Cereal

Cereal
by me(whatever)
to Touch main theme

Throwing Life at
the dog that eats everything
searching for
a solution to boredom.

The individual pieces
resemble a jigsaw puzzle.
Why do humans
create things?

Iced over
sidewalk running the street.
a sentence
left unfinished to complete
the story. 

Moon Amusement Park

Moon Amusement Park
by me(whatever)
to Spinal Fluid Explosion Girl

spilling blood,
knife-sharp teeth,
a monster in the elevator
is that my arm in its mouth?

Hmm

one-two on-tow
rowing for three
across the ferry,
the parts I've been divided by.

And look!

The park spins on,
the Ferris wheel
merry-go-round
almost makes me feel in love.

Would you stop please,
it was hard to keep up,
with all your difficult words.

Rotting fingers
buried in a bag
Let's see if they still remember
your number.

And Look!

Circles, the park's in circles
people talking
dancing around,
let me join you.

Hug me,
kiss me,
I'm sure I'm beastly by now.

But how they dance!

Hit back and forth,
slashed throat,
unable to speak,
looks like there's no more time left for me. 

Hmm

Girl,
what's the time on the moon?
Surely it's still early,
so let the music play on.

Chewing on my brain,
maggots and mold.
the whole crypt
is painted my color.

And look!

four five, furo fevi
they haven't noticed yet,
and the park spins on,
on and on as the moon gets further down. 

Snow

Snow
by me(whatever)
to Twinkle Melody

The snow is falling,
on this Saturday morning.
The gravitated cotton puffs,
blanket the world in a quilt.

Like blossoms opening their buds,
sakura spill from the clouds.
Descending to us from heaven,
a million white letters. 

It's a design,
the graffiti summers,
the monochrome winters.

millions of 6-pointed stars
shot down for children's wishes.

Soldier

Soldier
by me(whatever)

If I told a story,
using a pencil or a pen,
about a soldier who stood
within the morning glory;
one-legged and made of wood,
In truth, after that
I wouldn't wish to speak again. 

Paper Pioneer

Paper Pioneer
by me(whatever)
to Brain Crain- Dream of Flying

What should I do?
The world has left me,
turning in solitary orbit,
a door without the key. 

The birds have all fled,
from the trouble born ahead,
the rain is sloshing down,
falling on our paper town.

It's too soon to go",
the fishes grumbled in their sleep,
a disillusioned, occupied daydream
swimming dead in the deep.

the rings spin me in circles,
making me dizzy from your pearls
dug from beneath the sand
sweeping away a single strand.

to create something from nothing,
to start anew.
Someone said this a long time ago,
dripped in leaving blue.

Is that all you have to say?"
the beasts staringly accuse
surely there is a destination,
willing to suffer my abuse.

the birds have all fled,
from the trouble brewed ahead.
Hold my hand my dear,
here against the rain of fear,
my most precious, paper, puppeteer.

lights

lights
by me(whatever)
to Ryuichi Sakamoto- Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence

late at night midwinter's eve,
a solitary walk in the cold misty air
Christmas lights string the pathway
filling the corners
from here to there;
kept all to myself
a distant dream.

Window

Window
by me(whatever)
-had to write for English class, relating to Mrs. Macbeth (ugh). 

Is it in sleep these dreams collide through pasts,
mistakes we realize neither could take back
where the sight through this window slightly casts
memories where we turned ivory black.
Another broken thought takes it's hold tight,
fighting away from the steps we stand on;
wandering within the long, deathly night
a somber choir of lost voices speak songs
echoing in my unhearable mind
telling of the futility of 'joy',
that which was taken of our hands to bind,
an unfit future where we then destroy
any shred of white left upon our hearts
as we slowly begin to drift apart.

Snowman

Snowman
by me(whatever)
to Lucky

I'm cold,
I'm snow,
but you fastened on my head,
and settled your warm scarf
around my shoulders.

I can't move,
I can't even blink,
but here I am,
alive because you created me.

I'm white,
I'm freezing,
afraid of the sun rising.
But as I stay without any feet,
I can feel the world revolving.

I can't speak,
I can't mutter a single word,
of thanks or sorries to you.
Born at the human hand,
I have no mouth, except
a pretty little line of nuts.

I'm happy,
I'm frustrated,
soon I will die.
I watch over the night,
and the day who melts me,
won't defeat me now.

I won't be gone,
until you come home.
You're warm,
you're important,
you formed me out of ice,
breathing vapor as you said hello.

So I'll wait,
and I'll wait,
shelling over,
crumbling,
pieces of me falling,
falling away.

"Hello"
I never sleep,
but I watch with a lopsided smile
the stars winking in the sky.

I'm cold,
I'm snow,
but I'm warming,
I'm warming!
But I'm leaving,
I'm leaving....

"Hello"
You speak,
and you see,
unfastening your frosted scarf
from the pile of slush,
that is me.

Lines

Lines
by me(whatever)
to miku- glow

balancing 3 centimeters wide,
holding our faint breath
on the line that stretches through the sky
forever and ever.

carried as toddlers,
we walk because we were born*
Mother, little sister,
conversations lost.

Cumulonimbus balance in the wind,
wisp flowing through our hair.
Standing 6 inches wide,
looking forward,
forever and ever.

Do you have any dreams?
I've been lonely in this empty sound.
The ripped up storybook,
we read in lamp light.

Friends and family we've lost,
we just want to live!
Camlin's attempted connection,
slowly, in this broken world.

We held on as they pushed us off,
the sunlight glinted in fear.
You held my hand,
and we both fell to earth.

* relating to the line "I walk because I was born" from the song Strobe Light

Waiting

Waiting
by me(whatever)
to Little Talks

Here we go again,
living the normal life,
standing on the bridge.

Unusually,
with nothin' to say,
not at all,
watching the water pass by.

Don't feel like adding,
Don't feel like swimming,
and though I'm here,
I don't even feel like idling.

With nothing to write,
I'm waiting.
For something to hit me,
hard enough to make me spin.

The normal life, it's refreshing,
but I want to get back on track.
It's cold outside,
and I can feel it through my gloves.

Rainy Morning

Rainy Morning (11-21-13)

A small bird
calling desperately for it's mother
ran over in the rainy morning.

If I could see a seagull,

or a sea-cat,

today would be fine,

I'm sure. 

On rainy mornings

I can't sleep,

pacing around

like a caged animal. 

My last bit of freedom,

to walk a little farther in the cold

taken away by kindness.

The Zoo Man

The Zoo Man
by me(whatever)
to Lemon Elegy

The zoo man,
a step away from the front door
handing out stuffed animals.
To us, who were before a decade
guiltily grabbed and snatched
not knowing more than ourselves.

It was awhile ago,
a childhood memory stuffed in a box.
The giraffe and the small dog
put away in my closet.
They no longer smell of the smoke
the zoo man used to breathe.

His picture put away;
we were all waiting.
A marvelous, casual Santa Claus,
forgotten in the blink of time.
Before your white flowers,
all I can remember
is that one memory.

Screened Life

 Screened Life
To Utada Hikaru- Prisoner of Love

In the movie room,
they watch in folded chairs.
Laughing, and laughing,
as they see me on the screen.

It's the same today,
just like yesterday.

With a happy face,
the actors lie to each other.
Prisoner to the script,
playing charades.

Unable to make a single move,
we wait for the audience's hand.
Never making eye-contact. 

Everyone has their backs turned,
facing something called the future.
But no matter how many times,
we cry out the perfect lines,
identity is still a question.

I want,
to take a step
out of line.

The days still the same,
don't reverse the film.
They point their hands and accuse,
but I'm unable to hear them.

If I tried peering out the screen,
the room would just be dark.
Can't there be something else?

The underwater cameras,
blink and wink from their lenses.

Just a prisoner,
to their every single whim and way.
They take such interest in me!
I laugh and wave. 

Winter Footsteps

Winter Footsteps
by me(whatever)
to Hiro no Hoshi and miku- aurora

The first day of winter,
a step on the dying grass
frosted letters from the mailbox,
rustling in my arms.

the sky glazes over in gray
Like an old photograph,
the world is tipped in black

To take a breath is stinging,
a frozen cleanliness empties our lungs.
in a solitary silence
you make hand-prints in the snow.

Time is so fast,
yet in these months it seems to stand still.

You hold out your thumb,
creating a human compass.
Night falls at 5 O'clock
illuminating our footsteps.

The trees have shed their umbrellas,
coats, and clothes.
Passing by,
I feel like looking back a little.

Because I get the feeling
we're in a snow-globe.

The moon echoes from here,
a quiet sound like a music box.
Swallowing this pure white setting,
I leave in cold feet.

The Names of Us

 The Names of Us
by me(whatever)
to Moonfall

Do they know my name?
a light bulb,
I can't help but be cruel to them
when they speak that way.

