The train doors slid open with a disquieting hiss. Kimberly hugged her bag to her chest and took a deep breath before stepping aboard. Figures of all shapes and sizes pushed past her, hurrying to fill the empty spots among the wooden benches and leaving her stumbling through the aisle. The doors closed.

She clutched her bag tighter and regained her balance in time to find not a single open seat in sight. As she shuffled down the aisle, the passengers averted their eyes. No one scooted over to make room for her, no one smiled her way.

“Attention passengers,” a static voice sounded overhead, “be advised that all train doors will be locked throughout your transport, and at least thirty seconds after arriving at the next platform.”

The train shuddered. Kimberly wobbled atop her sensible heels before lurching forward, narrowly stopping herself from elbowing a seated passenger in the nose. He promptly glared up at her.

“So sorry,” she muttered before continuing her trek to the end of the car.

“Our next stop will be Olympian Station, platform three. If you wish to transfer upon arrival, please seek out a ticket inspector, located in the gangways. Unpunched tickets will not be accepted for transfers.”

Kimberly finally arrived at an empty bench in the very last row. She slid all the way in so that she was next to the window.

“We hope you have a pleasant trip with us on Afterlife Railway and wish you all the best during your travels through the largest city of the dead.”

The crackling voice clicked off, leaving only the rumblings of the train and the babbling of the other passengers behind. Kimberly looked out the window at the platform, still crowded with waiting passengers. She’d been transferring from train to train all day long, traveling a long way from her rural Resting Place, so far removed from the dense and expansive limits of Olympia City. Each transfer to each new platform had brought more passengers with it. She took a deep breath, grateful to have found a bench to herself.

The sounds of the train grew louder, chugging and screeching to life, and drowning out the voices around her. She settled into her seat, watching the platform slide away outside. It was quickly replaced with an endless succession of buildings, all faced in shining chromes, silvers, coppers, and golds, and divided only by cobbled walkways, steep stone stairs, and crisscrossing train tracks. Olympia was quite a sight to behold, and Kimberly could understand well enough why one may choose the city as their Resting Place, but just watching the swarths of strangers shuffling to and fro down the streets was enough to put her nerves on edge.

She looked down at her brown leather bag, still clutched close to her chest. Her hand slid to the latch, popping it open. Three items sat comfortably inside: a wooden hairbrush, a flat, smooth rock, and a well-worn pair of red heels. Kimberly smiled before clicking the latch shut again.

“Prepare for incline,” the voice clicked on overhead once again.

Nylon straps suddenly ejected from each bench, and the passengers quickly buckled themselves in. The train car tilted back and Kimberly stared out the window in awe. Olympia was not only a city that extended outwards across much space, but upwards as well. At the city’s center, a mountain of shining skyscrapers climbed into the air. Streets and walkways became more vertical than horizontal. Its construction defied all logic. But, reason didn’t exactly apply to the world of the dead, Kimberly supposed.

They passed building after building, eventually slicing through a layer of clouds until they seemed to be above the sky itself. Finally, the train crawled to a halt.

“Welcome to Olympian Station. Please remember to mind the gap between the train and platform edge.”

Kimberly was nearly pushed back onto the train as soon as she stepped off it, as a hoard of waiting passengers scurried to board.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” she chanted in vain. No one spared her a second glance.

She soon found herself swept up in a current of foot traffic, pushed down one of the many steep cobbled walkways lining the train tracks and shining high-rises. Unfamiliar streets traveled in every direction, and she immediately found herself disoriented. With much effort, she pushed herself through the crowd and to the side of a bronze building, where she could stand without worrying about being trampled. She leaned back against the smooth wall and took a deep breath. Strangers continued to rush past.

Her hand slipped into the pocket of her dress and produced a folded envelope. She carefully smoothed its creases and pulled out the piece of paper tucked within, rereading the last portion of the letter:

If you wish to dispute a Resting Place placement, please come to the Recently Deceased Categorization building at 243 Haven Street, Olympia City to set up an appointment with one of our Processing Agents. You will need to provide no more and no less than three (3) pieces of evidence in support of your dispute. Our Agents can make no guarantee that your dispute will be accepted or resolved.

