Day Three hundred and five - In secret love we drown

There's a flash of lightning that illuminates the room, and Jo turns on her side and checks what time it is. It's just past five a.m. now, and though she could stay a couple of hours more in bed, she knows she won't be able to get any sleep. Pretty soon, she knows, she'll have to look at something that will break her heart for the 487th time, so she tries her level best to distract herself, to delay that moment for a little while longer. Jo goes to the kitchen, and puts on the kettle. She sits on the chair, her feet on the cold floor. She never was one for slippers, and she doesn't like to sleep with her socks on. She know that he's left by now, he always leaves super early in the morning, and that makes her heart ache. It will hurt more soon, she knows. There's a bubbling sound coming from the kettle that tells her it's time for her to make her tea. No sugar, just a dollop of honey, and she takes the cup with her and stands by the window while she watches the rain fall incessantly outside. It's been raining for days now, and these are days she's always loved, the rainy days where she used to go and play outside when she was a kid, the same rainy days she used to go for walks, and now the pitter-patter echoes the sadness that lingers in this house. She heaves a sigh, a miserable sound she's heard herself exhale oh so many times before. It's time, it's time to go to the living room.

When she gets there, and though she doesn't want to look at it, not really, it's the first thing her eyes do. It's the saddest thing she's ever seen - the indent on the couch from where he sleeps. Jo tries hard not to cry, and sits down on the couch where Jake has been sleeping for a long time now. The rain seems to be falling harder, now, and the low growl of thunder can be heard in the distance. 'There's a storm outside', she sings to herself, 'and the gap between crack and thunder, crack and thunder, is closing in, is closing in.' Lightning streaks across the still dark sky, and she lets the tears flow free. Life has a way of making things happen in a fucked way, she muses, as she lays down on the couch. She can still smell him. She's sure she can still feel the warmth of him. If she could, she'd hold him, but when she can... she doesn't. There's too much hurt between now, there's been too much hurt between for a long while. For far too long. The problem is that she doesn't even know what really started it - it's not like they had a history of fighting or anything like that, they got along pretty well. But one day they just stopped talking to each other. She doesn't get it, they used to talk all the time, about anything and everything, and now they barely say 'hello' to each other. How the fuck did this metamorphosis happen? The distance between them grew and grew, and one night he got out of bed and slept on the couch. And he never came back.

Jo, in her pride, never asked him to. At first, she pretended it was all ok, or that he was sleeping on the couch because he couldn't get any sleep lying next to her, she told herself any number of lies. It was just for a few days, she said to herself, but the days passed and turn into weeks. And now it's going on for over a year. She's certain that he cries himself to sleep every night, and though the biggest part of her wants to come and soothe him and take him by the hand to their bed, some form of paralysis keeps her from reaching out. Some time after he started sleeping on the couch, Jake had to start working an earlier shift, which meant that most nights he was asleep fairly early, sometimes even before she got home. He'd always leave before she was up, and he'd stopped kissing her goodbye just before he left. She knows why. She knows what she said. She can't blame him, and she knows she broke his heart too. There's only one day in their week where they can be together, but they've both since opted not to. It's not a decision they reached out of common accord, and somehow she doubts it was even a decision made on their own. It just sort of happened. Like everything else, it sort of happened, and they went along. It's easier that way, right? Just wait patiently for the end to come. How then, does she tell him that she doesn't want the end to come? That she wants everything to go back to how it was. How? How, when every single word inside her, the untold googolplexes of them, refuse to come out, and condemn them to an unyielding silence? 

Day Three hundred and four - If summer had its ghosts

Very recently I was asked why I'm always apologizing. And I do say 'I'm sorry' a lot, I'll own up to it. It's something I picked up on some years back, and though do know why how that came to be, it's quite hard to explain. It began when I was dating Sonia, way back in 2015. I've told that story before, so there's no need to go through all that again. But something that was prevalent in that relationship was just how inadequate I felt with her, and was made to feel by her. We were a wrong fit for each other, and that's ok - sometimes you only find out how wrong for one another people really are when they get together, and then start doing things together. During the courtship phase of the relationship, I thought that we really had a good vibe, but soon enough I'd learn that we really didn't. I learned not to share anything with her that mattered to me, be it a song, or a book, or whatever. She made it a point not only to tell me that not only she did not appreciate what it was I happened to share, but she also made me feel stupid for liking it. So that got me on an apology loop, where whatever I did - and it could be something as simple as kissing her goodbye in the morning when I had to leave early - ended up being something that was the worst possible thing to do ever. 'I'm sorry', became a mantra, one that I - unfortunately - never got to do away with. It stayed with me through these years, and just recently I remembered one such situation where I ended up apologizing for... for nothing, really.

Last Sunday when I went for a walk, I ended up walking past the place where my last girlfriend - more like 'girlfriend', if I'm honest - worked. Just up the road from where she works, there's a mall where I worked at almost twenty years ago. Because of its proximity to where she worked, we ended up going there a few times, and I'll always remember us eating gyozas there one afternoon, while outside it was pouring. It wasn't then, and it might have been only a couple of weeks later, but there was this one time when we were there, and we were walking on the top floor, maybe we were going to get something to eat - I don't know. What I do know is that eventually we were approaching where an escalator is, and I did something I do ever since I was a kid, especially because I was quite near the railings that lead up to the escalator, which was to use my index and middle fingers as makeshift legs, running them across the length of the railing, and here and then lifting the fingers, simulating a jump, and then landing, and then, just near the end of the railing where it turned towards the escalator, my fingers picked up the pace, expertly doing a slide and triumphantly jumping to the escalator itself. I did all this completely absent-minded, naturally, thinking nothing of it. I suddenly looked back, and she stood there looking at me, a mix of disbelief and shame on her face. I felt so... jesus, I felt so ashamed of myself. So ashamed for myself. Because I know that look so well she gave me, one of utmost disappointment. It's an old friend of mine by now. I felt deflated, defeated, and - obviously - apologized.

This is why I'm like this. Always apologetic. Sometimes I feel the need to apologize just for breathing. Sometimes I feel the need to apologize just for existing. What else can I say, but I'm sorry?

Day Three hundred and three - Dreary town

There's a story I've been meaning to tell here for quite a while now, but I always end up forgetting to do so for some reason. I've made any number of mental notes, but they always evaporate from my mind. So there's this guy that leaves on my street, right? He lives just up the road. Good looking guy, maybe getting a bit pudgy with the years, but still, a guy most women would find interesting. Married - though whether happily or not I wouldn't be able to say - to a gorgeous girl, who was in fact an online 'friend' of mine, though we never talked. They have a beautiful daughter, and I often see him down at the supermarket, or walking their dogs. What's so special about this guy, you might ask, that merits this attention? Well, you see, he was one of my high school bullies. I met him when I first started my eighth grade, and I think I might have illustrated way back when I wrote about that time, just how awful the school I went to was, and how pretty much everyone in my class was 2-3 years older than I was. Well, one of my classmates was... let's call him Henry. He was already one of the tallest in class, and certainly one of the strongest. I got to know just how strong he was first hand right from the start : the moment this motherfucker laid eyes on me, he punched right on the side of the arm, as hard as he could. That was a ritual that lasted the whole year, what an immense joy that was. After eighth grade, though, I never saw him again, I don't think. And aside from a few moments of PTSD flashbacks where I vividly and painfully remember each punch he gave me, I rarely ever thought of this guy.

But a few years back I came across him right here on the street where we lived in, him with his amazing, hot wife, and he recognized me at once. So did I, but I did him the courtesy of pretending I didn't know him. The guy didn't pay me in kind, and moved towards me. And as he approached me, I saw him reaching out a hand towards me, as if we were long lost friends. The girl was beside him, an expectant look in her face. I left the hand hanging where it was presented to me. I looked at him, he's still an imposing figure, and though I've grown to be just as tall as he is, that teenage part of me still felt intimidated. I asked him what the fuck he wanted, and he genuinely seemed to feign confusion. Maybe he expected me to welcome him with open arms. For long moments his hand still hung extended, a slight look of perplexity crossing his eyes. Get the fuck outta here, I told him. And straight to the girl's face I told her how this fucker basically ruined my day every single day. But that was twenty five years ago, Henry says, thinking it would somehow make things ok. 

There are things that I just don't get. I mean, this guy was always a lunk. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed neither, but this guy was pretty much the epitome of the guy who'd only get by on his looks, a harebrained piece of beefcake. He was a pretty bad student, and not that I wasn't either, but already by then I was so incredibly arrogant because I used to think I could run rings around anyone there, at least on an intelectual level. Sure, I didn't know maths of physics, but I was already reading philosophy and more erudite literature. And true, maybe I didn't get everything I read, but oh oh oh, the sense of arrogance and superiority it granted me... and yet this fucker, I came to learn, got a degree in some form of engineering and the other, got the kind of life I could never dream of. Man, out of all the things I could have chosen to be, why did I have to choose mediocrity? The very thing I loathe the most.

Day Three hundred and two - Cynthia

Last night I dreamt I died. And that, in and of itself, is not something new - I've had plenty of dreams of the sort. But I rarely remember them, I just wake up with a fleeting memory, one that ebbs away like so much sand slipping through my fingers. But last night's dream was different. This was in the quite near future, something that we may even see during our lifetimes. Shops and stores and most businesses no longer had people working for them, you just accessed a database of their products, it would show you in real time what their stock was, and then you picked whatever you wanted, pay for it, and then you'd be transported - like Star Trek teleported kind of thing - down to an underground mall, massive, where people would go about their day, not really shopping, but rather just picking up their orders, and even if they wanted to have a meal at the mall, it would be fully automated. But even though this was completely underground, there were huge windows to the outside, and it was like the structure was actually on some island because outside you could see a bright shining sun, and a placid sea as far as the eye could see. But somewhere just at the edge of perception, something was amiss. People looked sheepishly at each other, feeling that something was wrong. No one could actually pinpoint just what, but everyone felt on edge. And then the screaming starts.