It's a method,
I crack my fingers
and yawn myself to wakefulness
as they pull out my ear wax

I can't understand,
the 30's lady words spouting out,
around and around my head.
They sure sound good,
but what do they mean?

Pay attention,
pencils/  no PENS ready
pretty piper paper poised
against all dared prayers.

Who is your name?
I won't ask what again.
It's not anything, is it?
Yes, I knew it.

Are you colored over?
A moth who couldn't make it to day?
Charlatan checkers over the chickens,
I'm so very tired of it all.

Modeled clay,
let's harden to an ugly state
just to infuriate them.

Who's dead,
and who's alive?

Guess what it is?
You already know it.
I find your attitude
incredibly annoying.

"Become what you want,
we'll show you how!"
They said.

"Become whatever,
I'm your factory product,
and you know it as well as I"
Should I say, I said?

It's a war,
exhausted of this fight
against hypnotism.

Hypnotism: 
Definition relays the disease of a hippo who doesn't want to be one.
And who has back pains. 

Shut up.  

Pierrot

Pierrot
by me(whatever)
to Yamai- Tokyo Rock City

Pulling on my monochrome.
today too,
I'll be your ghost.

Black teardrops,
a series of expressions
they know to be faked.

I glance at nothing,
come,
play charades with me.

My hands outline,
exactly what you can't see.

Let me out of this window,
I'm begging you
share my mind.

Puckered in confusion,
a human doll.

Don't ignore me,
give me all of it;
your attention.

I pull on the rope,
climbing and climbing
like Romeo to you.

But you turn away your head.
Oh, how beautiful
concealing these emotions.

I keep bumping into things,
things that don't exist to you.

The chime is ringing,
an unwearable sound
giving me a single color.

I turn my head,
slowly, like clockwork,
watching you walk away.

Black and white,
alone together.

The day is disappearing,
Now I must open the invisible door
still without reaching you. 

Some others- Haiku

Here are some other Haiku I wrote today, but I wanted to have the train ones to their own separate post. I wrote these during church today. They don't really go together. I actually don't like them as much as the train ones.

Why are you crying?
you are talking about joy
so why are there tears?

Ignorance in class

I sit here writing Haiku

through the background noise.

I can't stop writing.

reading others poetry,

I want to see mine.

Going Home on the Train- Haiku

I wrote some Haiku today(after reading some), and here they are. These were written for the experience of going back home on the train with my mother after Anime Banzai on the 18th. Inspiration, I guess? We were very tired.

Going Home on the Train
by me(whatever)

Waiting for the train,
The night wind creeps through our clothes
on the bright platform.

The front of the train,
we sit in the crowded car
my mother snoring.

We can see the tracks,
through the cold narrow window
I read Translucent.*

The journey back home,
seems shorter on these blue seats
I quietly yawn.

*Translucent is a manga I bought

I'd like to Meet a Monster - edited

Remember that poem I posted back in February? I edited it a bit, and now I must show you.

I'd like to Meet a Monster
by me(whatever)
to Of Monsters and Men- Mountain Sound

I'd like to meet a monster.
Three million times bigger than I am,
or the size of my pinky toe.
Either way's fine,
But I'd like to meet a monster.

I'd like to meet a monster.
Shake hands with hoofs, paws, tentacles, beaks, feelers,
And I promise I wouldn't gag against your breath,
if you happened to be a monster who likes to tell jokes.
If you were a monster,
Well, I'd like to meet you.

I'd like to meet a monster,
Friendly or deadly,
I'd still chase after you all the same.
And if we could have a party,
Never sleep until the sun comes up,
I feel that would be a good thing,
Don't you?

I'd like to meet a monster,
tromping through the woods in an unusual parade,
Tropical feathers mixed with mucous and spiral horns.
We all feel the same about our differences,
So what’s the trouble of sticking together?
I can't see through the cat on your tongue,
Give me a hint, please.
Am I a monster too?

I'd like to meet a monster,
fly on the zombie of a dodo bird,
We can hit the stars, you'll see-
hold your head up high,
no need to hide.

I'd like to meet a monster,
yellow eyes, grime, and bristled rainbow hair,
South into a discoed metamorphosis,
Jumping branch to branch,
this journey on an observers past.

Bottled cocoons in your pocket
I have a whole collection buried in my closet,
But where- I forgot where,
Perhaps if I got your help,
We could find them?

I'd like to meet a monster,
it doesn't matter in the end,
What you could possibly look like.
Give me your most eccentric expression,
I'll snap a photo next to you.
Smaller than my index finger, or larger than my school building,
We'll have a rendezvous without those humans
deep into the ocean night.
Holding hands with wings, bones, and giant hairy fingers,
Shouting for the end to our searching’s,
We're nothing like anyone else.
Burrowed into the fresh built Earth,
Gliding our lives top hurricane clouds-

Monsters are everywhere, Monsters are everyone.
Monsters are you, Monsters am I.
Didn't you know?

Sail the treetops to the dance-ground-
Listen with ears furry, wide, fleshy, spiked
Fall until we Crash -BaBang!-
Curve around all corners of the spectrum.
I'll think only so much, ignore everything else
Have you noticed through the atmosphere,
all those tiny dots we pricked through?
We're holding up the sun,
singing with our strange tongues,
Beautiful incomprehensible words.

“Coco ahree seca mira

Fetra yeta rita wata

Itghet senret ulba pupa

Quxep keyey nuneh joiwa”

And here we ride through in this turmoil,

watching only for the sun rise.
Without a promise

I'll remember for as long as I live,
The hooves, tentacles, feelers, beaks, and paws
attached to all their different places,
each pointing out each other’s variations.
And with a blank, dreamy mind,
think happily in bed,
a single head propped up against a pillow,
Saying to myself out loud
How much I'd indeed,
Like to meet a monster.

A Growing need for Distraction

A Growing need for Distraction
by me(whatever)
to Miku {soft}- Jellyfish

Jellyfish in my cocoa cup,
the sky in my hands.
Blinking cats in my window,
a baby's crying.

She said she didn't expect it of me,
but I expect it of myself.
Because it hurts and hurts,
I want to answer those words.

Drawings shown through the mirror,
a pair of red cowboy boots.
Within a blue starlit aquarium,
 a child's screaming.

It's been so long,
and she tells me to forget.
But here they are again, echoing in my head
telling me to give up.

Pink elephant pillows,
speakers beeping on my plate.
White pencil wiped in mud,
an adolescents silence.

Please tell me,
the loneliness is unbearable.
When I take one more step,
will it be without support?

A camera dropped to pieces,
the biscuit clouds floating seperately.
A sail in the sun,
An adults lying.

I have nothing left,
but what you gave me.
Because it hurts and hurts,
I must distract myself.

Birds and Electricity

My goodness, it's 1 in the morning, and I finally finished this short story for school. There wasn't much criteria, and I'm exhausted, thank you very much.

Birds and Electricity

Robin Wetherill lived in Sky world on Aether Island in Silver City. And she was all alone.

You might think this is a grim way to introduce our heroine, but it must be admitted, she was alone. At least at the moment she is. Please look down from a high cloud and take a bird’s eye view of a small crowded island below. Do you see it? It’s the one in the middle, just floating there. To you it might resemble a bit like New York City placed in a Science Fiction novel. It has floating cars, skyscrapers poking out at impossible angles, and sidewalks hanging in the air.

Now, look a little closer to the right corner of your spyglass. See that large, dirty apartment building there? Good. Now, if you have a perceptional eye vision, you might notice that pin-prick of a girl standing at the base of the building. She has brunette hair, and is currently staring at the wall in front of her. She doesn’t have time for us right now, but we are going to watch her anyways. Why is she staring at a wall? Well, why don’t we ask her?

Robin Wetherill lived in Sky world on Aether Island in Silver City. And she was all alone. She was an orphan, enrolled in Pammi’s House for Girls. She has just lost her best friend, because she has moved away. If you look close enough, you can probably see her crying. The alleyway she is currently in is devoid of people. So you see, she really is alone, except for that incredibly annoying crow staring at her from that cable. It’s been bugging Robbin for a while. You see, because Robbin has always had this way of knowing when someone or something is looking at her. It has turned her somewhat paranoid, as you or I would be if you could tell every time someone was looking your direction. And this crow has been staring at her for such an awfully long time.

It has been driving her mad.

But let’s look away from the stalker crow for a second, and take a minute on the wall. Yes, the wall. It is somewhat interesting also, for on its surface is a collection of strange graffiti. It has some very decorative and hidden arrows pointing to the right. But, shh, Robbin just noticed them, probably because we were talking too loud. Oh look, now she’s become curious and has started following them.