Kimberly glanced up and down the street, searching for a sign that might help her get her bearings. Crowds continued to pass by, every stranger marching with speed and determination. They all knew exactly where they were going, and they paid her no attention. She returned the envelope to her pocket, hugged her bag to her chest, and chose a direction.

She soon came upon a sign that read Transcendental Way, but this didn’t help her much. She didn’t know a thing about the streets of Olympia, or which one she needed to take to get to her destination. Her pace slowed to a halt, and annoyed strangers shouldered past her.

“Move out of the way,” a woman grumbled before jostling her to the edge of the walkway. A train zoomed past, sending Kimberly’s hair flying and her heart racing. A hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back.

“You all right, little lady?”

A tall man stood a little too close, his smile a little too eager. His hand still gripped her wrist.

“You look lost.”

She pulled herself free. “I’m just looking for two-forty-three Haven street. Could you point me in the right direction?”

His cheeks stretched with a grin. “Ah, the R.D.C. building. That’s easy. You just keep following the streets uphill, and it’s the big, black building across from Cemetery Square. You can’t miss it.”

Kimberly turned to stare in the direction the walkways continued to slope upwards. “Thank you,” she nodded to the man and stepped back into foot traffic.

“Hey!” he called after her. “Why don’t we have a drink or two together before you go, eh?”

She glanced back, hoping he wouldn’t follow. “Sorry, no time.”

“Then after you’re done!” he yelled over the growing crowd of people separating them. The other strangers between them eyed her disapprovingly as if she were encouraging the strange man to cause such a disturbance. The farther she got, the angrier and more obscene his shouts became, and she forced herself to tune him out.

Now, the surging crowds couldn’t seem to walk fast enough. If she could have, she would’ve been running through the city to her destination, but there were too many people and too many trains rushing by every other moment. They continued up and up, gradually climbing higher into the city. Finally, there was a break in the tracks and the buildings. The crowds thinned and spread out.

Statues filled the open space. Giant gravestones, some ancient, crumbling slate, others newer, polished granite and marble. The names of the deceased were etched deep into the imposing monuments, along with their contributions to Olympia City. Kimberly shivered in their shadows, each one at least four times her own height. She had, no doubt, found Cemetery Square.

However, her ominous awe was soon replaced with excited triumph. Directly across the square stood a massive building of shining onyx. Its glassy walls reminded her of the pieces of obsidian she used to find on the shores of a lake when she was a child. She’d finally come to the place she was looking for.

The towering entrance doors were propped open, and a steady stream of people filtered in and out. She joined the current, allowing it to carry her inside a cavernous room, carpeted in crimson velvet, with walls and ceilings of white marble. She stared wide-eyed at countless labeled archways. Resting Place Relocation, one said, Reincarnation Center, said another, and another, Afterlife Transition Therapy. The crowds of people sorted themselves accordingly, dispersing through the archways, as Kimberly was pushed deeper into the building. Finally, she saw the entryway to the department she was looking for: Recently Deceased Processing Agency.

As soon as she entered, she was given a numbered ticket and ordered to take a seat in the crowded waiting room. Almost every one of the hard, brass chairs were filled. She was forced to sit between a woman who was loudly weeping, and a man who was puffing away at a cigarette. She hugged her bag close and stared ahead.

“I thought this was heaven!” the crying woman wailed. “It’s supposed to be paradise, eternal happiness, but it’s misery!”

The smoking man laughed, blowing stinky clouds Kimberly’s way. “Lady, this ain’t heaven. There ain’t no such thing. Just a life after life. The Afterlife, ya get it?”

She pulled out a hanky and blew her nose before glaring at him. “Oh yeah? If there isn’t heaven, then how come there’s hell?”

“Ain’t no hell, either,” the man scoffed, taking another long drag before exhaling. “Just punishment. Just like in life, in the Afterlife, you pay for your crimes, whether you committed them when you were alive or afterward.”