It begins as a pillar of light, far in the distance, and moving towards us. We can see it leaving a trail of destruction as it moves towards us. It distorts reality in its wake and even from afar it destroys the windows - which were not windows but screens - and we see that even though we are underground, there is a massive wave rushing in our direction. It's an enormous tsunami inching closer to us by the second, and we have nowhere to go, the teleporters are either malfunctioning or we were herded together to be killed. Everyone panics, people are trampled underfoot. Some choose to live out their remaining moments in peace and hold out their arms as the wave crashes in on us. I take a great big gulp of air just before I'm swept away. Soon, far too soon, I feel my lungs starting burn as oxygen becomes non-existent. I'll die the next time my mouth opens. Amidst the roiling waters, my tears swim. But they are not just tears of sadness; as I die I think of all the people who really, truly loved me, family, ex-girlfriends and friends, my son, my grandmother, Silvia, and Sofia, and Hugo and Sérgio, and I am so happy I got to be loved by these people - the most important people in my life when it comes to so positively impacting it. It's a good way to die, and I let the water flood my lungs. 

And then I woke up.

Day Three hundred and one - Of this goodbye

I'm not sure if what I did today was a good thing or not. Maybe it was necessary, and that doesn't necessarily equate with being good or bad. I woke up feeling tired and restless, I couldn't bring myself to stay in bed for a few extra lazy minutes. Even after I got up and fixed myself a bowl of cereal, I knew that soon I'd be getting ready to go out. Today, I couldn't stay home. I knew I had to go out - and not just for one of my usual walks around the neighbourhood block, but rather, one that would have me venture far outside my comfort zone. I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't regret it almost immediately - as soon as I started getting close to the city downtown, and I saw just how many tourists were out and about, I felt the urge to get back on the subway back home. But I relented, and just trudged on. I considered quite a few options about where to go to, and narrowed it down to two. One would see me take the long way home, and the other would have probably have left me feeling distraught. I picked the first, and walked to the sound of music towards where I worked at some twenty-odd years ago. Then upwards, always going up the hills of this city, until at last I reached a garden where I sat down to rest my feet. I had decided to break in a new pair of shoes today, and that choice might not have been entirely wise. After a short rest there, I kept on walking, knowing full well where I'd end up. Again, I opted for the longer route there, traversing some side streets that kept me out of the way of the frequent throngs of tourists and passers by. By the time I was close to where I knew I'd end up, my feet were killing me and I had to sit down again. I looked around and then I realized I had sat on the same spot years before. Me and my girlfriend of the time - I won't name her here but I have written about her - went to the movies one evening, and the movie - something French - was long and finished late. After the movie ended, me and her ended up going for a walk at night and we found ourselves on top of the park where I now sat, and we had sex behind some bushes straight in front of me. I got up, after feeling rested enough, and went to yet another garden. 

After I got there - my feet still killing me - I had to sit down once more. It was then I realized for the millionth time just how much I hate living in this city. I don't really, of course I don't, and I never will, but I do. And that's because there's no part of this city that doesn't bring some sort of memory back to the forefront of my mind. I've tried to leave this city so many times before, and I always end up returning. Maybe I've not have the maturity necessary to weather whatever storms I face, and I always choose the safe option - coming back. But increasingly... I feel like I want to leave again. This city... I love it. I hate it. I feel so alone here. Alone with memories. Alone. And I don't know just how much more I can take it.

Day Three hundred - The one you love

Today marks my three hundredth consecutive post, meaning that I have been writing here daily for the past three hundred days. The end of this project looms ahead, sixty-five days to go, sixty-five posts to go. And that, in and of itself, leaves me a bit preoccupied because other than maybe a handful of posts, I have no idea what to write about. Nothing really comes to mind, except things that I think I'd rather save for other projects. It's also a reflection of just how tired I've been feeling these past couple of weeks, I can't even remember the weird dreams I usually have, which end up becoming fodder for my writings. There are also a couple of other things on my mind as of late, that greatly contribute to my weariness : on the one hand, I've had a not inconsiderable of  almost-but-not-quite bad days, days that are just bad enough for me to feel completely depleted, but not so bad that I feel driven to drown myself in booze. And learning how to deal with these days is not an easy thing. On the other hand, I've also been feeling pretty pissed off at my own self because I can't seem to do anything at all in my free time. And I'm stupid, because I find myself working on my off days, even if it's just for a few hours, but that means I'm not doing anything else, I'm not resting, my head doesn't switch off... It's a shit predicament out of my own making. There's things I want to do, there's places I want to go to, but I don't seem to find the time to do whatever, or maybe find the energy to go out. And I want that to change. I need that to change, and for sure it's something I'll work on a lot more next year. I still have some things I wish to prioritize until year's end, but I hope that next year I may be able to start slotting in the time for something else other than staying at home.

I'm really at a loss about what I'll be doing here moving forward. Because I either come up with some ideas soon, or I'm fucked. I have a long form story I'd like to write, but maybe this isn't the right platform for that. Nothing here is copyright protected, and though none of the shit I write is good - or even halfway decent - I do have some ideas I'd like to turn into a proper story, and if I do it here... well, who's to stop anyone from swiping what I write here? Besides that, I do have some other ideas for musings, but again - I want to do them elsewhere, without the pressure of having to do them daily, and in a wholly different format altogether. Of course, not all of those ideas necessarily have to be set aside for that project, and I am right now entertaining the notion of repurposing some ideas for a segment here, very similar in tone to the album reviews, but regarding another form of entertainment. God alone knows whether I'll have to resort to those ideas or not. A part of me would rather not, but at this moment in space and time I don't see many alternatives.

All this said, right now I'm in a much better place than I was when I started writing three hundred days ago, I'm in a much better place than I was after the chaos that was the month of May happened, but I'm still some ways away from being where I want to be. I'm getting closer, step by step, I'm staring to see myself again, but jesus, it's something that I'll have to keep working at for a long time, and if I want to go beyond everything I've been before, I cannot relent, I cannot give up, and I cannot allow myself to get distracted. Even if that means more loneliness, even if that means more time spent alone with myself. If that's the way, then that's the way.

Day Two hundred and ninety nine - Five miles out

'Let the raining teardrops rain down on me tonight', the singer says directly to my ears, as I walk around in the rain. This is one of those moments where by sheer coincidence the song I'm listening to matches what's happening in real life. I'm loath to say today was a bad day - it wasn't necessarily so - but it was a monumentally not good day. Especially at work, things just didn't go that well, and I now have a backlog of work that will take me days to get in some semblance of order. So after work I went to the gym, did my usual routine, but I left feeling... I don't know. Unsatisfied. Ill at ease. No, that's an exaggeration, I just felt like I needed to vent a bit. I did so by going for a walk around the area - and these are streets I've known like the back of my hand ever since I was a small kid. Of course, whenever I write, I pull stuff from my own personal experience, and some of the places where my stories are set are either places I know intimately, or maybe a composite of a bunch of other places. The street where my gym is located is one I've traversed countless times during my lifetime, alone or together. I let my feet guide me, and just down the road there's now a chinese megastore where once upon one of my favourite theatres was, and past that a McDonald's whose existence in that particular spot has always pained me, as it was a diner I went to a lot with my mother and grandmother when I was younger. And then, just past it, a short distance away, the church where I had my first communion and was baptized. It's the church where I always imagined I'd one day get married. As recent as over a little a decade ago, I still hoped that day would come, but now... not anymore, no. There was a time when I'd go there often - a time in my adult life, I might add - just to sit down, and linger in thought for a while. Did I pray sometimes? I might, though I don't rightly recall doing so. But what I did was talk to god, and ask for guidance, and for peace, and for permanence. I'm not sure if god ever replied.

I walk towards the church and look at it longingly. There's a huge part of me that stills imagines me walking down that aisle, next to the one I love. I dream, but do not dare hope. For I know reality, and my reality precludes harbouring such notions. I walk on, look at the side of the church, then to where a crosswalk leads to the other side of the road. These are things that have featured quite a bit in these sad little tales I weave. Time to continue, and I keep walking, until I'm on the other side of the road and making my way back home. The falling rain feels sharp and tinny on my skin, pinpricking me with cold raindrops as I march towards my destination. I arrive home feeling exhausted and bereft. I feel... alone. And I can deal with my loneliness quite well, most of the time, but in days like today It's just hard. Especially because I refuse to do what I used to to numb the loneliness - which was to get completely wasted on booze. I have to face this completely sober, and deal with the intrusive thoughts. It's true, and I shouldn't be ashamed to voice it. It's hard admitting it, but there's so much I can no longer recall. The touch of someone on my skin. Knowing the nearness of someone. Just... talking to someone. I miss these things, so much more than I miss sex. I'm restless, and I know sleep will be something that will not come easy tonight. In another life, I'd be getting ready to go out, and get drunk, and have my eagle eyes on and pick up someone and we'd end up fucking in some back alley somewhere. I don't have that dog in me anymore, though. It's not what I want out of life for a long time now. But today... today the loneliness is just too much to bear. So much so, I'm afraid of loneliness swallowing me.

Day Two hundred and ninety eight - Wasted hours (a life we can live)

After weeks of gloom and misery, your favourite segment returns! Yay! Aren't you happy? Of course you are. We continue the Arcade Fire album review, and from this point on things get really interesting. No, really. I promise.

Who : Arcade Fire

Album name : The Suburbs

Formed : 2001

From : Montreal, Canada

What do they play : Indie rock / chamber pop / art rock / baroque pop / symphonic rock (at least according to Wikipedia)

Release date : August 03 2010.

There's a lot to unpack here, and I mean A LOT. First, let me start by saying that I don't even recall listening to this album when it first came out, though I probably did maybe the once. The release date being August 2010 means that it came out during the death throes of my relationship with Silvia, and everything about it consumed me. 2010 was not a good year for me, and though I'm certain I listened to a lot of music that year, I wouldn't be able to tell you one single album I may have listened to. Whatever it may have been, things just didn't register with me back then. I wasn't emotionally and mentally capable of dealing with anything else. My mind could deal with the impending doom that faced us, it was all but written, but we still clung on to some vain hope that somehow, somehow we could salvage what we had. We couldn't, as I illustrated months ago, and as such this album came and went, mostly passed me by, and though I loved 'Ready to start', I loathed 'We used to wait', a song that I have since come to adore. But mostly, I just ignored this record. Call it a casualty of that time, call it what you will, it's time with me still hadn't come. And yet, that said... this is - by far - my desert island Arcade Fire record. The question is how did it become that important? Well, for that we gave to fast forward to... was it 2015 when I dated Sonia? I guess it was. The very first time we went on holiday together Christmas that year, we ended up in a bar that was packed with people, and they were talking loudly, but I could hear familiar music in the background. I recognized some of the songs, and those I wasn't yet familiar with seemed to strike a chord with me. I guess they must have been playing the record on repeat, because during our stay there it played a few more times. I was entranced, and was absolutely dying to listen to it with the proper attention it deserved, nay, demanded! But I wouldn't be able to do so straight away - no, dear Sonia didn't listen to anything but metal, so me suggesting to her we listen to this record was completely out of the question.