Let’s see, she’s turned right, and left, oh, and now right again. Hmm, left, left, left, right, left, right, right, goodness these alleyways stretch on a while. But that is one thing about Silver City. Never underestimate her alleyways. They are worse than a labyrinth. Robbin knows this to, so she usually stays away from them, but she’s come to the conclusion that if she wants to head back all she has to do is follow the arrows backwards. But exactly what are they leading her to? It has been an hour since she started, and wiping some sweat from her brow, she notices that the crow is still following her. Yes, this crow is definitely a stalker, and Robbin becomes a little concerned. But what can she do? She keeps on.

Oh my, it’s been a few hours, and it’s starting to get dark. But for Robbin it’s too late to turn back. What are you going to do Robbin, you forgot to bring a flashlight. Silver City is generally well-lighted, but it would be troublesome if she wouldn’t be able to spot the hidden arrows anymore. Moreover, that crow is still following her. She wonders what it’s up about, when it suddenly swoops down to her and with a surprise turns on the yellow beams in its eyes. It’s not a crow at all, it’s a robot! Well, a robot crow. Does that count?

Robbin and the robot crow continue turning the corners at the end of the alleyways, the crow lighting the way. Robbin is just starting to get tired when she notices something funny going on with the urban lighting of Silver City outside. It’s flickering on and off, like it’s about to go out. This had been going on for a while lately, and the officials of Silver City had been spending hours, and money trying to figure out what the problem was. But they still hadn’t managed to discover what or who was behind it.

Robbin and Choco (she took the liberty of naming it) turn another corner and have suddenly found themselves in a den of androids. Robbin can tell right off these aren’t the usual androids. First of all, androids don’t gather together in a way that looks like a teenage gang, and second of all, they don’t look this scary. Each of them has something off them missing. Their hair is missing in chunks, and springs are popping out of their necks. Overall, they look much like a broken doll toy. They’re all looking at her with violent intent. Robbin, you better be careful.

But the arrows end here. She quickly looks for more, but this is where they lead. There’s no way she’s backing out of this just because she’s scared. So she takes a few heavy steps into the area and looks around for a clue why there might be arrows leading here. And she sees it. The area is behind one of the many power plants, and she can see that these androids have tampered with the Generator box. But just as she’s noticed this, the abandoned androids take action. The first one springs his remaining arm towards her, but she ducks and starts to run. A child android starts chasing her from behind, and the others lumber from behind. Unfortunately there’s a rock in the middle of where Robbin is going to step, and she falls hard and painfully. The child android catches up with her and jumps onto her back to prevent her escape. Robbin is panicking when Choco starts clawing and shining his beaming eyes into the child androids eyes. This makes an effect on it (you never want to look straight into a robots eyes), and it falls back in pain. Robbin gets up and runs as straight as she can towards the Generator box, while Choco is distracting the others. I can see they both feel quite bold today.

Robbin reaches the Generator box and rings the emergency bell placed next to it. This signals the officials to come in five minutes. She then takes a look at the box itself, and growing up in Silver City, she knows exactly what to do. It’s quite easy really, since they only broke wires. She pulls out some gloves from her pockets and begins twisting them back together. Red to red, blue to green, green to blue, oh when will they ever end? She’s on the last one, when an android shoves her to the ground from behind. Well, Choco couldn’t keep them off forever, could he? And she’s fighting for her life, when the light of the officials Flies (flying machines) reaches her from above.

Quite simply, it’s wrapped up in two minutes. The officials are scarily efficient at their job. The androids are bonded and thrown in the back for proper disposal, and the Generator box is overlooked by a professional Mr. Bill who says that Robbin did a good temporary fix, but that they’ll need to replace them anyways. Robbin wonders what all her trouble was for. She’s given a ride home on one of their Flies, and when poor Miss Pammi sees her walked in by officials she nearly has a heart attack.

Robin has a sheepish look on her face. Can you see it from your bird’s eye view? She should’ve remembered about Miss Pammi, who has told her time and time again to be back by dark. She expects to get scolded, but after the officials leave on a tip of their hats, all she does is set down some hot Cocoa before her on the counter. All the other kids have gone to bed.

“Here that should warm you up.”

               

                Choco is settled neatly in Robbins lap as she sips the golden liquid slowly down her throat.

“Miss Pammi?”

“Yes?”

“Will Silver City not Flicker anymore?”

Miss Pammi looks at her and leans against the opposite counter.

“Yes, it will. The short-circuit you found was only one of who knows how many are out there.”

Robbin looks sad for a moment.

Then Miss Pammi adds “but I bet if the officials had you on their force, they would get them all before daybreak!”

They both smile, and Robbin tells her everything that happened again for the third time. She falls asleep on her chair a few minutes later, and Miss Pammi carries her into bed.

                Well? Not so tragic after all. Not as alone as she thinks. She’ll survive.

Screw all this, I'm writing Poetry

Screw all this, I'm writing poetry
by me(whatever)
to Sky Fish

Screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
The fuzz in the headphones,
is sending my brain away.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
Let us return to my lone room,
white posted.

Your voice has always been annoying,
it's hard to stop remembering.
Through this catharsis, perhaps,
I can regain my gainings.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
I'm black on this background,
like confessing my sins.

So screw all this,
this junk people have shoved on me.
It only clogs the clockwork.
They take and never give. 

I'm writing poetry,
at least I think I am.
What if I didn't exist at all,
would I be happy then?

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
I know I've repeated this line,
way too many times.

Are you bored?
with me?
with this poem?
I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.

So screw all this,
I'm writing poetry.
quite simply,
I've given up on my homework.

This little Earth,
I know nothing about, not even a tiny weeny bit.
They've hidden it,
in their lying eyes.

So screw it all,
I'm eating mud.
floating, floating,
buried, buried. 

They starve you,
and pretend their feeding you.
Fish, Fish, Fish,
swimming with bird brains.

I'm angry, if you haven't noticed.
So screw it all,
I'm writing poetry. 

I'm tired.

I'm tired.
by me(whatever)
to Kashiwa Daisuke- Stella

I'm tired.
No one knows
how tired I am.

My morning is still night,
and I watch the constellations
spin and spin.

The room is cold,
I wake with my breath against the window.
My shoes are following me
every day for more than seventeen hours.

The dull pain through my brain,
foggy eyes wishing to retrace their steps
It's as though I'm underwater.

Take me away on the Galactic Railway.

Kotaro Takamura's 'Chieko Poems'

I found something interesting. It's Kotaro Takamura.
I was reading some of his Chieko Poems yesterday and today, and they really are something. I feel like I know who he was without having to meet him just by reading them. The Chieko Poems were written about his wife Chieko, from his love for her, to her development into Schizophrenia, and her eventual death. My favorite is Lemon Elegy. This is possibly because it was the first one I heard, yes heard, because they made a sort of song to go with it: Lemon Elegy.

If you want to read the [translated] collection by Paul Archer, here's a link: The Chieko Poems.
I recommend reading about the background of the poems before reading the actual poems.

Caught

Caught
by me(whatever)
to Kashiwa Daisuke- the afternoon of rainy day

If it's the real world,
I can say right here I don't know much.
Caught in between,
I'm resisting without the reason.

Stretched, pulled
shrunk, pushed
I don't want to underly my mind any more than this.

Had I ever had my own words,
I wonder if they've been buried.
Too much of the air in here,
is stuffy, and I can't breathe.

this resistance, if it won
I would only be alone again.
Would you feel like weeping,
Miss Me I've been neglecting?

Futuristic Imagination

I don't know what it is, but I always end up coming back to this song. I heard it again last night, and I just had to post it here. I already posted it last year on Sugar Grains, and here I am with it again.

lyrics

This song is also the ending to Eden of the East. It has an interesting paper animation to go with it. If you want to see it, here's a link: Eden of the East ED.

Midnight Dinner Party

Midnight Dinner Party
by me(whatever)
to Beautiful world

Is it time to eat?
The guests moan and groan.
The tenth month, last day
a midnight dinner party.

The table is elaborately set,
the spoon and fork lay side by side.
with a choice of 20 different knives,
the guests will be pleased!

The birds in the cage to the corner,
cry out in agony for their lives.
Ah, their screams are music to his ears,
and the cook smiles in his song.

"Eat me,
stab me,
roast me,
carve me out of my skin.
pluck my feathers
drain my juice
once your rightly seasoned, then we may begin!"

The tall ones, the short ones,
all will take part in his dish.
The gong rings throughout the hall,
as the company takes their seats.

What will it be this time?
The green one can't hold back his drool.
Oh, and look
the tall one is taking his nightly tea.

The woman pile in through the wooden doors,
each face hidden by the brims of their hats.
The one with too many limbs,
is having trouble getting in the velvet chair.

I'm afraid the bread crumbs were eaten
dear, lost children.
Served ornaments on their platters,
the waiters grin as they carry them in.

Utensil against glass,
a ringing for a small, short speech from Mister Host,
"Good evening, my friends,
enjoy your sup as you may."

209 guests take up their appetite,
digging in with unbalanced relish.
legs and arms, fingers and ears
disappear into their mouths.