Kimberly suddenly felt ill. She desperately scanned the room for another open seat, but none could be found.

“Then why is my Harelson being punished, huh?” the woman asked, leaning over Kimberly and shoving a finger in the man’s face. “He’s my soulmate! I’ve waited here, alone, for so long to be reunited with him! You’re supposed to spend eternity with your soulmate once you’re dead!”

“Lady, you think I know why you’re boyfriend ended up in the Farm? He was probably just a terrible person all his life.” He flicked the butt of his cigarette on the floor before pulling out another and sparking it up. “And there ain’t soulmates, too.”

The woman began wailing louder than ever. Kimberly couldn’t take it anymore.

“How long is the wait here, usually?” she asked, hoping for a change of subject.

The man shrugged. “Could be an hour, a day, a week. Who’s to say.”

Kimberly sagged in her seat.

There is a hell, and I’m sitting in it right now.

Luckily, her wait was closer to an hour than anything else. Her number was called, and she was guided down a long hallway to a wooden door. Inside, she found a bespectacled woman sitting at a desk. The woman introduced herself as Yasmine and asked Kimberly to take a seat opposite her.

“So, Kimberly, why have you come all this way to see us at the R.D.C.?” Yasmine asked.

Kimberly quietly pulled the letter out of her pocket and unfolded it once again. “Because of this.” She held it out to Yasmine. “I sent in a request concerning my sister, Joanna, and I received this notice, instructing me to come here.”

“Let’s see,” Yasmine took the letter and peered at it over the tops of her glasses. “Yes, alright.” She turned to a hulking piece of machinery that sat atop her desk and began clacking away at its metal buttons. Gears and springs moved noisily within until she pulled a lever and a stack of papers shot out through a slot in the wall, accompanied by a ding.

“Here we are,” Yasmine said, picking up the stack and shuffling through the papers. “Yes, yes, I understand. So your younger sister, Joanna, has recently left the world of the living and ended up as an atonement worker on the Farm, but you wish to dispute her placement. You believe she doesn’t belong on the Farm?”

Kimberly nodded vigorously. “There’s been some sort of mistake. Joanna certainly wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. She’s not a bad person. She belongs with me, not serving out some sentence of restitution. I know she—”

“I’m sorry,” Yasmine dropped the papers and shook her head. “But it doesn’t seem like any mistake has been made. While you were still among the living, indeed Joanna was a decent enough person to earn her own Resting Place here. But it’s been a very long time since you left her behind. A lot has happened since then. She’s done many things that she must pay for, now.”

A wave of ice washed over Kimberly, freezing her to the chair. She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to. Joanna, her little sister, was good.

“Please,” she said softly. “The letter said to bring evidence. I have it here, in my bag.”

Yasmine eyed her warily. She sighed, pushing the stack of papers aside. “Fine. Let’s see it then.”

She popped open her bag and pulled out the wooden hairbrush.

“This is the brush she used to braid my hair every night,” Kimberly explained, smiling down at it. “My hair always ended up messy and knotted because I was terrible at taking care of it. But, every night before we went to bed, Jo would take the time to brush out my hair and braid it, so that it would look nice the next day.”

She looked up at Yasmine to find a bored expression on her face. Quickly, she pulled out the smooth rock.

“This is one of the stones that I used to teach Jo how to skip rocks one summer at the lake. In just a few tries, she was already better than me. But she didn’t rub it in. In fact, she would pretend to be bad and would only skip them farther than me when I wasn’t looking, so my feelings wouldn’t get hurt.”

Yasmine glanced at her wristwatch. Kimberly felt sick to her stomach as she pulled out the final item: the worn pair of red heels.

She stared down at them for a long moment, running her hand over the scuff marks. Unwelcome tears welled in her eyes.

“These were the shoes that I bought to wear to the school dance, but I broke my leg just a few days before and didn’t end up going. As soon as my leg was healed, Jo threw a party at our house so that I could go to my own dance and wear my heels. I was so thankful, I let her have them. After that, I would catch her dancing alone in her room, wearing the heels. She told me they were her most prized possession.”