What I do know is that I spent most of 2016 listening to it. It was my go-to record to listen at work. I listened to it non-stop, studying it, learning it, playing and replaying it, over and over again. It was then that the album clicked with me and I finally got it. I've always been a proponent of the idea that the band plays music that somehow evokes nostalgia of things you didn't necessarily experience. I grew up in the suburbs, bu not suburbs like these. Maybe some things in common with them, maybe some experiences are the same everywhere. What I do know is that listening to this record made me feel - truly feel - like I was living in those suburbs. And lyrically it really struck a nerve with me - there are recurring, repeating patterns in the lyrics that really help to illustrate and build the narrative. For the most part, I'd say that most - not all, but most - of the songs here have at least one line that whenever I listen to it, it just stops me dead on my tracks. I'm a sucker for well written, poignant lyrics, something that I really value a lot, and when I come across poetry such as can be found here, my soul soars. And musically this album is just great, it's got very diverse songs - including the first real inkling of what would be coming in the future with further use of electronics - there are some epic songs, grandiose and majestic. Well, for me at least. Songs like 'Empty Room', 'Half Light I' and both 'Sprawl I' and 'Sprawl II' speak directly to my soul.

But is is a perfect album? Well, no. There are at least a couple of songs that I don't really care about, and whose exclusion would make for an even better album for me. Maybe even three songs, though one of them - 'Modern man' - I have come to not mind very much. But 'Rococo' and 'Month of May' are clunkers to my ears, and though I never skip them, they're songs that I'll never really like, I think. But the upside of it is that there is a deluxe version of the album, which has a couple of extra tracks - 'Culture war' and 'Speaking in tongues', which are mostly on a par with the best songs on the record, and that should by rights have taken the place of those clunkers, and - best of all - it includes the extended version of (very likely) my favourite track from the album - 'Wasted hours', here with the subtitle (A life we can live). Still... if I had to choose an Arcade Fire to listen to until the end of time, it's this one. Possibly. Probably. Because from now on... I'm not entirely well versed on their discography.

Day Two hundred and ninety seven - Clavicula nox

Just ahead of them, and above them, and all around them, in the endless sea of starless night, they see the figure of a man trudging slowly over the void. He is massive in size, an impossibility in the form of a man. Slowly, patiently, he makes his way to a distant structure, and as he approaches it, Leilani realizes it's a spiral stairway that seems to go on forever and ever. Step by step, the man ascends the stairs, until at last he reaches the summit. They see him survey the surroundings, and see him look down a deep, deep well. The man seems to contemplate his course of action, then plunges down the well. He falls, they see him fall, and for them what takes untold aeons to unfold happens in mere moments. Soon enough, they see the man trudging across the void once more. Not just him, multiple him, tens of thousands of him, millions, billions, trillions of him, all making the same long, doomed trek. 'Now, if you look that way', Inaniel said pointing at another direction across the vast gulf of space, 'and though for all intents and purposes it's the opposite end of the universe, you'll see something interesting.' Leilani, here at the end of everything, feels a peace she never felt in her whole life. 'It's a woman. Huh. Is it me or does she look a little bit like me? I think I used to dream of that pool where she is when I was a kid.' Inaniel looks at her, then says 'You're not wrong. There's also a little bit of me in the man. Not me, not quite me, but somewhat me. Maybe I'm an echo of him? I don't know.' 

They witness the eternal fall recurring time and time again. They witness the stars being snuffed out one by one by an upstart deity, who painted the cosmos crimson with the blood of gods and demons. They see everything end, then everything start again. 'Come', he says. 'We have to go back. There's nothing to see here but the same film unfolding over and over again'. As they walk back, and leave the forever dark behind them, a sense of unease and uncertainty assails Leilani. She remains in silence for a few moments more, as they move from dark to light to life, and to a reality they both call a semblance of home. Then she breaks the silence, and asks him, 'Why did you show me that?', and he doesn't answer her, not straight away. 'You'll see when we return.', he said at last. 'But I'll tell you this, it's going to help you make a choice.' She asks, 'A choice?' He somewhat chuckles, somewhat sighs, 'If you could call it that. Maybe it's predestined, and it's not really a choice, it's just a pattern unfolding.' Leilani nods, and they walk the rest of the way in silence. After a while, they start to see the house come into view. But there's no mountain here now, it's the house she could see from her own house, a little ways away. 'We're here.', he says, as they stop close to the house. 'We are echoes of something. Destined to meet, but like two ships in the night, we always pass one another by. Look, put your hand here.', he said pointing to nothing in general. Just pointing. 'What do you mean?', she asked. 'Trust me.', he says, and she puts her hand where he was pointing. It touches something. Something solid. Something invisible. Something there and yet not there.

'What's this?', she asks. And Inaniel tells her that it's her reality and his closing the gaps between them. Like a door that would be closing, and once closed, would forever be locked away. 'You can't stay. You never stay.' She doesn't know what he means by that, but she feels something tightening around her. Something suffocates her, there's less and less space here. She looks back to where her house is, and she wants desperately for this to just be a weird, bad dream, and tomorrow when she wakes up, she'll turn on the radio and dance on the living room. She looks at him, and asks if she can hug him. 'Of course.', he says, and they hug affectionately. Then she turns her back, and makes her way down the road towards her house. He looks past her and at her house, where she watches him through binoculars. As she walks away, she gets the feeling again that something is deeply wrong. Leaving feels wrong. She shouldn't be doing this. She stops dead in her tracks, and turns back, and sees him standing there still. She runs towards him, fast as she can, until at last she's in front of him, retracing the steps to his embrace. 'I want you to stay.', he says, 'But I've died so many times before. Thousands upon thousands of tiny deaths. You do not want someone who's emptied of everything.' Leilani moves closer to him, extends her arm and places a hand on his chest. 'My hand on your heart', she says, 'I know there is a beating!' They are so close to each other, now, so so close, closer than ever. These two souls almost as one now. So close. They stand inches from each other. But no closer. Reality on either end closes in on them. They and their realities start to drift apart from each other. It's slow at first, then faster, and the distance grows, and no matter how fast they run toward each other they're getting more distant with each passing second. 'I'll find you in the next life.', they promise to each other, as their worlds cease to be.

Day Two hundred and ninety six - Melodies of life

Before the conversation could continue, they halted as his house came into view. It wasn't there a moment ago, but now it's in full sight of them and within walking distance. 'This area's a bit tricky.', he says, 'It took me some time to get used to just how quirky time and space can be here. Let's rest for a bit, yes? And then I'll show you some more... interesting things.' They made their way quickly to the house, and the first thing Leilani notices when she gets in is her radio. 'Wait', she says, 'did you steal my radio? Did you break into my house and take it?', and he seems amused at this notion. 'No, it is not your radio. It's always been mine. But it makes sense that you have - or had - one like it. We always do.' Leilani feels staggered by his words, and visibly reels at what she's hearing. Now she wonders if indeed she was crazy, and this is all a delusion that happens within her mind. 'I know what you're thinking', he says, 'and I assure you we're not crazy. Let me fix some tea for us, ok? Then we talk some more.' He returns a short while later with a kettle of tea, and some biscuits. 'I hope you don't mind, it's all I have right now.' He serves them tea, and Leilani finds herself wolfing down the biscuits, she feels ravenous. 'For you it might seem like only minutes ago we met, but in truth it's been hours. In time, one does get used to, well, time.' She looks at him closely : yes, she can tell he looks like the person from afar, though she never knew exactly how he looked like. And yes, it's the same voice, but there's no despair here, no sadness, just resignation. 'What did you mean by 'when are we'?', she asks. Leilani eyes the last remaining biscuits, and hears her stomach groan. He responds with melodious laughter, and tells her they're hers. 

'It's... really complicated. Because as far as I can understand, we are not necessarily anywhen. We're not in the past, and we're not in the future. But we're not in the present either. We're in a place where there is no time. Where there is time without a time. Where there is everything without a time.' She speaks through a mouthful of biscuits, and says 'Well, I didn't understand any of that. And what's the thing about you not being you, but an echo?' He taps his nose for a bit, then says 'Well, that's really complicated too. But you too felt one day that the world was not as it should be, right? That something was supposed to have happened, and it didn't. Am I making sense?', he asks. She nods, 'Absolutely.' He clears his throat and says, 'I'm not entirely sure what happened, but it made reality start to... fall apart. Things don't say cohesive. The universe is trying to knit itself back together again. But the problem is that multiple instances of reality are trying to do that at the same time. And all throughout the myriad versions of the universe, there are many, many us. But we, I am sure, are the prime echoes. We are the ones who escaped some fate we shouldn't have. All others are... shades. Hues. Echoes. Not quite us, but not very different from us. There is a constant. You see, none of the others ever meet. No versions of us get to know one another. Sometimes they live out their lives in relative peace, but mostly the sinking feeling of being an anomaly haunts them throughout their lives. They are singing a song to which they don't really know the words to, or even the melody.' 