The lips burned into "O's",
Our neighbor Chameleon prefers them.
Oh, and don't forget Aunties soup,
with the chunks not properly sliced.

It's a happy gathering company,
the chatting and chewing flow.
The cages in the corner lie empty,
and drunk Mrs. Pumpkin starts to dance.

The dessert is small raisin cakes,
filled inside with jellied frogs.
The guests pat their bellies,
and sigh self-satisfied.

It's the Midnight dinner party,
and the visitors stand and leave.
The cook surveys his kitchen,
ordering the servants to clean the walls.

They throw the skulls out the backdoor,
bones to the vultures.
The children scream out,
echoing across the unlit stones.

It's the Midnight dinner party.

Inside No one

Inside No one
by me(whatever)
to Wotamin- 6900000000

To get myself to speak again,
I spit out worthless words.
And they won't even matter,
cause you won't even hear them,
and their meaning won't connect.

It's been this way since the start,
no one knows, and no one cares.
When I finally was able to admit it to myself,
The only thing that changed
was the inside.

I'm tired of stories,
I'm tired of happy endings.
Our nails are cut, ripped out
and we can't hold onto anything.

It's only second rate,
the person who says it's me.
I know this, I understand
but for the sake of everyday
I have to keep a smile
so I can continue walking. 

the voices leak out from the clock,
the hands pointing and laughing.
But there's no one in this room,
and even if they were laughing,
it's only me.

Nowhere Else

Nowhere Else
by me(whatever)

In the next room,
they are waiting.
Impatient, voracious
scraping at the grating.

cold basement apartment,
bundled in blankets.
electric flickering, dripping tap
dilated eyes on the glass doorknob.
The children sleep in turns.

They scurry and pound,
the floor, the walls, the door.
The moaning wakes the youngest,
whose cries for his mother
summon their interest for prey.

Night after night,
an hour before dusk,
small hands must assure that door is locked. 

There's nowhere else to go.

Cafe

Cafe
by me(whatever)
to kamakura 

onomatopoeia,
blizzard at the next cafe
loose ribbons;
flowing from your collar.

we need a sound,
halolimnic.
unwrapping the dripping overcoat,
you sigh.

Silver spoon;
playing tomato soup.
rarissima,
music for your ears only.

blossoming kites,
painted cream walls.
laughter, easy atmosphere
umbraculiform.

Butterfly in a bottle

Butterfly in a bottle
by me(whatever)
to : Kamakura

Butterfly in a bottle,
cold fingertips.
ivy clinging
bending skyscrapers. 

sweet scent
acid rain
rusted neon signs
trembling lips.

splintered roots
misread letters
flutter wings
black eyes.

forgotten alleyway
faded graffiti
stained cheeks
silence.

Down the Hallway

Down the Hallway
by me(whatever)
9-19-13

The girl playing hangman,
in her physics notebook.
dotting the eyes without flourish,
she watches with a bored expression,
as the stick figure sways to and fro.

The girl down the hallway,
stops to stare at the construction.
The kids gab, and clinging to their fatuous rings
Hardly notice
as they step through cold air.

That girl in the locker,
curled like a gift to be opened.

The girl from the ceiling,
quietly whines like a record on replay.
Observing the flies buzzing contentedly,
she casually reaches out,
smearing one across the horizontal wall.

".........................................."

Ghost

Ghost
by me(whatever)
to Miku- piano lesson asp-mix

I am a ghost,
how are you?

In the night,
I hide in sleep.
no really,
how are you?

Who?

In the morning,
pulling on transient shoes,
I smile at the mirror sadly.

If you wish to know:

It was small accident,
it clacked over slipping and tracks,
the rhythm disappeared.

What do we have to say?
I spent it shamelessly,
on useless things like math and time.

Even rats stare through me,
as I walk over the city under my umbrella.
Was it useless?
Yes it was.

Tried so hard,
tried so hard.
but what would it do to feel rain?
It falls through me.

It fell,
not even reaching.
This boredom,
in the same reversible play list,
melts me somewhat translucent.

Duck, duck, goose, goose
following society's importance in role and value,
we end up staring at the corner of the spectrum. 

They walk through me,
like snails.
Attending classes, learning, learning,
the world at the black board. 

In the end,
I doubt I existed in the first place.

Is that why I'm here?

Humpty Dumpty

Excuse me for this useless blether, but I'm going to talk about Humpty Dumpty.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

I remember my friend posting once upon a time on her blog Chiaroscuro Knight, a question stating what in the world was he doing up there in the first place. The maze in my head gradually got stuck in another corner, and for some unfathomable reason, I was thinking about this egg character today.

Why was he up there in the first place?

Was he sitting up there, glorifying himself that he was better than everybody else? And his fall was justified? Or was he there because he was escaping from a sort of predator? Perhaps he just chose to take another perspective at the world, but was shot down by a misstep. Is it supposed to represent children in their recklessness? Or, even, maybe, his egg represents possibilities that couldn't be realized. Hmm?

I think I've already made my point, so I'm not going to go into an essay. I'm too lazy.
Good night to that.

Remember Me

Remember Me
by me(whatever)
to waking up without you
*This was mostly to practice Haiku form. 

Unable to find
a silhouette of your heart,
I sleep here alone.

In this circumstance,
My voice has withered away
even I have gone.

And the ceiling's blank,
gazing at those silent tears
it says not a word.

For the moon rises,
cascading light over room
whispering softly

Please don't forget me.

Cat Act

Cat Act
by me(whatever)
to love teasing

cat
cat
cat
cat.

at
at
mat
sat
hat
hat!
rat...?
bat
gnat
What?
or whut????

cut
cut,
throw it away
these useless rhymes.
You know what I'm saying, right?
cat
cat.

Take a bath!
But I escape through window.
Yell
yell
sell
shell
give you hell.

ha ha ha ha
ha ha
arching my back in laughter,
I zip open a rats back.
no
so
know
row
doe
go
tie your own bow.

Why do you keep hiding?
It's because your shape is air
bye
bye
why?
if your so sly?
die
die
die.

Like this,
I won't even be able to take a nap.
Do you depend on my words so much?
But they're useless to you.
you
who?
Koo
boo
sue
shoo!

Bye.

No no no non onononononononoonononononononono
you lie lie lie,
bye bye bye
here's my chance,
bite you from behind.

It's important!
Important!
Two Tails aren't enough!
No matter the shape,
it won't eat my dreams!

Continue.
It's still cold.

cold
mold
sold
sold
sold
sold
sold
bold, aren't you?

cat
act,
for the third time,
we spin in shadows.
It doesn't matter?
?
bye bye!

See here!
wannananananan it!
ranannannananan- can't taste it.
want it, want it,
do you want me?
Give me sweet!

ame
ame
sucking my thumb,
all illusions are reappearing!
Ghost girl in the drawer!

Are you afraid?
It's your own disgust!
bye!
Bye
bai
bai
ai
Ai!

Cat
cat
Cat
cat
CAT.

roll it,
roll the head across the floor!
roll the die.
die
die!

bye
bye!
Will you see that person now?
How?
Don't ask stupid questions,
I'll release the collar now.
color.
Black
Black
Black?

your responsibilities are slack now,
so go back to whatever you were doing.
I don't care
I don't care
do you dare?

Don't touch me.

candy
candy
ame
ame
candy candy
candy rain
bye bye,
Mr. Pumpkin.

Cat
Cat.
cat?
Tac??

Cat
Act.

Lily Butterfly

Lily Butterfly
by me(whatever)
to Stones glowing in the Darkness (Laputa ost)

A young butterfly,
flitting here and there amongst the ballroom.
pretending to be interested in the decoration,
she plays innocent, does she?

The good children have already tucked in,
her storybook is closed between their sweet arms.
But still she opens her mouth,
singing her sweet nothings like showering flower petals.

"So, you venture to take her hand, young man?"
Don't worry, she'll answer you promptly and positively.
But I'd like you to be warned;
her company may prove fleeting.

It's like rewinding an old photograph,
she wears a lie that shows the truth.
Fluttering all night long,
she forgets it is all a dream.

Forbidden paradise,
a galley filled of lilies.
Floating, fluttering
down in the smoky fog.

And once again,
she knew how it would end.
breath on her throne of roses,
she opens her eyes.

The lantern illuminates the way,
down the river, drown the gate
she danced all night long,
she danced all night long.

The shadow,
the encounter,
and the man's hand
are rooted firmly to the ground.

blooming in desecration.

And she flits from here to there.
A flight in the blue morning air.

Propeller

Propeller
by me(whatever)
to astronauts

On the top of the world,
in the middle of the sky.
Among the clouds and airplanes,
there's a small girl.

All day she watches,
from her small square of floating island.
The colors of dawn, day, and dusk.

And her room is filled
with flying machines.