Yasmine pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“Listen, that’s all really sweet stuff, and I can see that you love her, but your sister just wasn’t the same person after you died. She did bad things, things she has to pay for before she can be forgiven. I just don’t see her realistically being released from the Farm, not until she’d paid her debt. And that won’t be for a very, very long time.”

Kimberly leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk. “Please. Take my evidence into consideration. Go through her file again. She wasn’t perfect. But she doesn’t deserve this.”

Yasmine stared down at the stack of papers apprehensively.

“Oh, alright,” she sighed.

Kimberly nearly fainted with relief.

“But I can’t promise anything,” Yasmine continued. “Your sister’s actions will just have to speak for themselves.”

Kimberly thanked her profusely before leaving. In a daze, she walked back through the building, back down the streets of Olympia, back to the train platform. She may as well have been the only one on the train on her long journey back. She didn’t see a single other person around her. Her thoughts were only of her sister.

Would she see her again? Would she still be the same, bright girl she’d left behind so long ago?

She walked down the wooded path from her Resting Place home to the mailbox every day after that, desperately awaiting news of her sister. But none came. The days stretched on into weeks, but she refused to admit defeat, though her hope gradually drained away.

Finally, one morning she was too tired and too lonely to walk to the mailbox alone. She sat in her kitchen, sipping at a cup of tea, but she didn’t taste a single drop. Then, suddenly, a gentle knock came from the door.

“Hello?” a muffled voice called from outside.

She sat still for a moment, confused. Who could be visiting me? What could this be about?

She stood, but before she could get to the door, it swung open, sending a fresh breeze blowing through the house.

Kimberly froze, staring at the figure in the doorway. Her face split with joy, eyes filled with tears.

“Jo,” she whispered breathlessly. “You’re here.”

Rain

in waterfall sheets

ascends upon waves

popping foam

diluting

salty soup

and you

look at me

with rocky eyes

and I thrust myself upon you

breaking

and drawing back

just to crash again

and when the rain reached us

it pounded out a lullaby

we closed our eyes

and listened

to pelting whispers

chilly sighs

the feeling

of your hand around mine

stops

multiplies

time.

She talked herself to madness.

She spoke and spoke and said and said until her thoughts all left her head.

They floated away on the heavy summer wind.

Up, into the electric atmosphere of a dusty, dripping evening.

Gathering, they formed salty clouds.

Together, they rumbled in the sky, the world below ignoring their cry.

Finally, they fell back to earth.

In tepid, erupting raindrops, they splashed onto her head.

She turned her face upwards.

They slid down her cheeks like tears, finally unleashed after a thousand years.

*(I wrote this a while ago but recently rediscovered it and thought I’d share it here)

Enter now,

my waking dream

Float me down

a lazy stream

Behind closed eyes,

I see your face

But when they open

it’s soon erased

I tell a lie

to hide the truth

But secrets sink,

they never soothe

I painted over

yesterday

In gaudy green

instead of gray

In leafy hues

like springtime warmth

Thin, apple’s skin

where fissures form

Sunshine peels

fragile veneer

You’re far away

but I hold you here

And when the day

becomes sharp night

It slices through me

and dyes my sight

Like crimson tears

shadows seep

Beneath my skin,

dark worries keep

Your whispered words

stay in the air

They follow closely

everywhere

I tell the truth

to hide a lie

And yet I wonder

why you cry

I really can’t speak

With food in my teeth

I should have brought floss

But I’m at a loss

What should I do

I don’t want to be rude

A piece of my lunch

Has got me in a crunch

What an embarrassing time

To be arrested for a crime

Though my sentence is lesser

Mugshots are forever

And when I leave myself behind

You wait for me

An anchor in a stormy sea

When I forget to take a chance

You hand one over

Adding fuel to the motor

When I can’t remember who I am

You lead me to a mirror

Wiping away tears to make it clearer

I fear her

That imposter

I didn’t add her to the roster

But when I’m with you

I always feel invited

With splendid lenses I’m not so farsighted

And for that

I am forever grateful

Your love is healing, never painful

“Into the abyss.”