'Let's go', he said, standing up. 'It's almost nighttime and there's something you need to see.' They leave the house, and no sooner are they just a short distance away from it than it's not there anymore. 'Don't worry, it'll be there when we return. By the way, my name is Inaniel. I know, it's a pretty weird name, my friends - when I had them - always called me I. You know, I was supposed to have met someone years ago. Someone not from this reality. But that day never came, and I've lived for a very long time thinking something was wrong. Then I started to notice the weird things around me. Like people's faces sometimes just seemed... I don't know. Blurs. Like they were pixelated, when seen from a distance. And sometimes people would move in strange ways... in fits and starts. No one seemed to notice this but me. And it started to drive me crazy. So much so that I had to leave everything and everyone just to be at peace with my mind. I eventually settled here. No, I was drawn here. I don't know why. But this is the center of it all. The heart of everything. Ah, we're here.' It's a warm spring night now, and they sit by a river, it's timeless water flowing past them. He takes off his boots, and puts his feet on the water. It feels good. Leilani joins him, deep inside her she feels it's the right thing to do. 'Do you know what happens now?', he asked. She took a long breath, and then said at last, 'I think I can guess. If we're the prime echoes, and we finally met, then it means that maybe reality is close to reasserting itself.' He nods, encouraging her to continue. She ponders this for a while, then asks 'How long do you think we'll have?' Inaniel let's out a long, drawn-out sigh, and says 'Very little time, if we're unlucky. Years, if we're very lucky. Look, up there, it's starting!', he says suddenly, pointing at the night sky. It gets dark, darker than dark, a stygian night, starless and bible black. She feels tiny in the immense sea of night. He moves closer to her, and put his arm around her. 'What is that we're seeing?', she asks amidst the echoing darkness. 'The beginning.', he says, 'Or maybe the end.'

Day Two hundred and ninety five - Eyes on me

'Listen to my story.', the voice said. 'This may be our last chance.' It's a warm summer night out, and Leilani lounges by the porch, a cold beer in her hand. Now, she's not always been much of a drinker, but sometimes - especially in days this hot - she does like to drink a beer or two. She's propped against the outside of the kitchen wall, the front door blown open. The words waft through the air melodiously : it is a dirge, a lament to things long past and to those that never happened. If she's honest, that transmission she listened to the other night at left her feeling both scared and excited. She wonders if indeed that distant stranger is the voice she listens to most every night. The lights are on, she can see from this distance. The voice continues on, and she imagines him - though she can't quite picture him yet - sitting at a wooden desk, some form of amateur radio in front of him, while his soul gently weeps over the airwaves. Above her there's a cloudless summer night sky, with an untold number of stars dotting the eternal night. She feels safe here, and she feels much better here. She wishes she could stay here forever. But something nags at her soul, this mystery that is this voice and that message that said it was the voice of someone long dead. There were no further messages on her inbox, and there were no further transmissions questioning if she was there. If, at all, they had been directed to her in the first place. She takes a sip from the beer, and puts her legs against her chest. Out there somewhere, possibly quite close, someone is singing a song only she can hear.

When she wakes up the next morning, she wakes up with the uneasy feeling that something's wrong. Something feels off. Again. She gets up, and puts her shorts and a top. She can't quite point out what's wrong, everything seems the same. But the house doesn't smell the same. It's not like there's a different smell here, but rather an absence. Like something's missing. She surveys the kitchen, and the bedrooms, and the toilet. Everything is in its right place. It's only when she gets to the living room that she finds out what's wrong : the radio is not there. When it was turned on, it always gave a whiff of ozone, like you feel in the air before a thunderstorm, and she loved that smell. But now they're gone, like they'd never been here. She feels a sudden chill course down her spine when she realizes what might have happened. Had someone broken in? And if so, why was nothing else taken? Her laptop's still there, it's much more valuable, and she's got cash and cards on her purse. Everything's still there. Was someone playing games with her? As she ponders this, she hears someone shouting in the far distance. She goes outside and immediately realizes that something really did happen : where that house with the guy used to be there is now a mountain, and a river runs through it. Yesterday there had been naught but a hill in the distance, and a small house whose lights were always on. They're not there now. She looks intently that way, all but forgetting what had drawn her outside. Then she focus on the voice she heard, now louder and closer. She knows that voice, it's unmistakable. It's the voice she's been listening to on the radio.

It's hot out, even so early in the morning. She feels beads of sweat running down her back, and in the shimmering haze of the horizon she sees someone approaching her. It's the man from the house, she's sure of it. She never thought he was this tall, though. As he gets nearer, he seems to tower over her, but she feels no fear. He stops in front of her, and then after a few moment's silence, asks her if she could accompany him somewhere. 'It's close', he says, 'and there's something you need to see.' Leilani acquiesces, and tells the man to wait for her. Why hasn't she asked her name yet? Why hadn't he introduced himself? She puts on her sneakers, and goes back out to meet him. Stoic, he just says 'Come, please.', and they both walk off in silence. They're walking towards the mountain that wasn't there yesterday, the brook babbling noisily in the distance. 'I'm Leilani. And you are, Mister...?', she says, but he just gives her a sad smile and says, 'Of course you are. I'm... not yet. Soon.' She nods, and then he holds out a hand, motioning her to stop. 'We're here.', he says. 'Now, let me ask you, have you ever seen me before?', and she says yes, she's seen him from afar. 'Have you ever heard my voice before?', and she says she knows it well from the radio transmissions. 'Was there any other interaction between us?', and she says maybe, maybe the person on the forum was him as well. He just nods, as if saying 'yes' to everything she said. 'What if I told you that none of those people are me? Though they sound and look just like me? Would you believe me? Would you believe me if I told you they were echoes of another time, of other lives?', and Leilani says yes, she does believe him. With all her heart. He holds out her hand. After a few moments, he says 'Please.', and she holds it tentatively. They take a few steps forward, and it's sometime in fall, and they are walking on a heath, the crisp autumnal air cold on her skin, the crack of leaves underfoot as they walk. 'Where am I?', she asks. He ponders the question, and replies, 'It's more like when are you?'.

Day Two hundred and ninety four - Speak dead speaker

After that revelation, there wouldn't be no interactions between them for a while. She'd sent him messages, trying to get him to explain what he meant by what he'd said, but as far as she knows they all went unread. She can see on the forum when his last online presence was, and he hasn't returned yet. But the transmissions - erratic though they are - continue on. The last one she listened to, it was later than usual, closer to five a.m., and the voice on the other end started to describe just how different things were as opposed to what they ought to have been like. Something startles her : he says there's a whole constellation missing from the sky, a constellation he'd known since he was a child but it's gone missing. Worse, it was never there, no one knew what he was talking about. He talked to the astronomy department in a couple of different universities, but they all drew a blank when he mentioned the Pleiades. Like they'd never heard of it before. He asked them if they had a map of the stars, he was so sure he could find it, but nothings' there. They all look at them with pity in their eyes, this eccentric bumpkin. 'I'm not crazy', he echoes through the airwaves, 'I'm not crazy.'

Leilani wishes she could tell him in person just how she knows he's not crazy. Well, no crazier than she was, right? Maybe they were crazy. But she knows they're not. No one will ever believe them otherwise, but maybe they won't need it. Maybe they need each other. Maybe that'll be enough. And she can't even understand why she's having these thoughts herself, she was entirely convinced she was fated to spend her days alone. It didn't bother her, she found it probably the wisest thing she could do. But now there is a calling out there, an idea that somewhere out there there is a soul that is in need of her, and, she hopes, needs her soul as well. The days go by in a long succession, punctuated by visits from her parents, who always tell her just how healthy she's looking. Her mom sometimes asks her if she feels ready to return to the city, and to resume her normal life, but her dad always settles it for her with a tender 'In your own time, kiddo.' When she first got here it was winter, and she cherished those moments where she learned how to get the fireplace going, and splitting the logs out back. That always made her feel alive, and she loved to snuggle by the fireplace and read a book while she sipped on her tea. But summer was now upon her, and that brought new challenges with it. The house gets very hot during the day, even with the windows thrown open. In the evenings, and as it gets closer to dusk, she's opted to stay by the front porch, lounging on a rocking chair. Especially when it gets dark, and she can see a sky full of stars above her, she likes to turn the radio and listen to whatever's on. Sometimes, when music plays and fills the air with song, she dances. Sometimes she just listens to his voice. 

On one of those nights she's sitting out front, she finds herself wondering about the lives of the people who live nearby. Oh, she doesn't who any of them are, to be sure, and nor does she think she's ever seen them, but a part of her wonders what they think of her. If they're even aware of her being here. There's about three houses - though not that close to her own - within sight. She's sure maybe a couple of them might be abandoned - she rode past one some time ago, and nobody seemed to be living there. She never really felt the urge to go and check up on the others, they were too out of the way. But there's one that piques her curiosity. That one, she knows, is not abandoned. She sees the lights on every night, and a couple of times she found herself looking at it through some binoculars she'd found in a shed. There's a guy there, probably not much older than her, and once she saw him giving a long warm hug to some girl. After they said goodbye, she kept on looking and she could swear he'd turned and looked straight at her. She let the binoculars fall to the ground, and went inside. Later that night, when the radio was on, the sad voice just asks 'Are you there? Were you the one who was looking at me?'.

Day Two hundred and ninety three - On the radio

But the transmissions, Leilani would find, were always erratic. In fact she wasn't even sure if she'd tuned in to a radio station, or if she was picking up encrypted military transmissions that used a code that would sound gibberish to anyone listening to it, although she did find it too much of a coincidence that it would speak of something that was so deeply personal to her. She recognizes the voice on the other end all too well. Not the timber of it, to be sure, but the pain, the anguish, the uncertainty... she's heard words that had previously mostly only existed inside her head, words she'd eventually learn not to voice to others. There's a kinship there, and she feels the desire to reach out to this person and let him know he's not alone. But so far as she knows, these could be a hoax, or just the ramblings of a mad person, and it tugs at het heart for even thinking about it that way, because how many times was she called crazy herself? She feels that burning need to find out who this person is, but she doesn't even know where to begin. Sometimes the transmissions lapse into long moments of silence. She's sure she can hear him cry. There's such despair in his voice, and sometimes he'll get angry and yell, but it's an anger tinged with sadness. A couple of months after she first started to listen to these late night laments, her parents come over to stay with her for a week. She doesn't turn on the radio during that time, and every night she goes to sleep hoping that nothing happens to him - she sees in that voice an ache that she was all too familiar with, one that made her want to end her own life. But she knew she would never have the courage to do that. She hopes he doesn't, too.