The company is a large dog,
no one else.
She opens her window,
and sings

So she won't forget her voice. 

Drawing millions of designs,
the pictures of wings suspend her.
Sometimes, when a large gust comes,
they're blown away.

But she won't forget,
her single fallen dream.

From the tall grass,
on her back, petting the dog.
she views the fish who swim in the moon,
ever drifting closer to space.

The shooting stars head to earth,
if she could only reach out and catch one.
But they pay no attention to her wish,
living the last of their lives.

The days that won't change forever,
she loves and hates them.
Afraid to ever leave,
this world is her everything.

But she closes her eyes,
the flapping of a paper shower
whispering and shouting
"it will be all right."

Sewage Plant 109

Sewage Plant 109
by me(whatever)
to astronauts

In 1000 parallel dimensions,
the definition of tachycardia spits out.
In only one, which was left behind
sewage plant 109.

Three red bolts have been lost,
the machinery is searching.
Devoid of even survival instinct,
they look and look.

It floats,
lost in versatile tangerine.
The hue,
effluent in beauty,
emits a life
fallen between the cracks. 

Who is human?
the creation or creator?
When processed from the Grit Chamber,
what is left?

You hold on a rusted string,
the program with a russet face.
The blinking yellow, the blinking blue,
the neon that directs us

Hidden, you look up
emerald eyes in a color-ridden world.
Gazing at unfinished sky-scrapers,
expression covered by a gas mask.

It's strange,
holding you in my back.
the warmth seeps, you can see it,
and for a moment I react.

Though I'll be abandoned.
I know this.
I've been before.

Consigned to the glare,
holding up 3 red bolts.
I have no voice.
You hunch over and throw up. 

No name.
They come to get you.
No one.
can read a creation.

Goodbye. "
you smiled, but
I couldn't see it.

blinking, yellow and blue
in obliterated memory.

1000 dimensions in parallel,
the machine is spit out.
and only one, who was left behind
found it
in Sewage plant 109.

Raw Man

Raw Man
by me(whatever)
to Tokyo Jihen- Marunouchi Sadistic

Rainy day on the old platform,
gray overcast shedding cold tears.
Slurping down my instant noodles,
I saltily isolate myself.

You thought I wouldn't leave-
still dancing in your illusions, huh?
Here, hear- I'm taking the kid,
there's leftovers in the fridge.

I've always been a fool,
but this city's left me shredded.
ringed eyes against these sneakers,
remember those heels?
I threw them out.

Little girl pops open the tangerine,
kicking her legs against the bench.
Humming, and humming, and humming
that bloody song from the gramophone.

Caught you kissin' her,
the blonde from the pizza place.
"Give me a chance!" you pleaded,
and proceeded to blame me.

So I'm leaving, I'm leaving,
taking the kid, taking my daughter.
You thought I wouldn't, you thought I wouldn't.
Don't bother coming after,
satisfy yourself with That.

Drawing a circle across the crumbled notes,
two eyes and a button frown.
a question mark from young eyebrows,
offering no response.

"I can't do this!"
I kept telling you, telling you
listen up, would you,
I'm leaving, I'm leaving
leaving you, badbye.

Still pretending, hung in ankle coats,
train pulls in.
A pun to highlight, yes you, you!
Leaving my ramen behind.

Last Day

Last Day
by me(whatever)
Sukima Switch- Ice cream syndrome

On the couch,
in my flat.
Holding the remote,
my stomach growls at me.
I yawn in response.

Last day of summer,
I still haven't decided which t-shirt to wear.
Without an exit,
holding the last bar of ice cream.

How are you over there?
People in different countries,
all 7 billion of us.

Foggy sun through the windows,
it has no business ending.
But I guess it can't help it, can it?

I'm sorry for remaining here,
but there's not much else to do.
I pull on my too-tight shoes
and head to the library.

I hope I can pick out a good book,
more stories, more people
someday, I'd like to become them.
But for now, I'll stay. I'm staying.

The season has already passed through.

The person I see in the mirror,
isn't the same person I think it is.
Strange how the map inside of me,
is just a labyrinth.

I might grasp the meaning one day,
the meaning of living on like this.
But for now,
It's still okay.

I'll stay,
I'm staying.
The casting isn't wrong. 
I won't run away.

It's a nostalgic album book,
showing my life in series.
but only I, and maybe you
could understand it.

Last day of summer,
it's passing busy as ever.
If I wished it to stay a little longer,
would that be considered bad?

Switching off the news,
how should I spend this?
It's already passing.
I'm staying. I'm staying.

Bars

Bars
by me(whatever)
to Kagerou Days

Pester.
The ones with two legs,
they continue pestering me.

They mimic the things they want me to do,
as though I don't understand.
But for that, it won't matter.

Ignorant in their amazed faces,
they black out in like an old photograph.
The small ones scream,
"Look! Look!"

and there I am.

a beast in their perspective,
brown grass sprouting over my back.
A treasure as long as it's put away,
a life valued to be seen.

They like shoving sticks into my hands,
scratching lines on a white sheet.
What more do they want from me?

Even I can see from here,
that it's for the canary's survival.

But it doesn't matter,
isn't the world more than this room?
Somehow I want to go home,
though I've forgotten where it is.

This is no good,
none of this is any good.
I speak,
but plugged up in their pretty visions
they can't hear me.

I'm me,
I'm just me.
But they can't see me.
They don't know me.

So colorful,
in their skins
they taunt me.

"Draw"
I make an attempt.

Scratching the only things
I've known my entire life. 

Silver City: an alien story for the passing Summer

So...this is my alien love story for the summer. Every summer my mother and I write stories with a certain theme, and this was it. Any feedback would be nice, don't mind if it's cruel. Oh, and Silver City is an actual ghost town in Utah; I've been to it. It's real cool.

Silver City
by me(whatever)

That summer had blue skies, and a bright sun that seemed to penetrate every force of cold that tried to fight against it. There were little clouds, but the clouds that popped up every once in a while were white and poufy like my grandma’s hair. She’s ninety two this fall and still crunching about the Earth like a tiny Goliath nagging about this and that…a lot better than my mother who died when I was five. I never knew my father, but the most I know about him is that he’s a drinker. It explains a lot.

I don’t remember much about my mother’s death. She drank too, but for some reason I cannot recall a single moment in my life where I saw her stoned. She always seemed healthy, and then, one day, she wasn’t. It was as simple as that.

But that’s all behind me now. My life now is with grandma, doing boring everyday things in a boring everyday sparse empty town that has absolutely no money or luxury, but an expansive supply of sun. Sometimes it gets so hot out that I feel like we’re not on Earth at all, but somehow dropped into Hell when we weren’t looking. I can’t imagine Hell being any hotter than this. I plan to leave this place behind and go somewhere rainy and cool as soon as I am old enough. We hardly ever see rain except once or twice a year. When it does rain, the whole town jumps out of their card board box-like houses and dance in the mud until we all become brown figures from an art piece. Even old grumpy Mr. Carrier comes out and lies on the warm mud, closing his eyes, and smiling as the water drips onto his face. It’s time when the rain falls when I feel something like magic truly exists in this world. Every person out there dancing becomes something less and more than human. We become the rain itself.

But it was a sunny day I set out towards Silver city. Straw hat plonked on my head, smeared sun-screen still white in some places, and sunglasses shading my eyes from the fury of the sun. A bottle of water, a peanut butter sandwich, a camera, and a pencil and notebook were bouncing hazardly in a large bag held closed by a single blue button. This button had been off of my mother’s favorite light blue dress, apparently.  It had the job of keeping closed a scrap bag my grandma had made for me, created out of pieces of cloth that were all various sunken colors that didn’t match at all, but somehow managed to turn the same grey when you looked at it from far away. In that way, it was like my life. I did own a backpack, but a bag, as I had discovered, was easier to pull things out of when you really needed to.

                Silver City was a ghost town. But all that was left was the smelter ruin walls. I often went there by myself to think and explore. I would walk by the walls without ceilings, and avoid the deep wells filled with water, all the while gaping at the magnificence of a ruined artifact of human civilization and the destructive power of time. I would go through my ritual of walking along the side lengths of past water-ways to a lone dome-like building with the top open like a bottle. It offered a tiny bit of shade, and I would sit there for a few hours letting the feeling of time pass through me like an old nostalgic perfume you smell from a stranger and remember a relative who wore it.

                But not this time.

                I think the first thing I noticed was the smell. It seeped out of the pure stone sage-brush infested smelter like opening a refrigerator that had rotten meat inside. Just smelling it felt like the snot inside my nose had curdled trying to escape. I could imagine the round yellow things popping out their eyeballs and running away into my brain like some war-fest. I would’ve gone away right then just by that, except that I had to know what that infernal smell was coming from. So I tucked my nose under my shirt collar and moved for a closer look against the side wall. There was a small window there I could peek through to see to the ‘inside’.