Yaram held up her carafe and rolled her head back, sucking in a breath. With a single motion of her wrist, she tipped it to her dry, peeling lips and swallowed down the thick liquid at once. The familiar burn greeted her throat and eyes, bringing bittersweet relief almost immediately.

“Fall upon your sword and you will sleep with the heroes.”

She spoke the words with her own, burning tongue, but they seemed to leave her mouth in the voice of her father.

“There is no greater honor than that of dying for your master.”

A wicked, rasping laugh followed, this time neither her father’s nor her own, but that of something much more sinister. Something that Yaram often felt squirming and seething inside of her, clawing desperately to get out. So long she had fought this internal worm, this restless entity, but her patience and her strength may have finally been spent.

The burning liquid slithered down her gullet, dropping warmly into her stomach and calming the incessant wriggling of that dark entity. Yes, she could fight it just a little bit longer...

“Sleep, now,” she said, rubbing her stomach in the motherly way she had only ever fantasized about. Her own mother’s hands hadn’t been for rubbing tender tummies, but for slapping, pinching, and even punching, when the mood was right for it.

Yaram stared down at her hands, knobby, scarred, and callused—hands that looked like her mother’s. If she’d had a child of her own, would she have used those hands to calm and caress, or to beat the sense from their skulls? Yaram never felt she was meant to be a mother—and, thankfully, had apparently never been fertile enough to foster one from her own frigid loins—but she liked to think she would have never taken out her anger on those weaker than herself. Then again, she’d gotten a lot of her scars and calluses in lip-splitting, gut-busting brawls, often after long bouts of drinking, in the alleyways and gutters between the taverns and her hovel of a flat. And, though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew very well that a drunken fight was only ever spurned on by anger erupting from within oneself, and she was too attuned to her instincts of self-preservation to have ever picked a brawling partner stronger than she could handle. No, it was the weak that were meant to relieve the hate of the stronger. And then the weaker still to relieve their hate.

A roiling kick churned inside her gut once again. She’d had about enough of all this thinking and remembering—her noxious tonic was supposed to cancel all that out. And now the entity was awakening, too. Looking down into the empty carafe, she frowned.

“Need more.”

Yaram cleared her throat, spit onto the floor, and pulled herself grudgingly up from the stool. Dragging her well-worn boots across the wooden floorboards, she returned to the cupboard and pulled out a sinister collection of little bottles and pots. The long, grueling hours she had worked, scrubbing at old glass jugs, scooping up refuse in the streets, and countless other unspeakable tasks she could perform and receive payment for, in order to scrounge together enough to buy this little assortment of ingredients—she often wondered if it was worth it, but every time she swallowed down the finished product, all thoughts of worth and reason quickly left her head. Her fingers worked on the ingredients surprisingly quickly. A sprinkle of this, a dash of that, and a few drops of the other stuff. The witch’s brew bubbled and hissed. Yaram hissed back with a yellowed smile. She’d been sure to make this one strong.

This time, she didn’t even bother sitting down. Let the floorboards rise up to meet her, if they must. At least then she would know it was working.

Once more, she gulped down the evil concoction, letting out a satisfied sigh. The room tilted, and she gripped the wooden countertop as a second wave of sweet poison entered her blood stream.

“Into the a—“

Yaram gagged on her words. The entity inside her was far from quelled. It lurched, fighting its way upwards and sending her reeling.

“No—!” She panted, clamping a hand over her mouth and stumbling to the nearby basin, filled with dirty water that hadn’t been thrown out in much too long. If she was going to be sick, she at least wanted to do it someplace she wouldn’t have to mop up afterwards.

But she tried her best to choke it down. Why waste two perfectly good shots of liquid-relief? The nausea was only temporary, she knew this, and if she could hold it in just a little longer, she would be well on her way to blissful nothingness in no time.