While her father's there, he asks her what she's been up to, and she's mostly true in what she answers. She's been reading through the library her grandparents had, she goes for bike rides, sometimes she goes down to the town a few miles away from where she lives. She says she's been keeping herself busy, and that she feels better. It's not entirely a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. She mentions the radio, though not what she's been listening to. Her dad's surprised that old piece of junk is still functioning, and he goes to where the radio is, and turns it on. It's still tuned to his frequency, but only static comes through. Thank god for that. He fiddles with the knob, changing stations until he alights on something to his liking. It's 'In the mood', by The Glenn Miller Orchestra, and he takes her daughter by the hand and they dance on the small room. He looks at his daughter, this daughter he loves so much, and tells her that something in her reminds him of his own mother. He tells her how thankful he is for having her as his daughter, and they both embrace. When they leave, some days later, she already misses them, though she knows it won't be too long until they come back again. That first night, when she's alone again, she turns on the radio, searches for his voice, but nothing comes up. She feels sad, and lonely, as if something had been taken away from her.

She found out quite early on that there's a spot in the living room, where if she angles her laptop just right, she can get a little bit of connection going. It's not very stable, and nor is it fast, but she can do some basic stuff. She tries to find out if there are pages dedicated to shortwave radio transmissions in this area, and after quite a bit of searching she manages to find a forum where aficionados discuss everything about it, from the technicalities of it, to whatever they somehow stumble onto. She feels like a stranger in a strange land, and her first few tentative queries there don't seem to have that much engagement. Leilani doesn't feel dispirited, though. She feels she's on the path to something. She continues the posting, letting the others in the forum know more details about what she's looking for, the approximate location, the content of the transmission. Those who reply politely say they can't help her. And then one day she gets a message on her inbox from one of the members. He is straight to the point, and asks why she wants to know who's making those transmissions. As she types her answer she can't help but laugh. 'I am going to sound crazy.', she thinks. But she goes for the diplomatic approach first and says the feels a connection to those words. She says she's felt exactly how the voice she hears is describing. There's, naturally, doubts from the other user. He asks her how could she possibly know, and she looks at the screen, reads the message time and time again, and shakes her head. She lets her fingers do their work, and soon enough she's pressing send on a message that says everything she's gone through. The reply doesn't come quick, though. It takes days to arrive, and in the meantime there are no further transmissions. When she does get a reply, though, it's not what she expected. It tells her that the person she's been listening to is dead.

Day Two hundred and ninety two - I trawl the megahertz

Now, for ten long years Leilani has been on her own. She feels completely alone in this world that isn't hers anymore, alone in a world that changed into something it should never have been. But these thoughts drive her crazy, they make her feel guilty - because all around her she sees happiness and there's so much love, only not for her. Never for her, she knows. The first few months were the hardest because everyone thought she was crazy. No matter who she told the story to, they all looked at her the same way, with a mixture of sadness and pity in their eyes. They'd tell her how she was so young still, that help could be sought. And she tried - god, how she tried. She changed jobs, she changed boyfriends, she moved to a different place - everything still felt off. She saw therapists, who thought her no less crazy than any other person she'd talked to about what's inside her. They'd prescribed her pills, and more pills, and they'd analyze her endlessly. A few of them even suggested that she would benefit from being committed to the psych ward for a while. That's when she stopped going to the therapists, and learned how to keep her mouth shut. But Leilani cries all the time, not a day goes by where she doesn't find herself openly weeping. Often at home, but sometimes at work. Neither her bosses nor her parents know what to do with her, or how to help her. They try, her mother and father do. They come around to hers often, and talk to her. They ask her if she's planning on killing herself, and she doesn't know how to tell them that she had been preparing to die on that day ever since she was a child. They always ask her why she doesn't just live, but her reply is blank silence. One day, some months after all this had started, her parents take her to a place they have up north, somewhere she hasn't been for a long, long time. It's a small house on a very small village, the house her father had grown in, and her grandparents before him. As far as she can recall, she had only been there two or three times before, and the last time was when her grandpa died. She had never felt the urge to return, but for some reason she can't explain, she feels like this could be a good thing.

On their way there they stop on a local general store, and they get her some supplies to see her through the next few weeks. The short drive from there to the house is a peaceful one, and Leilani starts looking forward to her time here. Maybe distance is what she needed, maybe being here, so far removed from everything she knows, will give her fresh perspective. Maybe. When they arrive, she suddenly remembers everything about that house, she knows where the fireplace is, she can remember being a child and being completely transfixed about the logs spitting and hissing in the fire. Her grandmother would always have a pot hanging over the fire then, ready to serve them tea piping hot. She remembers her grandmother, heartbroken as she held on to her husband's hand. She hid behind her parents, and peeked from behind - she whished she could go and comfort her grandmother, but she couldn't. She always felt bad for that, and she never even got to apologise to her. She too left not long after. They get out of the car, and after her dad opens the door to the house - it's dusty, and motes hang in the air - they throw the windows open to let some light and fresh hair in. Her father clutches the keys, then hands them to her. It's hers now, he says, and she can feel he's emotional. This place means a lot to him, she knows that. It's always been his desire to one day retire and spend the rest of his days here with his family. Her parents shoo her off the kitchen, and tell her to go pick a room. She can have any room of her choosing, her dad says. She leaves the kitchen, and there's a small hallway that leads to a couple of different bedrooms - one was her dad's when he was a kid, and the other was her grandparent's. She goes to the toilet first, and as she sits down to have a wee, she feels the bitter cold of the toilet seat seeping into her. It takes her mind to that day again, that day she expected to feel such cold that the sky wept snowflakes. She needs to cry, but not now. Her parents can't see her cry. She doesn't want them to.

After she settles in, and after the assures her parents that she'll be fine alone for a while here, they make their way back home, and they leave her money for any emergency that might come her way, and on the garage - tiny though it was - there were a couple of bikes she could use to get around. She waves her parents goodbye, looking at their car as it moves out from her view. She goes back inside, and now takes a proper good look at the house. There's a lot of cleaning to be done, but she has plenty of time. 'Better get to it, then.', she thinks, and starts cleaning the house. There was a lot of dust, and she came across more spiders than she really felt comfortable with seeing, but they were all swept, or gently guided, away. It takes her a good few hours to have the house somewhat resembling clean and lived in, but it's a work in progress. She feels tired, and achy. She puts the kettle on, and fetches some cookies to eat with her tea. There's not much to do here, she knows, they don't have a TV, and though she brought her laptop with her, she doesn't get good enough reception here. That's ok - there's always the living room. She purposefully left it for last, she knew she wanted to save it for after everything. Her dad always told her how much he loved that living room when he was a kid - his own parents had filled it with books, and there was a radio there that was always playing music, or the news when they needed to know what was going on in the world. Leilani gets her tea and biscuits, puts them on a tray, and goes in the living room. Row upon row of books line the walls, and there at the center of everything, she sees the radio. She puts the tray down on top of a table, and walks to the radio. She looks at it - it's an old, ancient thing, shortwave only, and wonders if it even works. She twists a knob, and turns it on - immediately the sound of static seems to fill the air. She fiddles with the knob until she finds a station, and soon enough she's listening to music, the kind of old 60's music that makes perfect sense to be played on a radio. She goes to sit down on the sofa and drink her tea, but a few sips in and she's already falling asleep. There's a woolen blanket on the sofa, and she lies down to get some sleep. She is tired, and sleeping will do her good.

Leilani wakes up around two a.m., her body aching from sleeping on the sofa. But she's not sleepy, not enough to go to bed straight away. The tea has long gone cold, and she doesn't feel like making a new one right now. But she nibbles on the biscuits as she searches for a station that's playing something - anything - at this time of the night. She picks up a few different stations, but other than late night radio shows, there was nothing particularly interesting going on. Sometimes people would call in, and they'd complain about something, or they just need to talk or have some form of interaction with another human being. She listened to their tales, their sad stories, and this becomes a ritual for her at night. During the day she goes for bike rides around the area, to try and get to know the lay of the land, and on the afternoons she sits and reads. Sometimes she writes on her journal. Then, especially in the wee hours of the morning, she's constantly searching for these quaint radio shows, these transmissions that captivate her so. It is very early one morning when she hears a voice she's never heard before, and it seems to be talking directly to her. The voice is calm and collected, and puts out questions into the ether, the kind of questions she's been asking herself for a long time. 'Do you feel like you don't belong in this world?', the voice asks. 'Like something's off, only you can't quite explain what, but you know deep in your soul that the world we live in is not as it should be?'. She hangs on to every word. 'Yes, god damn it, yes.', she says to no one but to herself. She sits by the radio that night, listen to this stranger's story, and decides that she must find out who he is.

Day Two hundred and ninety one - Fragmenter av en fremtid

'This is how the world ends. This is how the world ends.', Leilani thinks to herself, as she wakes up early that morning. This is the day, it's finally here, the day she has been dreaming ever since she was a child : she has dreamt of it so, so many times that she can tell every minute detail of it with her eyes closed. Just like in her dreams, she wakes up next to a stranger, one who's no less a stranger now, even though they've been dating on and off for the past couple of years. She'd always hated that about her, her ability to settle for less than she deserved. But it wouldn't have made a difference anyway, everything in this life was only meant to be temporary, she would not linger here for long. She gets up, and go and stands by the window. It's cold out, and she feels the cold on her skin. Good. She knows it's not a dream, the day she dies has finally come. It's cold, and bound to get colder. She dresses just as she's dressed in her dreams, a long black dress, black stockings, and a black jacket to keep her warm. Not that it would matter anyway, but she likes to observe these niceties. She packs up a pair of gloves in her handbag, and loops a scarf around the strap. She's ready, and she leaves she takes a good, long look at the place where she's lived for the past few months. She doesn't even say goodbye, just turns away and go.

She knows the trip down the stairs so well, she's made this very same trek oh so many times before, in her dreams. She goes out and into the streets, feeling aloof and strangely at peace. She'd gotten so used to dreaming about this day that living it at long last feels like just going through the motions. True, it's not every day that you die, but when has Leilani ever felt truly alive? Probably never. Maybe that's why she always felt distant from everyone else, and always disappointed when she allowed anyone to get close to her. But she also knew she gave nowhere near enough for anyone to want to stick around. It never really mattered, though, did it? She makes the long walk down the road she lives in, then a hop and a skip and she's getting to where she need to be. Everything is playing out just as she knew it would. Soon, she'd be just across the road, and when she crossed it she'd be in full view of the church. She knows what happens as soon as she's on the other side of the road, she knows the faces of everyone there : the haunted looking girl leaving by the door to the side, and then the couple who's close by, and for a moment it looks as if he's ready to propose; close by, two young kids walk hand in hand, and soon it starts snowing. The young girl, distracted by the snow, walks onto the road, and she's struck by a car. She will be witness to all this, and it sets a process within her that will end with a heart attack right then and there. She's just over twenty years old, and she's dreamt about this day ever since she can remember herself. It's finally here, she's ready.