What?

Is that?

                The first word that popped into my head was “Monster”. A black mistish thing relatively in the shape of a person seemed to be standing (or floating?) about 20 yards away from me. Parts of it were breaking off and floating away, and then disintegrating. It was like a shadow without a body. Maybe it was a… ghost? But a ghost in mid daylight? Seemed doubtful. Then again, if it wasn’t a ghost, what in the world was that thing in front of me poking around? And it was definitely poking around. It seemed to be looking for something. Maybe it was a stink demon? The smell seemed to be coming from it. And it stunk bad. By the momentary shock of seeing it, I had forgotten the unbearable smell, but I remembered it now. It was overwhelming. I didn’t know which was worse: the smell or my fear of the thing. But either way, thank the heavens that it didn’t notice I was there.

                The mission now?: Get Away.

                I took a step backwards.

                “CRRAacCkK!”

                A twig.

                Oh great.  The most clichéd part of any typical movie, and of course I have to fulfill it. I would make a wonderful actress, I thought, cursing under my breath. All I would have to do is step on a twig.

                The Thing turned its head, and for a horrible moment I felt its eyes meet mine. Not that I could see any eyes. The whole thing was made of darkness. It was as though I was looking into nothing, or a great emptiness like space itself.

                “Who are you?” 

                It wasn’t a physical voice that was speaking to me. It was the Shadow’s thoughts, transferring directly into my mind. I gave a start. Somehow I didn’t expect this Thing to have a way of communication; in fact, I thought it might not even have a soul. Half of me suspected that it wasn’t even real; like it was part of my imagination, or simply something left over from time, like a kind of supernatural artifact. And the voice sounded nice, I realized. Like a boy my age might have.

                “W-who are you?” I asked it back, echoing its own question.

                For a few awkward tensioned moments, we stared at each other. I tried to decide if this was a situation where I should run.

                “Is this what they call a human?” another voice said out of nowhere. I whipped my head around, looking for the new voice, but there was no body to be found. That was when I noticed a crowd of grasshoppers coming from all directions storming to one spot where there seemed to be a tiny whirlwind. They jumped on to each other in the thousands, and soon I was looking at a grasshopper created mirror of a small looking animal, one that looked almost like a cat or a fox. It seemed to be staring at me.

                “Your mouth has become the shape of a circle, human,” the grasshopper cat/fox thing said to me, interested. I shut my mouth closed. I studied the creature, and I saw that the whirlwind held the grasshoppers together in the form of it. The tail was an interesting bit to look at; the grasshoppers were floating in perfect formation like they were in a military line.

                “The insects of this world are almost as adept at Live Building as the artificial dusting we have back home,” it said. “That is one thing I didn’t calculate. What a pleasant surprise.”  It made a show of scratching its side, which was really quite strange to look at, it being made all out of grasshoppers. It turned to its Shadow-y partner.

                “So is it here, Scribe?”

                The shadow figure looked around itself, like it was sensing the aura of the place. “Seems to be,” it said, “but it has a distance to it, like its underground.”

                “Hmm,” The insect cat thought. It studied me. “Should we ask the human?”

                Suddenly I felt the attention drawn to myself by these weird creatures.

                “Who are you people?” I asked for the second time, “And why do you smell so bad?” The two things looked at each other doubtfully. It was the Shadow Thing, the one called Scribe, who took the initiative.

                “That’s just the scent of dimension traveling. Excuse me, but have you any information on a map you might find around these parts?” Scribe said.

                I thought. “What do you mean, like a local map you can find in the gas station?”

                “No. I mean as in a map that shows the Universe. Do you have any ideas at all? Maybe even a local legend…?”

                I thought. “Nope.” The two creatures seemed disappointed. “But what are you guys!? Answer my question at least!” I was becoming irritated. “A map of the Universe? Are you some kind of aliens!?”

                “Yes,” Scribe said sadly.

                “What?” I said.

                “Scribe!” said the grasshopper cat, perturbed.

                “Lost aliens, unfortunately,” Scribe said, “Lost as two pairs of Crarss Snars living on this planets moon. And it doesn’t matter anymore, Page. Even if she tries to tell someone, it’s not as though they would believe her, unless they were complete idiots, of course.”

                Page narrowed its grasshopper eyebrows. “No situation should justify breaking the intergalactic law. Even if she might have already known, you should never actually willingly reveal your identity, you blockhead.”

                Scribes black face turned a light red shade. “Who are you calling a blockhead, you dust-made piece of junk? I followed your advice, and look where it’s gotten us! You’re supposed to be top-made, and I paid good money for you, saving up every scrim bit of scrum, but it’s just like I pulled you out of some ditch somewhere! It took me several months of scratching the blackened egg-bits off the ships that came in the Space Harbor, I mean, would it kill you to at least pay attention to where we’re going!?”

                “Hey! That was partly your fault in the first place, don’t you just go placing all the blame on me! Besides, I am top-made! If I’m malfunctioning, than it’s the fault of the owner for mis-caring for me!” Page’s grasshoppers scattered and swarmed Scribe’s Shadow. I didn’t know what that was supposed to accomplish, but it succeeded in annoying Scribe; he was dancing around in anger. They seemed to have forgotten about me completely. But it was then I realized I was quite angry myself. What did he mean, no one would believe me, unless they were complete idiots!? Wasn’t that just an indirect insult to me? And, I realized, even if they had told themselves to be aliens, they still hadn’t even had the decency to explain what they were, and what they were doing here! I mean, really, when I ask a question, answer it completely! It might be true that no one would believe me, but I bet a photo would stir things up a bit.

                I pulled out my camera from my bag, and in the precious moments they were distracted in their stupid feud, I took a lovely shot of a million grasshoppers jumping on what looked like a black mirage thing. Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but it was something. Unfortunately, the camera click had focused their attention away from their fight, and they were both looking at me curiously. I sighed, calmly buttoned the camera in my bag, and booked it.

                I was hoping they wouldn’t recognize what a camera was, but it looks like I had run out of luck on that one, because from behind me they started yelling.

                “Catch her!” I heard both Scribe and Page say. I took a peek behind me, and immediately let out a shriek, because right behind me was a cloud of grasshoppers closing in on me. Now, I wasn’t one for being afraid of bugs, like those snobbish high-heeled pink girls I’ve seen on TV. are, but when a whole cloud of them are coming after you, you tend to find it a tad displeasurable. Especially if these grasshoppers are controlled by unidentified aliens that look like figments of your imagination.

                But despite the sudden rush of adrenaline, luck was not on my side that day. The cloud of grasshoppers overtook me, and I soon found myself sprawling on the ground, screaming as the insects ran into the insides of my clothes. That was not a pleasant experience, let me tell you. But as soon as they dispersed, I looked around for my camera, only to find it disappeared.

                “Hey,” I said squinting at Scribe and Page, “Give me back my camera.”

                “No way, you think we’re stupid?” said Page, “We’ve hidden where you absolutely won’t be able to find it. So give it up, and help us.”

                “And maybe we’ll give it back,” said Scribe.  

                I wasn’t about to give up easily though. They hid it in the space of three seconds? I overturned several rocks around me, and circled around the area looking behind objects. Scribe and Page stood watching me.

                Finally Page rolled his eyes. “I told you it’s in a place where you’ll never find it. No matter how many times you walk in circles, it’s not going to pop out in front of you. Do you humans always do these kinds of pointless actions?”

                “Technically, it’s in a naturally created dimension pocket,” Said Scribe. “It might be easier if we show you.”  He reached his Shadow hand into the air, and it seemed to ripple around as half of his arm disappeared. It reminded me of someone reaching their hand into the water. A second later he pulled out the rest of his arm, and my camera, which promptly dropped through his shadow grip and onto the dusty ground. Instinctively Scribe reached down to pick it up, but stopped halfway, and straightened up, as though remembering something.

                “Can you not touch anything?” I asked him. Page seemed to be able to, made of grasshoppers, and all that.

                “Well, yes, I can, but not here,” He said. There was frustration in his voice. “I am able to, back on my home planet, but anywhere other than that is only able to physically be felt by Page and other ZeroGrades.”

                “ZeroGrades?” I asked. “What are those?”

                “Ah, they are like Page; they create themselves out of substance and help their owners. Back home it’s dust; here it’s insects, apparently.”

                “Why can’t they use the dust here?”

                “It’s horrid!” Page cut in, sitting statue like on a nearby rock. “It’s about the difference of wearing silk, and then putting on some muddy wool, moth-eaten cloth! It might just be dirt, but between planets, it makes all the difference. The dust back home is a result of trillions of years of asteroid sea grounding and the mixture of the Giganticus spider’s webs. The stuff here is just broken rock. It’s not much for the wearing sort.”

                “Does he have some sort of alien fashion fetish?” I asked Scribe, pointing to Page. He shook his head. There was silence for a few moments.

