Not really, dude! I thought it freaking sucked.”

Charles Dickens held up his hands. “Okay! Okay, I’ll leave, just don’t kick me.”

Did you know:

1. Peppers, tomatoes, eggplants, zucchini, cucumbers, squash and avocado, are all fruits we use as vegetables.

2. Rhubarb is the only vegetable we use as a fruit.

3. White asparagus is just green asparagus that’s been gown underground.

4. There is no such thing as a naturally blue food. Blueberries are actually purple.

5. Mace and nutmeg come from the same berry.

6. Vanilla is a fermented bean.

7. Saffron is so expensive because it is the stamen of a flower and each one has to be picked by hand.

8. Cinnamon is the bark of a tree.

9. The two most expensive spices after saffron, are vanilla and cardamom.

10. The fur of a polar bear is clear, not white.

11. There are two mammals on the planet that lay eggs: The platypus and the echidna.

12. Cranes and other birds often mate for life.

13. Chimpanzees ‘fish’ for insects with long twigs.

14. Flamingoes are pink because of their diet.

15. Male seahorses are the ones that give birth.

16. Black belt has ten levels. First level is just competence in the basics.

I’m interested in food and animals, apparently. ^_^

sitting in a tub of

warm water tinted red

because once again

you smeared your sharp words

into the cuts you’d already made,

half-healed skin breaking open

once again

because you were angry and you needed

to take it out on me.

you were always

so angry.

i. agape

love smells of crinkled parchment and pressed rose petals, and your thirsty lungs gulp it down with no sense of restraint. you want to taste perfumed breaths of honeyed lavender and dried lotus flowers on your tongue, to feel condensation blossom fractals on shivering skin. but instead, words fly from your nib to the paper, the notes of a love song woven from sinew and bone. fingers bleed passion into every loop, liquid desire drips softly onto the page. and you prick your finger, swirl sanguine blood into waxed seals, package your heart on the snowy back of a turtle-dove. watch as it blurs into a speck on the horizon, and gently sew yourself back together.

ii. eros

the galaxies shine and smolder in her eyes; rivers pool in her collarbones and trickle down the small of her back. slowly, you bring gaea to life. cocoa-butter kisses sprout trees and every whisper sparks an hearth; prometheus smiles as the humans hold fire in their hands again. flowers bloom along her legs and you inhale their scent like oxygen. no map can illuminate her tranquil forests or sea-salt oceans; nor do you need one to imprint her countenance in your mind. her skin feels so familiar - the soft curves of two bodies fit like puzzle pieces in the night.

iii. philia

for you, music is: the whistle of paper airplanes cutting through afternoon class, the way prisms of light filter beneath swaying tree leaves, how barefoot feet run along the edges of baked-cement pools in summer. the sound shoes make when they jump to avoid cracks in the sidewalk, or the sound of bike gears shifting furiously as you race with her in the street. you’ve never been able to start or stop this music. instead, you hear it when you’re with her, buying smoothies at jamba juice and forgetting to pick blue straws (her favorite color). and when you return, blue straws in one hand and her pinky in the other, you hope it’ll never end.

The subject of childhood nightmares.

Watch it! Your days are numbered.

In addition, he cannot be stopped.

So, digital classes are starting up for many people. Whether you are in college, high school, middle school, or grade school (although, if you are in grade school and are on “Prose.,” I am quite impressed), you are probably trying to adapt to a new form of either complete digital or hybrid learning systems. As if that were not difficult enough, now you have to navigate these new systems and remember what you are learning in class to pass the next test.

I have three younger siblings, and I am going to classes myself, so I have had to work through a fair share of studying strategies over the years. Through trying to find out what works best for me and for other people, I find that picturing an image in my mind works better than anything. And this works for remembering anything, not just for educational work. There are entire studies that show that this does work, and if you are currently enrolled in education, trying to keep dates straight, or even one of those people who just has a habit of forgetting things (like I do), then you may find this helpful.

I’m thinking back to an economics class, now, when I was studying for my first exam. The things we had to keep track of were fairly basic, but it was still quite difficult to keep it all straight. The thing I had the most trouble with were the seven economic and social goals, or, I would have had trouble with them, had I not employed this imaging strategy. So here’s a little example:

The seven economic and social goals in any economy are as follows:

economic efficiency

economic equity

economic security

economic employment

economic stability

economic growth

economic freedom

Ok, at first, this seems kind of confusing. “How could I remember all this, it seems so similar?” Well, actually, we notice that “economic” is the first word in every goal, so we can simply discard that word altogether, since it applies to all of them. Now we are left with:

efficiency

equity

security

employment

stability

growth

freedom

Now, we could try to simply memorize this list, but that would take far longer than simply picturing it, at least for me. Humans are visual learners. If I may interrupt myself, how about a game of chess? “Sure,” you say. “Ok,” I reply. “I’ll be black, you’re white. We’re playing on a standard a-h and 1-8 grid. I move my pawn at 2a to 4a. Your move.” Wait, what? That is hard to imagine. But, if we actually have an image of a chess board, we can play the game a lot simpler.

Now, back to the economic goals at hand. To remember them, we simply need to create a simple picture in our mind, because, as I stated, humans are visual learners. So, let’s begin with the first rule: efficiency. Well, when I think of efficient, I imagine a factory, because factories are good at pumping out goods at a very fast rate. So, I just think of a factory.

What’s next? Equity. Well, equity is money, so instead of plumes of smoke billowing out of smokestacks on the factory, I imagine little dollar signs coming out of them. Next we have security, so I imagine policemen guarding the doors to the factory. Then, there is employment, so I imagine a giant line of unemployed people looking for work entering through the doors to the factory.

Stability. Now this is where things become interesting. After pondering on this for a few seconds, I placed the entire factory, the policemen, and the workers on a giant balance, precariously tilting back and forth, but stable nonetheless. Ok, so now we have growth. Well, now I imagine the balance and the factory as being the flower at the end of a stem of a plant. Freedom? Well, plants are in nature and are not bound by human laws, so are plants not already free?

Perfect. In a matter of thirty seconds, I had managed to create an image in my mind that helped me to remember what the seven economic social goals are. And, I did manage to remember it. So, once again, whether you are in school, or whether you simply need to remember a name or date until you have time to write it down, I find this a pretty quick and effective strategy. Of course, everyone has their own methods of studying and remembering, so if you already have something that works, stick with that.

#streamofthought

We are 15, backs pressed to that oak tree in the park.

You try to teach me how to whistle using an acorn cap

but I'm laughing too hard to press my lips together.

You sip at your hot cocoa with that insufferable smile

and I drink my coffee, black and bitter,

clutching the mug with shaking hands.

You wrap an arm around me

and we sit like that for a while,

my head on your shoulder

as the leaves spiral down.