But as she crosses the road she suddenly gets the feeling that something's wrong. Something's different. She looks up at a slate grey sky, thinking that soon she'll feel the kiss of a snowflake. But she notices the sky begin to open up, and it gets warmer instantly, unseasonably warm. This is not how things were supposed to play out, she knows. She looks at those stranger's faces across the road, the girl leaving the church is on her phone, talking spiritedly to someone else. The couple are engaged in conversation, and this time he does kneel down to propose. Her eyes survey her surroundings, everything is wrong. It shouldn't be like this. The young girl waltzes onto the road, and this time the car swerves just in time, missing her by that much. Leilani's heart hurts, it hurts a lot, but this is not the pain of someone who's about to have a stroke, rather, it's the pain of someone who does not want to be alive. This is wrong, she says. This is not how the world ends. She knows something is fundamentally changed, but what, and who could have changed something she knew to be true? Because deep down.... deep down she knows things were meant to have happened differently. Leilani feels dead inside, deader than dead, and she had never planned for life after not dying.

Day Two and hundred and ninety - Cosmic keys to my creations and times

I die in a void, only to be reborn in a new void : but whereas one signaled the end of everything, I now let loose my first cry into this darkness. It is emanating from within, resonating like a scream no one will ever hear, and as it spews forth from me and expands outwards and upwards and downwards and everywhere all at once, it becomes a line, and with this line I mark the past as a symbol of forgiveness. There is only light now, only time, only space - only love. I experience clarity now, and feel omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent. I am all and all is me and all is you and everything is energy and energy is you and me. At the center of it all, I am. My heart beats, I am. I am because we are. Because we will be. We will be... one day. And then, forever. Together we will live forever.

Into and across the unfathomable depths of the void, I wave my hands in a massive sweep and create the first firmament. I am struck by an immense sense of loneliness, the bitter pangs of being alone for so very long. Tears run down my face, and where they fall, stars are born. My tears are becoming a sea. I sow them across this endless panorama that stretches all around me, weaving a sea of stars to serve as beacons in the eternal dark. Omniscience, is a curse, though. I see that there are only two options before me : I am either tempted by my deification, and become a slave to this power, or I cede it. Every single instance of a possible future where I choose to keep the power leads to the same outcome from whence I originated. I wonder, am I part of a pattern or am I on the cusp of creating one anew? What choice then, do I truly have, when everything already feels pre-destined? I am rankled by these thoughts, and I choose poorly. Everything happens as it always does. I see myself meeting Sarah for the first time when we were just children. I relive the day she died, the promises, the deals with the dark, the damnation, and my usurpation of their power. I see myself crowned the king in red, he who has slain all gods and demons until there is naught, and there, at the end of time, everything ceases to be, and is as is now. I repeat the process, again and again and again, and again and again and again nothing changes. Billions of years become blinks of an eye. There is no time. No time. No time. No time. For all my power, I can't change anything. I feel powerless.

I return to this point, always to this moment where the choice is to be made. I can only effect change if I waiver all of this. Even though it comes at a price. Such an act will extract the heaviest toll, can I perform that sacrifice? For surrendering this power means that I cease to exist, I will be dissolved and spread across this new creation, and though the smallest iota of me will be present in everything, I will not be me again, and I will not see or even remember her again. Can I do this? Can I forsake the reasons that have led me down this path? I cannot, I refuse. The cycle begins again, I go through it all again and again. Even if it's for such a small amount of time. Even if it's all I'll ever have. But it can't last, each successive attempt feels less like a triumph and more like some cruel, cosmic jape played upon me. Am I but a puppet in the hands of some higher power? Everything tastes like ash now, I can't go on, I must go on. The cycle begins again, I go through it all again and again. Look, there at the end of time, the well of infinity and the deep dark pool where lovers stand apart until they finally reunite. Everything happens again and again. The cycle begins again, I go through it all again and again. I stand in an island untold billions of years hence, me, my wife and our daughter, looking at the winter sky at night, at those stars we called the Pleiades. I am looking at them again many years later in the Planetarium. I lie dead in a coffin, but outside I am kissing my true love. No, my true love dies moments later, run over by a car. This is not me. This is never me. And yet it is. Is it? Am I? Am I? Am I? I am. I am. I am that I am. Ehjeh ascher ehjeh. I am I. I am... letting go. I'm letting go, so that everything stats anew and free. There are no more cycles now, there is no more me, there is only light. In the dark, there is only light. In the dark, there is only love. Can you hear my heart beating?

Day Two hundred and eighty nine - Summoning the guardians of the astral gate

This is the moment. This is it - the moment of my final victory. Here I stand, triumphant, at the end of time, at the end of space, at the end of everything. One last step, and finally, at long, long last, I will end this reality so that I can create it anew. From the ashes of this dead creation shall be born a new era, a realm of infinite possibility where everything will be made right. Such are the spoils of the stellar was I waged, and the cosmos is painted red with the blood of dead gods and demons. They are all gone now, one by one they were all dealt with : a googolplex of them, they all faded to nothingness at my hands, these creators, these destroyers. Their pantheons now extinguished and long forgotten, their power courses through me, surges through me. I have committed deicide on a cosmic scale, leaving these forlorn husks of those who once called themselves Gods in my wake. The tyranny of the skies has been broken. All heavens have been torn asunder. No hell or netherworld remains. None remain - but I. No lord, no god, no hate, no pity, no pain - just me.

This supreme act of justice is writ upon the stars, stars so old now, so distant, so far removed from this lingering ocean of night, that they are but blues dots in the far distance. Even with eyes the size of galaxies, they now seem impossible to fully grasp. With eyes that see the space beyond space, that sense the time beyond time, I see them all hurtling towards their end of the center of everything. We're almost done now, even if I do allow myself space for one last moment of tender entertainment. For millions of years now, I have watched a procession of different iterations of the same man climb the long and winding stairs of the well of infinity, a relic far older than this reality. It's always the same, the climb, the fall, and to when and whither he falls, I know not, but mere moments after he falls, he is returned to the well, only to try and dissuade the next iteration of himself from committing the same folly. It goes on and on, forever, or so it seemed. At the opposite end of the universe, there is a twin to this tale of star-crossed love : one lone woman stands by a pool, on whose deep waters stretch down space and time, and after an eternity of eternities, so it is that these souls find each other again. I witness them reunite, and then leave this reality. For some reason, I felt an immense kinship with these lost souls. In a sense, it seemed we walked the same path together, or were part of the same eternally occurring pattern. Their doors, too, will be open to nothing but happiness. 

I swell with the power of creation, gorging on it until I am full to bursting. I expand to the length and width and depth and all other dimensions and reality, until I am everything and everything is me. I create, I destroy, I am life, and I am death, but above all I am love, and it is with love I now go to this newness that will be birthed from me. Contraction begins, I become more and yet less, I see all that is, that was. Sarah, do you remember? All those times I wept by your grave, all those promises I made? That I would put everything right? That you would live and be happy and that one day, no matter the price, no matter how long it took, I would find you one day? I have to finally cease to be, to be on my way to you. All I see is you, Sarah. All I know is you. There's only one thing left, my darling. Kill me, Sarah, kill me again with love. Here, at the edge of the longest night, here at the tipping point, I contract, and seem to the naked eye to be no more than a baby in fetal position. Alone in the cosmos, a strand of sperm, an egg. I am the darkness at the end of the light. The night at the end of creation. I am. I am. I am. Nothing. My eyes open : let there be light!

Day Two hundred and eighty eight - Kathaarian life code

I thanked each cut hell's dark surgeons made on my flesh. Every time my skin was peeled from me by Meggido's twisted chefs, it was with gratitude in what remained of my heart. Every dip into dissolving acid, every turn at the wheel where my bones were broken and ground into dust, every incision, laceration, defilement, destruction, torture, every single ounce of pain and misery, every visit to hell's darkest chambers, prolonged for time without end, for time without time, I endured it all, for nothing could ever be greater than my love for Sarah. Oh, the devils tried, and tried and tried : though they could break my body all they wanted, there was no scalpel that cut out that love away from me. They'd show me visions of her, suffering the utmost atrocities. Inside I laughed it all away. As a counterpoint, they would torture me with visions where we'd had the life I dreamt of, only for something terrible to happen. Fools, these demons. The love will always be greater than the pain. Emotionally, physically, they leave constellations of scars across my body, such as it is. Maybe it's not a body, it's just the idea of a body, and all of this happens in a deeper, perhaps more subconscious level. Maybe hell exists only in our minds. But I welcomed the scars. In time, the scars scab, and the torn sinew becomes stronger flesh. I have learned all these demon's names, their given and their true names, the names only God knows, and inside me there burns a fire hotter and brighter than any in hell. I will have my hands around these demon's throats, all of them, and snuff out their flames. When I'm done, there will be no hell nor any need for it, ever again.

My first act of murder comes after untold aeons of torment. I feel the whips and lashes tear flesh from me, but this is no pain I had not experienced an untold number of times before. I no longer care about it, or feel it : hell holds no sway over me. They see me rise from where I lay taking their punishment, and they seek to punish me further for my insolence. I wave their flails away, though their cruel barbs seek to rend into my flesh. They tickle me now. Defiantly, I stride towards a particularly vicious demon, it cowers before me as they are challenged for the first time in their pitiful existence. This one's windpipe is crushed easily. It dies, and I absorb it - each one I kill and consume will make me mightier. I am a blight upon this hell, a virus, a cancer. No Lord of Hell, no archdemon, none who dwell in the unlight shall escape. I raze hell where I go, leaving a desolation unseen since its creation. Everything will die here, at my hand, and when I am through with the last demon, the doors to hell will be locked forever.