                “What are you two, really?” I asked.

                “That’s a difficult question to answer, human,” Said Page, “No one anywhere can say what they truly are.” He began flicking sand off the rock he was sitting on. “Can you say what you really are?”

                “I’m a human,” I said, puzzled by his question.

                “And what, per say, is a human? Is it really just an animal that walks around on two feet at the top of its food chain? No, we could come up with technical answers all day, but at the bottom of all logic, we’ve never had a real answer, and never will. No one knows what they are, so the best they can do is answer the next best question.”

                “And what is that?” I asked.

                “Who they are.” Page slid yawningly into a cat-stretch.  “For example, I could tell you that I’m an artificial soul created for the sole purpose of serving mankind. Or I could try to explain to you that Scribe here is human like you, even your age, but he’s simply not here in his physical body. What you see here is just his Shadow. But would that really answer your question? And if it did, would it matter?”

                “What do you mean by shadow?” I said. “I mean, Scribe looks like he’s shadow-y and all, but how is that possible? And you’re some kind of artificial soul? Like a self-aware robot from Sci-Fi?”

                “In order to travel through space, our technology has gone through a revolution the last four hundred years. I hear the same thing has gone around on this planet and you’ve gotten to your moon?” Scribe asked me, cocking his head. I nodded.

                “It’s only been about a hundred, though,” I said.

                “Yes, well, we’ve gotten to the point where we can go almost anywhere thanks to a couple of cutting devices. Some scientists finally discovered a way to travel faster than light, and how to make it possible. By unbinding the matter that connects our soul and shadow to our bodies, we can stay on our planet, but at the same time travel through space. But cutting your soul away is risky- it is the same process by which you die- so I decided to cut my shadow away instead. Spiritual energy and Dark energy travel faster than light.”

                “Well that’s interesting,” I said, not understanding at all. “And, somehow you got lost?”

                “There’s a pull between your physical body and shadow or spirit, so usually you don’t get lost, but that tin-can over there distracted me, and we went too far out. The farther you go out, the less you can feel the pull. We can’t feel it at all anymore. It’s dangerous to be separated from your body for long periods of time- it can put you into a coma, or even kill you,” Scribe said.

                “Which is where the situation comes to you,” said Page. “We know there’s a map somewhere in this area, but that’s as far as our instruments can tell us. It would help us a lot if someone who lived here could relay us information.”

                “I really don’t have any information about a map, though,” I said.

                “If you could just do a bit of detective work…” Scribe said.  His body seemed to be getting grayer, and with a start, I realized I could look through him. Page’s grasshoppers started scattering here and there.

“I will, I will, I’ll go ask the neighborhood,” I said quickly, “but are you fading?”

“There’s only so much time dark matter can stay out in this desert sun,” said Scribe. “It’s about time we took shelter in a dimension pocket. We’ll be here tomorrow for any information you pick up.”

“Will you give me back my camera?” I asked.

“Once we can leave, human,” said Page.  He pounced into the air and disappeared, with the vision ripples dancing in my eyes.

“Goodbye,” said Scribe. And he walked into the dimension pocket thingy and disappeared.

I sat there for a while by myself, looking at the place where they vanished. After a few minutes I stood up and started walking home.

“Now that was the strangest thing in my life so far,” I muttered, scratching the rocky dirt with my shoes.

               

               

                “Grandma,” I said, with my fork piercing a piece of meat, “did you know I met a couple of aliens today?”

                “Hmm, eat your peas,” She said, twirling some pasta on a fork.

                “They were looking for a type of intergalactic map.” I shoved the pork inside my mouth and chewed. “But I told them I didn’t know anything. Do you?”

                “You and Amelia, always such imaginations,” She opened and closed her eyes.

                “My mother?”

                “Yes, I remember her talking about some sort of aliens or some such at one time. If there was an intergalactic map, she would have had it.” She reached over and spooned some more of those green little spheres onto her plate. “Now eat your peas, and stop talking nonsense.”

                My mother, huh. I stared at the ceiling on my bed. I didn’t really know too much about my mother. But this whole coincidence was weird. It could just be a fluke, but what if she was telling the truth, like I did? Well, it’s the only lead I’ve got, I thought, Might as well check it out. It is my mother after all; so it will be easier to do detective work. There was no use asking anyone else in the neighborhood: if my grandma didn’t know something, no one did. She was the oldest person in the shaggy town, and she had lived there her whole unfortunate life.

                I rolled over, breathing in the musky scent of my pillow. But even if my mother had had alien acquaintances, how would that help me find the map? I stared out my window, puzzling the question over and over in my sleep-numbed brain.

                At least the stars were clear.

                Aw, well, I thought, it’s been a long, weird day. I burrowed my way into the blanket and after a little while, I fell asleep.

                The next morning was decidedly dust-colored. After a jellied toast breakfast, I made my way into the attic, where the dirt that had blown up there had decided to settle and have happy families. As a result, every time I moved something I had a coughing fit partnered by sneezing. I ended up wearing a bandana over my nose and mouth that I had found in the corner (after shaking it out). Everything that my mother had ever touched had been stored up there in decrepit cardboard boxes, never seeing daylight since she had owned them. I had been up there before, for nostalgia and curiosities sake, and for something to do on boring days (I’ve had plenty of those, trust me). But I had never come across anything even remotely alien relative. So I had little faith I would find anything. But I decided I had better check anyways, now that I was actually looking for something. The situation was pretty laughable, actually, so I was in a sense enjoying myself while staining my legs with dirt, ruffling through old things. How many people could say that they had looked through a family member’s things searching for alien objects?

                I pulled out thing after thing; old dresses still smelling faintly of her perfume, photo albums, stuffed animals that were falling apart from her childhood, etc. Everything had that glue-like papery scent that comes to things when they haven’t been used, or when they have become incredibly old. It reminds me of the smell of when you open an old yellowed book and stick your nose into it. It’s the smell of mysterious things, abandoned things, or treasured things. As a child I had always been drawn to that scent.

                But despite searching for over an hour, I found nothing that led me closer. There were no diaries, no records, except for the photo albums, and they didn’t hold anything for the situation despite being fun to flip through. I was forced to give up. I sighed, stood, and dusted myself off.

It was time to go see the aliens.

                At first I thought they might not be there anymore. When I got to Silver City there was no trace of any extraterrestrial activity. But they had said they would be here, didn’t they? I wasn’t stupid enough to do the typical movie thing and wonder if it was all just in my imagination. No, they were here. I could feel it. It was the neck-pricking sensation you get when someone’s watching you. But why weren’t they coming out?

                “Hey!” I yelled, annoyed, “I’m here, you know!”

                And from the corner of my eye I saw something move on my bag. But when I looked over, nothing was there. Out of a curiosity, I opened the flap to my bag, and a thousand grasshoppers burst out like a bomb.

                “Agggh!” I screamed out of reflex. Page reconstructed himself, landing in front of me.

                “Good, it seems you have no more devices to prove our existence in your possession,” He said.

                “Of course I don’t, stupid!” I said, stamping my foot.  Then I looked at my hand and realized I had pulled the button off my bag in my surprise.

                “Have you found anything?” Scribe materialized to my left.

                “Don’t go through my stuff!” I yelled at Page, and then, in a softer tone to Scribe “No, sorry, only that my mother knew about aliens too, or was just a crack pot. I didn’t find anything leading to your map.”

                “Oh,” he said sadly.

                “What are you guys gonna do now?”  I shoved the blue button into my pocket to sew back on later.

                Scribe and Page looked at each other. It was Scribe that answered.

“We still have one more lead, so it’s not like its completely hopeless. We know that the map is in this area, and I narrowed it down to these ruins here- what are they called?”

                “Silver City,” I said, “it was a smelter.”

                “Yeah, that, and the signal seems to be coming from underground.”

                “Underground? Like buried? I’ve seen stuff like that in pirate movies, you know, ‘X’ marks the spot, but there’s not really an ocean around here is there? It doesn’t fit.” I shook my head.

                “The insects know more of the worlds than humans do,” Scribe said. I pouted.

                I followed them as they walked to a strange concrete box-like room that I had puzzled over for hours. The top was covered in concrete, and the effect was that you looked down into an eaten away hole into a collection of water. Whenever it had rained it seemed that it collected vast amounts, and because of the shade it was in, it never just evaporated into dust like everything else. I supposed I just stared at it because I had never really seen any sort of large body of water in my life, so to me it was rather beautiful and mysterious, even trapped in such a strange way. I had imagined on several occasions jumping into it, but it would’ve been near impossible to get out, and besides that, it was just a little too dark and deep to me. I could imagine a kind of water monster trapped in there, trying to get out.

“Wait, you mean, in here?” I said, looking doubtfully into the dark water.

“You shouldn’t come along,” Said Scribe, “it’s too dangerous for a breathing entity.”