Hand still clamped over a grimacing mouth, she stared into the murky water at her bleary-eyed reflection. Those eyes looking back at her didn’t seem to be her own; they seemed foggy and half-blind, as if they were staring past herself, still deeper into the muck and through a window to someplace far away. Somewhere removed.

Deep breaths through flared nostrils, in, out, in, out—and the entity seemed to settle, sliding slowly back down into its pit. And now, the poison began to really take a hold.

“There’s no greater glory than that of throwing yourself into the abyss.”

And as she fell back upon her stool and slumped over the table, relinquishing herself to dreamless black, the entity awoke once again to exact its cruel jest.

Ripping, tearing, crawling, it climbed up her throat, pushing the contents of her stomach up with it. First, acidic liquid spewed from her lips, and then a hand thrust its way out, long fingers prying open her teeth, followed by a gangling, twisting arm. She tried to scream, but next came a head, gasping and spluttering. Another arm, reaching out to grab the table’s edge, pulling the torso along with it. Finally, a slimy, wriggling pair of legs, and the feet were sliding across her tongue. With one final, spewing heave and a choking cough, the entity was out of her, stretching and contorting atop the table.

Yaram pushed herself backwards, falling from the stool to the floor. A terrible howling noise filled the room, and she realized astonishingly that it was coming from herself. Sobs shook her weakened frame, and she clutched at her head, yanking her hair in large clumps. She vomited once more, too wretched and pathetic to do anything but let the foul substance drip down the front of herself. Over the sound of her own whimpering, she could hear the haggard, gurgling breaths of the entity, still convulsing on the table.

And then there was silence.

Yaram held her breath. The table creaked. She didn’t dare look up.

“Good evening, my friend.”

The voice that filled the room turned her skin to withered paper, her bones to brittle sticks. She nearly bit through her own tongue and fainted.

“At last, we meet.”

With all the courage she had left, Yaram lifted her gaze to peer upon the entity. Through dizzying terror, she saw before her a creature so vile, so heinous, that it could have only been born of the darkest rancor within herself.

“But, then again, we already know each other quite well, don’t we?”

“I don’t know who you are, or what you are!” She whimpered and shivered on the floor, snot and vomit dripping down her chin.

“Of course you do.” Long fingers curled around the edge of the table, and an unholy face leaned over to peer down at her with hollow eyes, black lips wearing a sickening smile. “You created me. And I created you.”

“What do you want!” Yaram screeched hoarsely.

A slithering tongue flicked out, lapping up the sticky bile that still covered the entity. Once again, a wicked laugh filled the air.

“It is not what I want, Yaram, but what you want.”

The evil voice twisted and distorted, sounding eerily similar to her mother’s. If she hadn’t already evacuated the contents of her stomach, Yaram would have been sick all over again.

“Do you want to go on, Yaram? Do you want to continue this way? Or, do you want me to help you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you not call me here, Yaram? Did you not summon me in order to assist you with your task?”

Yaram’s head was pounding, sharp, incessant pain shooting down her spine and squeezing at her eyes.

“What task? What do you mean?”

The black, smiling lips curled ever more sinisterly. The hollow eyes blinked, and when they opened again they were the stormy, bloodshot eyes of her father.

“Death, Yaram. Death is what you seek, is it not? Pitiless, miserable death. That is why you have called me forth. I am your end, Yaram. I am your undoing.”

“No!”

She tried to back away, slipping and sliding across the floor in a puddle of her own sick, scurrying like frightened vermin. This isn’t what she wanted, it couldn’t be. Not like this...

“Have you forgotten, Yaram? There is no greater honor than dying for your master.”

“No, no, no, no, no...” she tried to cover her ears, but that voice, a voice that now sounded like her father’s, echoed inside her head.

“But who is your master, Yaram?” The entity slunk down from the table, slithering unnaturally across the floor towards her. “Who do you bow your head to?”

“No one! No one!”

“Is it not the men that pay you to scrape stinking scum from the sewers? Or, rather, is it the ones that pay you to let them crawl carnally on top of you in the crepuscular corners of the night? Or... could it be your mother?”