The power that surges inside me now, that of millions upon millions of demons consumed and devoured, is astonishing. I feel nigh-omnipotent. And yet, I know that for the tragedy I plan to inscribe upon the stars, it is not enough. Not yet, it isn't. The infernal city of Dis lies deserted, all but the master of this domain. The bringer of light, the first of the fallen, beautiful Samael. He doesn't know what to make of me. Deems me an usurper at first, then a traitor to demonkind. Devil, I have come to free you. Mock me not, fiend, it is freedom I give you. It knows fear now, as it hasn't felt since its original descent into the void. It's done, the first step into a long trek that will see me bring to justice these failed gods and deities. Let the heavens tremble, and let the nether realms shake : their end is approaching, for I am become Death, the destroyer of gods.

Day Two hundred and eighty seven - Into the pentagram

I'm sitting down at the table where Viorica laid out the choices for my penance. She is not here with, though, not anymore. I never saw her leave, but she disappeared in the blink on an eye. One moment she sat sadly in front of me, the other she was gone. Now, in front of me, and just ahead there lies a door - it glimmers ominously in the gathering dusk. It beckons to me, and I must enter it, so the final part of my journey begins. Everything that is to come will be worth it. Everything. I walk towards the door, disrobed, bare, nameless, voiceless. I feel the crunch of sand underfoot, feel the dampness of it seep into my bones. Step by step, I forge ahead, and cross the threshold beyond the door. As it closes behind me, I realize I'm back at the wooden cabin again. Baba awaits me inside, sitting down by a fire that burns bright and red. She turns her attention towards me, and after a few moments of silence, broken only by the crackle of the logs, she says 'The girl certainly took her time with you. But, alas, such is her nature. Hope is something that can never be taken away from her.' She senses my confusion, senses the question that my eyes posed. 'For you', she says knowingly, 'it might have felt like moments only, but you were with her for nine months. And your time here will not be short, too. We must wait for the moon to wax and wane, until the time is right. The final part of the ritual sees me becoming the Breaker of Souls. But it's a delicate thing, and all formalities involver must be observed. We are bound to it.'

I can't account for the passing of time here. Judging by what I was told, we'd have to wait for the moon to go through its cycle. It seems as though it happens only a few minutes after we started talking. It's warm inside, it feels cozy, and it will be the last time I'll ever know such kindness. Baba gets up, and bids me come. We exit the cabin by a back door, and we walk out to a secluded meadow, on a beautiful spring day. A fawn grazes lazily, and birds chirp, filling the air with their song. A soft breeze blows, leaving me pinpricked with gooseflesh. 'Consummation', Baba says, 'begins now. It's a consummation of the senses, of the soul, of the flesh. First, you are to enter me and spend your seed there. That act will void you of a part of your vitality. I will put a hold on your penance as we move into this part. Speak now.' My throat feels sore, as if I had not used it in a very long time. I'm barely audible as I first start to speak, but then finally am able to make myself heard. 'Good.', she says, and then proceeds to undress. Everything about her is unappealing, her skin is loose and wrinkled, almost leather-like. Great, sagging breasts fall down to her waist. She laughs, wickedly and loudly. She taunts me and my limp manhood. Then she waves her hand in front of her face, and in an instant there stands a much younger woman, very beautiful, with a pear-shaped body. She speaks with a different voice, and yet it's the same, but it sounds innocent, somewhat naïve still. 'This is me in my youth. Wasn't I beautiful?', she said. She was, and very much alike Viorica. But still I can't manage to eke out a response from my listless cock. Another wave of her hand, and now it's Viorica she assumed the guise of. I feel my blood stir, and she notices it. 'Or maybe you'd prefer to look into your true love's eyes.' She waves her hand, and I know at once it's Sarah, a grown Sarah, an idealized version of Sarah. I feel my cock betray me, as it springs to life. 'Ah', Baba says, 'so it is functioning after all.' But I don't want it to be her, not this way, not this undignified, unholy way. I say no, and she cycles back to Viorica. She walks towards me, and then gets on her knees in front of me, and swallows me whole. I... I never had this done to me. It feels like I'm ready to burst, though she does it for a long time. After she's had her fill, she commands me to lie on the grass, and much like the real Viorica, she gets on top of me, and rides me incessantly. Sometimes she changes positions, and turns her back to me, her long dark sways from side to side, as she rises and falls on top of my cock. Then, in one swift motion, we reverse, and it's now her who lies on the grass, and me on top of her. I plunge myself deep inside her, sometime slow, sometimes hard. She shrieks with pleasure, a devilish laughter echoing from her throat. As I fuck her, I feel her nails biting into my flesh, running down my back, etching grooves on my back that run red with blood. 'This consummation', she asks, 'do you wish it?', and I go in and out of her, and say yes. 'Do you wish it devoutly?', I'm going faster and faster, 'YES.' Wolves bay nearby, the sky darkens. The moon hangs full in the sky. I come with such ferocity inside her, I feel another part of me disappear.

I lay spent on the ground, emptied of almost everything. I am all but an empty shell, a husk of a man. I barely have the strength to talk. I ask Baba, though I cannot see where she is, if I get to see Sarah again before it ends for me here. She says that as I go, so shall she be returned. There will be a moment when both our energies will be in the same path, and there may be recognition. I hear the sound of muffled footsteps, as if the wolves had padded silently towards me. Far beyond my line of sight, I hear the sound of flesh rearranging itself, and soon I see four faces staring down at me. It's Radu, the innkeeper, and his children who broke my faith and wills, Scarlat and Viorica. Baba, too, stands alongside them. 'It is done.', they say. That sound again, but this time far closer to me. I see their snouts growling at me, their eyes redolent with a ravening hunger. They sniff my body with their wet, cold nostrils, taking in every inch of me. I am going to die soon, and I feel happy. Anything for her. Anything. They circle me, slowly, warily. The growling intensifies, they snap at each other. I feel a jaw latching onto one of my arms, and violently tear a piece of flesh away from me. Then another set of jaws rips into my left leg. Another devours a foot greedily, stripping each finger from their sockets with fierce bites. My cock is bitten away. One single solitary tear streams down the side of my face. I utter no sounds, my penance is in full effect. I am being eaten alive, and not even my bones will remain. I am already leaving my body - I look at it as it starts to fade into black. I'm falling, being dragged into the fiery pits of hell. I see Sarah briefly as her light speeds past my descent into damnation. Everything will be worth it. Any price will be worth it. I fall, her light now far gone from sight. I promise you, my love, one day no matter how long it takes, we will see each other again. And we will be together again, together until the light takes us.

Day Two hundred and eighty six - Solve et coagula

'Stay on the path', Scarlat says, 'and not not stray. Tread where I lead, and we will be out of the forest soon enough.' And to be sure, as we walk down the path towards where we exit, light begins to filter through, and the forest behind us seems to brighten and spring back to life. Already the time we spent there is starting to feel like a distant memory, and as I look behind me, I can't help but think that I've left something important behind, though for the life of me I can not remember what. Daylight, violent and bright, assaults our senses. I can barely see - it's a strange juxtaposition, to leave extreme darkness behind me only to walk into blinding white light. As my eyes adjust to this sudden clarity, three things I notice at once : one, I am alone, Scarlat was no longer with me. Two, behind me there was no forest : I now stand on the threshold of a precipice that looks down to a deserted shoreline. Waves crash and break against the rocks, and I am lured down to the shore by what I see last - Viorica standing on the sand, her piercing gaze a beacon for me to follow. I find my way down, and as I approach her, I feel her sad eyes upon me. This light shows me facets of her that I had not yet fully seen, and just like her brother, she has somewhat of a lupine look to her. Her eyes follow me, mine follow hers. I reach her, and we both walk towards the water. She takes off her clothes, and commands me to take off mine. I do so, and we both wade into the water. It's freezing cold. We're waist deep in the water, and her long arms stretch toward me. Her fingernails trace invisible patterns on my skin. She's crying. 'Do you understand what you are here now and what you have already left behind?, she asks. 'Penance.', I say. 'As to what I've left behind... I know I'm missing something, I just can't tell what it is that is missing.' Her strong hands turn me around, and now I feel her nails on my back, they hurt in a gentle kind of way. She holds me from behind, so much like a lover, and tells me that I'd sacrificed my name, and along with it my faith and devotion, whatever they might have been. That sacrifice had severed my soul's connection to the light. She asks me if I had been told this, and I say no, not in so many words. 'Ah,', she says in my ear, 'my brother is much better at doing than explaining. He is instinct, pragmatic and to the point. Whereas I am much more welcoming. This is the last time we see each other, so I am always the last kindness you know.'

The water churns and swirls around us, I feel like a whirlpool is forming under us, ready to drag us both down to some watery abyss. But then she raises her hands, and the waters calm themselves. She looks at me, and says, 'As my brother became the Breaker of Faith to you, so I become the Breaker of Wills. Come with me.', she says, leading me by her hand. We walk a short distance to where a table and some chairs are placed on the ground - I hadn't notice them before, had they been here all the time? We sit down, each on a chair, facing one another. There's a bag by her side of the table, and she empties it on top of the table. A few objects drop and clink as they fall. She arranges them in order, a pack of cards, a smaller bag from which she removes runes, and a small wooden box which she opens, revealing fragments of bone inside. 'From the three, you shall choose one. From the one, you shall choose and accept your penance. Not all penances are completely unkind; some will make your fate far harder to endure, some may ease it. But it will always be what the fates decide for you. There's only one choice, and that choice being made, there is no staring anew. Am I clear?', and I nod. She turns her head away from me and directs her gaze to the shore. 'Once upon a time,' she says, 'I too had to choose my penance. My penance is to relive this moment forever. No matter how many times I repeat these actions, you always do the same things. Me and my kin - we see not only what was, and what shall be, but we also have insights into what might have been under other circumstances. One of those glimpses into a maybe future, saw us together. So I've been waiting all my life for you come to me, and when you did for the first time, I transgressed against my edicts. It unfolded the same way : you arrive, you meet me and my brother and Baba, that night I visit you, and we lay together. Only I use my talents to quicken the seed inside me, and you stay with us. But that is not what is written. And so I am punished, and so I am given my penance. It always hurts.'

She pushes the objects in front of her towards me. It's time for me to choose. Had I not been so thoroughly convinced by now of just how real this all is, then the cynical part of me would have thought these options laid in front of me the basest of clichés. Tarot cards, runes and animal bones. I choose the runes. Viorica sets aside the other two, and tells me to choose one from inside the bag. I fumble inside it with my fingers, and produce a small rock, ebon in its colour, with an amber sigil inscribed upon it. I don't know what it means. I hand it over to her, and she looks at it, slightly surprised. 'You never choose runes', she says. 'And this one... I wonder. This is different. She opens the pack of cards, and quickly shuffles it. Her hands are swift and deft, and she breaks the deck into smaller piles before putting it back together again. 'Pick a card,', she says, 'any card.', and I pull one out and place it face down on the table. She puts the deck away, and opens the bag of bones. They fall soundlessly on top of the table, and form a pattern. She is looking at it intently, then to the side of it, she places the rune. 'Now', she says, 'show me the card you picked.'  I turn it over, and it's the face of a man holding out his index finger up to his nose, his stern visage stating that no noise was permitted. 'The mute.', she says. 'And the pattern of bones, it too portends the absence of sound.' She points at the rune. 'Tystnad.', she says, and then adds 'The silent rune. Your penance is silence, no sound shall ever again escape your lips. She waves her hand, and the table is cleared of its contents. Suddenly, she gets up, and comes up to me. 'Tell me your name', she says. I cannot, for I do not know it. I do not have a name. 'Tell me what brought you here to this lonely place.', she asks, and though I can no longer speak, I know this is all for the righting of the gravest cosmic injustice. What happens to me after this, I care not. Whatever hell my soul is condemned to, I care not. I will got into it willingly just so she can live.

Day Two hundred and eighty five - Nutrisco et extinguo

'Before we begin', Baba intones, 'you will be allowed to state the terms of your choice for entering this covenant. You are willingly giving away your innermost light to those who dwell in the deepest darkness. For that barter you will be granted what you have asked us for. But tread lightly, child. Choose your words well, and wisely. The terms are yours to dictate, but have a care not to leave a window of opportunity open for something ill to follow in the wake of  your choices.' It's an ominous admonishment she gives me, one I ponder for long minutes. Then I state my terms. 'She will be returned to life, and for all intents and purposes it was me who died that day. She will live a long, and happy life, and no-one or anything from this world or another harms her, ever. Your agents will not approach her, in any way, shape or form. She will be loved - always. She will have children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. There will not ever be a moment of pain in her life. That's it. She lives safe and happy and loved. Those are my terms. We can begin.'

Baba studies me long and hard, until from the depths of her black eyes something flickers, and she calls me some name I do not understand. I ask them what it meant, and they all laugh at me. But there is, in a sense, some sadness in their laughter. Viorica especially looks sad, as if she wanted to be anywhere else but here. Then the boy speaks. He's a strange one, tall and gaunt, and wiry. He looks very much like one of those reeds that no gale could ever hope to blow away. I only really noticed it now, but there's something unnatural about him. About them all. Particularly in this darkened room, they sometimes look more animal than people. 'My name is Scarlat, but for what concerns you from now on, I will be known to you as the Breaker of Faith. You and me will leave this dwelling, and venture deep into the forest. When we are through, you will have forsaken all your faith and all your beliefs. Then, your trials continue. You will then go to my sister Viorica, and the breaking will continue. When you are less than a man, Baba will break what remains. Do you understand?' I nod gravely, indicating that I do. We leave the cabin at dusk, and walk in a brisk pace deeper into the woods. 

Where we are now, it's so dark that I cannot see one step ahead of me. But I can sense him walking just ahead of me - though his footsteps are all but silent. He stops, and growls. That is not a voice that comes from a human being, but I know it is his voice. In the darkness I hear a sound I cannot fathom, as if flesh were rearranging itself into another shape. I see a flash of red eyes for a brief moment, then a hand grips my shoulder tight. I feel the talons rip into my flesh. 'We are here.', he says. There's a swishing sound, as if he waved his hands and some light was allowed to filter through. We're in a clearing, and he motions for me to sit down. We are not alone. I see wolves circling us in the near distance, and growls echo through the forest. Distressed owls flee in terror. I feel eyes upon me. He begins a long chant - or maybe an invocation. I sit still, with her in my heart and mind always. After he says all the words I cannot understand, he asks me what my true name is. I only know my birth name. 'My name is Ethan.', I say. 'Speak the truth now', he says, 'is this the name your true love called you?', and I say yes. 'Is this the name those who gave you life called you?', I say yes. 'Do you give up this name?', he asks. I say yes. A gust blows through the trees, and it gets much dimmer. 'Ethan', he intones, 'from the Hebrew Eytan. He who endures. He who is firm. Is this your name?', he asks and the forest whispers my name, again and again. I say yes. 'This name is a sacrifice', he says. 'This man is a sacrifice'. I feel something being taken away from me. 'Now, what is your name?', he asks, and I can't answer him - I do not know, I do not remember ever having had a name. I shake my head, I don't know, I don't know. 'I give you the name of five, the number of Man. By the time my sister is through with you, your penance will hang heavy and eternal on your soul. We are done here.'

Day Two hundred and eighty four - Det som en gang var

After I return to the inn, I'm greeted by Radu, who takes one one look at me - I'm pale as a ghost - and laughs his booming laugh. He asks me if Baba had scared me, and I do not reply, I just retreat to my room. I go to bed at once, my stomach churns and I cannot countenance the thought of food. Sleep soon claims me, but I have troubled, feverish dreams. I'm back at the dimly lit room, where Baba teases me. She calls me a coward, and a multitude of other names, for not being capable of paying the price she'd demanded. I toss and turn in the sheets, and at some point I wake up drenched in sweat. In the nigh impenetrable umbra of the room, I sense that I am not alone. Fumbling for a light, I turn it quickly on and find that the girl - Viorica - is sitting on a chair across the room. When did she get in? And why? What does she want? She tells me to turn off the light, and I obey her. But as I do so, though the light fades, the room seems to be a a bit less dim. I now can make out her figure, and see her as she walks towards the bed. I push myself against the back of the bed, and she sits close to me. 'We were too harsh on you, yesterday. But that's our way. Well, moreso theirs than mine, and though mine own path is similar, it differs somewhat from their chosen paths. I see and know things they do not, and can not.' She pauses, and draws nearer. I see her place her hands on her belly, and they rest there for a while. This girl is absolutely beautiful, and she smells of... I don't even know what. Whatever animals smell when they want to mate. My heart beats faster. 'I wonder.', she says. 'My blood is upon me, are you willing to let it look into your future?' And it takes me a few moments to realize what she means. In the darkness, I nod. What happens next is very hard to describe. There was sex involved, yes, something of which I had known very little of. But it wasn't just sex we had, it was a ritual, a blood ritual. The very air is acrid, charged with the smell of blood, and semen, and cunt, and sex. It's a primeval smell, as old as humans, it's the smell of lust, and desire, and witchcraft. She rides me incessantly, even after I come, she's still on top of me. Her fingers go, every now and then, to her wet cunt, and she comes with blood soaked fingers and traces symbols unknown to me, and letters of arcane origin on my flesh. They seem to glow in the darkness, and gain weight upon my skin. They rise from me, and hang in the air just above me. And then.... then it stops. Everything stops.

Viorica gets out of the bed, and gets dressed. Then she comes back to where I still lay, broken, spent, and says 'I echo what my brother told you yesterday. Leave, and do it now. There is nothing for you but pain. There is only darkness at the end of the light. This crucible before you, you cannot hope to understand, to truly understand what it would cost you.' I ask her if I were to do it, would she be back? And Viorica lets a single tear run down her immaculate face. 'Yes.', she says, turning to me. I would pay any price, I say. And she bows her head, and tells me that her brother will fetch me soon, so they can go to where Baba waits. A few hours later, there's a rap at my door, and the boy says he's here for me. I open the door, and let him in. He sits down in the exact same chair his sister had sat, and lights a cigarette. He inhales deeply, and then  the smoke billows out from him. 'There was a time, you know, when a stranger sleeping with one of us would mean death. But alas, these are not the times of old, and my sister... well, she does what she wills. We know better than to chastise her. Hers is a fury none of us would dar brook.' He leans back on the chair, and seems to fade into the background. 'You have been given a choice,' says a voice from inside the deep shadows, 'by me, and, I believe, my sister. I offered you the forgetting charm, I make you now one final offer. Consider this your last hearth. I will grant you a swift and painful death, and who knows, maybe in some other life you meet your love once more. Will you naysay my offer?' I can tell he's serious, deadly so. I lower my head, and lose myself in thoughts. Then I say, defiantly, 'No. I will not live in a world where she is not here. She deserves to be here, and whatever it costs me, I will gladly pay the price.' He glides silently through the shadows, and is now right in front of me. He lays a hand on my shoulder, and just now I notice how long his nails are, and how wicked sharp they look. 'Come then, I will not gainsay you. Let's go to Baba so we can begin everything.'

They both lead me out of the inn, walking side by side with me as we enter a car that waits outside. We go in, and I sit on the back. They both occupy the front seats. Viorica drives, and as she adjusts the mirror, I can feel her eyes on me. She looks at her brother, and he shakes his head. No words need be said, we all know what's coming. It's a long drive, and it's one that is undertaken in utmost silence. Maybe two hours in, and the car starts to slow down, lurching down to a crawl. We are in the deep woods now, and we walk towards a wooden cabin in the distance. As we go in, I see that Baba is already there, an assortment of black candles laid on top of the table. Their flickering flames dance to an overture. She beckons us to sit, and we all do. I'm certain the brothers are well versed in what's about to transpire. From out of nowhere, Baba pulls out a live chicken, and with one swift movement, lops off its head. She carves it open, and spreads its entrails on the table. The knife works quickly, and she separates bones from flesh. The bones, she throws then on top of the entrails, and mutters something profane. One by one, the candles flicker out. In the darkness, they chant, all three of them. I remind myself that I swore I would pay any price. I will. Baba speaks, but I can understand her now. Had she always been able to? She says, 'It has begun. Now me move on to the ritual. It will comprise three parts : Sacrifice, Penance and Consummation. The boy will be in charge of the Sacrifice, and you will do everything he asks you too. You will not lie, it will not go well for you if you do. Then my young flower here will guide you through your Penance. I would advise you to pray, if you think it might help you. After the Sacrifice has been made, and your Penance is laid upon you, comes Consummation - and that shall be my domain. Are you ready?', she asks. I'm deathly afraid. No, I am not ready. I say I am nevertheless.