Wild, curling hair sprang from its head, flying in greasy strands all about its face—the hair of her mother.

“Or, your father?”

The stormy eyes laughed at her, bloodshot, red, and filled with resentment.

“NO!” She screeched, her voice breaking. “No one! I have no master!”

“Ah, then it is yourself, Yaram. You are your own master.”

She stopped her shivering and wailing for a moment to consider this.

“Yes, Yaram. And who better to die for, than yourself?”

She found herself shaking her head, but couldn’t speak.

“Let me help you, Yaram. Let me help you claim your greatest honor.”

It was over her now, looking down and smiling with those black lips all the while. She wasn’t ready to die. There was no honor in such a death.

Its top lip curled back in a delighted snarl, sharp teeth dripping with saliva. It would eat her alive. Swallow her until there was nothing left. Fresh tears filled her eyes.

No... no, she wouldn’t give in like this. She was her own master, after all.

Blindly, she reached out and grabbed for the overturned stool, using all of her momentum to fling it at the entity. It splintered apart on impact, doing little except stalling it for a moment. It let out a seething cackle, long tongue wagging through the air.

“What do you want, Yaram?” It taunted.

She stumbled to her feet, rushing towards the wooden countertop and grasping the handle of a rusty cleaver. The entity was behind her. Good.

“What do you want—“

She spun around, cleaving it right between the eyes. Eyes stolen from her father.

“I want to live.”

Dark blood oozed down its smiling face, it’s head split clear in two, soaking into the wild hair. Hair stolen from her mother. It let out a small, gurgling laugh and then seemed to melt before her eyes, reduced to nothing more than a foul puddle. And then the room around her lifted away, and she finally fell into blackness.

***

Some time passed, Yaram couldn’t be sure how much, but when she awoke again, she was still lying on the floor in front of the wooden counter. In her hand, she gripped a rusty cleaver, and all around her there was chaos. A broken stool, scattered cutlery, and patches of half-dried vomit. A horrendous mess.

But she was still alive.

She started cleaning up, half-wondering if it had all been a nightmarish dream, half-trying to forget that any of it happened. Collecting her assortment of pots and bottles in her arms and stuffing them in an old sack, she walked all the way to the edge of town in the midday heat and dumped them amidst the rubbish pile. She wouldn’t need them anymore. She was her own master. She’d decided: she wanted to live.

She wasn’t lost

She just didn’t use a map

And though her feet took her

Far from where she intended to go

She learned something along the way

“I don’t want to do what they want me to,”

She would say

“I only want to know.”

And when snow fell thick on her head

Blocking out the sun

Covering with cold

Even then

She kept walking

She had a destination in mind

But sometimes

The end is not what we seek

And so she waited for summer heat

To melt away the ice

But frost turns to flood

Sunlight beats beratingly

Turning warm starlight dreams

To sweltering nightmares

Though she didn’t seem to care

Carefully, finally

She climbed The Tree

Growing from the center of it all

Roots wrapped around you and me

And she stared into the beginning

“Why am I here,

Why are you there,

Why are we living,

Why do we care?”

With a tongue tied by trust

She thrust her words into the sky

And on high

A voice returned

Spurned by tilting time

“You are the question

You are the answer

But there is no truth

That cannot be altered.”

And the sky opened up

And into the nothingness she jumped

Twisting and turning

Until she was someone else

Someone she loved

Walk to the edge and look down

See how far you have to fall

It all lands at the bottom

But a fear of heights

And nasty frights

Keeps you from the edge

From the plunge

Take a step back

Turn away

It’s safer over here

Far from the ledge

Far from the fear

Safety is comfort

Risk is unclear

I say I want this

But it doesn’t appear

My dreams don’t take shape

They all disappear

My happiness delayed

My eyes fill with tears

And I watch myself wasting

Turning to yesterdays

If tomorrow is already on me

Then I lost the chance I’d given myself

Let it fall into the gap

Between my motivation and confidence

Worry makes me wonder

If it is better to just jump

After all

The only one that can do it

Is me

But what if I can’t do it