“No,” I said, deciding quickly, “I’m coming.” There was no way that I was going to let the only interesting meeting I had in my life end this way. Besides, he said ‘shouldn’t’ didn’t he? That meant there was a way that I could go with them without drowning. Probably.

“She’ll just be in the way,” said Page, his grasshoppers dispersing.

Scribe sighed.

“Maybe, maybe not. But it seems she’s set on coming with us. Page, you know what to do.”

“You always were bad at arguing with women,” grumbled Page. I felt him circle around my neck.

“Kay, little girlie, when you get in the water just breathe normally,” He said. “I’m your oxygen tank.”

“How does-“I started.

“Page can also create his body out of air,” Scribe cut in grinning, “He was only in grasshoppers before to be seen.”

“But won’t that mean I’m breathing him?”

“Despite being able to build my body in different things, I am not able to differ my mass. You have approximately 5 breaths you can take out of me before I have to recreate my body out of something else.” Page said, relaxing on my shoulder.

“But that’s still-“

“Just follow me,” said Scribe, disappearing into the hole.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Page said next to my ear. I ignored him, swung my scrap-bag onto the dirt, and jumped down into the hole, gasping at the sensation of being in water. It was a good thing I knew how to swim despite being brought up in a desert. I looked around in the water for Scribe, remembering he was a shadow. How would I follow him? But I was answered by a light floating in the water. It was Scribe, all bright as day. How was he doing that? I wondered. But I decided I would ask him when we got to the other side of the water. I ducked my head in the water and swam after. A bubble appeared around my mouth and nose that I recognized as Page. I hesitatingly took an experimental breath, surprised that my respiratory system worked fine in the situation. It was still weird to be breathing a body though. I noticed the bubble got smaller with each breath.

I followed the light I knew as Scribe down farther into the water, and through a small opening in the wall near the bottom that was just big enough for me to squeeze through. It was all dark except for the bright image of Scribe burning into my eyes. But it was beautiful to see the light reflecting all around almost like a halo across the concrete tunnel the hole followed into. I was down to the fifth breath by the time the tunnel curved suddenly upwards and I broke to the surface.

I took several deep breaths, swimming around disoriented. It was pitch black except for Scribe. He acted like a lantern, brightening up everything around him. I noticed he was standing on a kind of shore, so I swam over to him and climbed up on the ledge of rock like a wet rag, soaking everywhere. Miraculously, Scribe was not in the least bit wet. I should have expected that though, after all, he was a shadow. I stood up and wrung out the edge of my shirt, enjoying the waterfall that fell from it. I don’t think I could envy Scribe or Page even if I tried. I mean, yeah, there had been several times in my life that I wished that I could turn invisible, or have some weird super ability. But it was just too much fun to have a real body. What could it be like not to get wet, to not even be able to touch things? I think I would just hate it, and I think Scribe hated it too. With their technology, they could travel the universe, see the universe. But they could never touch it, claim it for their own. To them it was probably like a chocolate bar on a TV screen; they wanted it, they could see it, but they can’t reach out and eat it. I suddenly knew the purpose of creating a (what did they call it?) ZeroGrade like Page. A ZeroGrade had the ability to touch the worlds they could see for them. But Scribe had a real body, I remembered. He had a human body like mine back on whatever far-off planet of his he belonged to. Suddenly I was plagued by a thought I couldn’t get rid of. I wonder what he looks like? I studied Scribe’s shadow figure, taking in his translucent back. Handsome? Dashing? Pimply? Skinny? Ugly? Chubby? Short? Tall? What color hair? I was suddenly sad that I didn’t know these small things about him. Going on guesses, he was probably a tiny bit taller than me, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t fat. I could tell that much at least, going by his shadow.

                “What now?” I asked, shivering a little.

                “I don’t know,” He said, glancing my way. “The signal is close, but it’s echoing here, so I can’t locate it exactly.”

                “We’ll probably get to it by following this tunnel,” said Page, crouching next me. I was surprised to see him made all out of water.

                Scribe seemed to hang back. I peered ahead of his light body into the dark tunnel beyond. Then I thought of something.

                “You’re not…scared of the dark, are you?” I asked, wonderingly.

                Scribe made a million refusal sounds at this question, going so far as fake laughing. But after a break of silence, he relented.

                “A little,” he admitted. And that was as far as he would go.

                I sighed. Picking myself up, I scooted myself in front of him, looking into the blackness and back at him.

                “Then I’ll go first,” I said. But I wasted the moment by snickering a little, covering my mouth with the palm of my hand.

                “C-can you blame me!?” yelled a trembling Scribe with a red-tinted face. “I have a g-“

                “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you have a good reason, sorry, sorry,” I laughed, holding my stomach, “but isn’t it just a little funny that a being made out of whatchma-callit dark matter- is scared of the dark? A shadow!”

                “It’s because!” yelled Scribe to the ceiling, “Because of the time-“

                “We’re wasting too much time here,” Page said suddenly. I stopped laughing, and we both looked at him, in all his grumpy glory. I didn’t know the reason why, but I realized he was right.

                “Don’t forget, we’re searching for an intergalactic map,” he said, licking his water ears like a mistreated kitten. “Just because we’re on a planet not introduced to intercommunication with the universe does not mean they left this place undefended. Let us hope they might have neglected that part, but, um, what do say here? Something better safe-”

                “Than sorry,” I finished for him helpfully after I got what he was trying to say. “Better safe than sorry.”

                “Yes, exactly.”

                “But wait a minute, you don’t actually think there’s going to be giant spiders and creepy alien stuff guarding this thing, do you? ‘Cuz I don’t wanna die just yet.”

                “No, at least, let’s hope not.”

                “I think Page is trying to say that there is little chance they left this place undefended, and since we don’t know what kind of defenses they have, that it’s best to be on our toes,” Said Scribe, turning my way to explain things like he always does. “But at the same time, there’s little chance of some alien beast guarding it here- it is another planet. It wouldn’t suit its needs if there was one. So rest your jellyfish on that one.”

                “Never mind,” Said Page as I hesitated stepping into the tunnel, thinking of all the alien movies I had seen, “I’ll go first.” He pawed his way up front and stepped lightly but confidently, forcing us to follow- me in the middle and Scribe in the back. I felt like a damp sandwich on a secret mission.

                But if it was a secret mission, then it was a very beautiful one. Scribe’s light from the back echoed off the walls and glittered off the tiny stalactites clinging to the concrete ceiling, making them shine like jewels. It was not unlike walking through a dream.

                “How is there water here?” I asked, feeling a small drip fall onto my face like a tear.

                “It’s probably a rift.” said Scribe, studying the cave-like space. “A space rift from this world, but not complete- it’s mixing in with the matter of the original.”

                I kept quiet, pretending I had understood what just came out of his mouth. We moved along like a train down the tunnel, my feet occasionally tripping up on small rocks and stalagmites. The tunnel was just big enough that we had some arm room, but so that it was impossible to walk side by side. I found myself sliding my hands across the slick wet walls, feeling the rock-hard mineral deposits formed by years and years of time. This was an entirely new experience to me. But I found myself enjoying it, even the cold that was starting to seep into my bones. When my teeth started chattering, I just laughed, though I noticed my hands were turning a bit blue, so I stuck them under my damp, but warm armpits.         But after a few more minutes, it was starting to get a bit much.

                Never thought that there would be a time I would miss the desert sun, I thought.

                “Are you cold?” asked Scribe, peering at me from behind.

                “Y-yeah, a l-little,” I said, stuttering as my teeth clanged together uncontrollably.

                “Um,” said Scribe hesitatingly, “this might help.”

                And he put his hands on my shoulders.

                Of course I didn’t feel them, but I could see them, and I watched as they fell from on my shoulders into my shoulders on each step I took. But after a second I felt myself beginning to warm up, starting from where his hands were, all the way down into the bottom of my shoes. It was the comforting, dry kind of warm, the kind you might get when you lie down on some asphalt around a kids playground after dusk.

                “How are you doing that?” I asked, relaxing from my shivers into the warmth.

                “Shadows are not only dark, like you might think,” said Scribe, “there are times when your shadow disappears into the daylight. It’s at those times that it’s absorbing it, eating it almost, to stay alive.”

                “Shadows…eating light?” I asked.

                “Everything feeds on something, even the things you think are not alive. Most things feed on light, like darkness, and light feeds on darkness. That’s why one of them must disappear when they meet.”

                “Are you glowing because of the light you absorbed?” I asked, tired in the comfort of the warmth.

                “Yes, though I am expending it.”

                “But won’t that harm you?”

                “A little.”

                “Then shouldn’t you stop?”

                “No.”

                We walked on a little more this way, until I reached up and put my hand on my shoulder where his hand was.

                “I’m good now,” I told him.

                He removed his hands, and the source of warmth disappeared. I missed it a little, but I was warm enough. Toasty, even.

                “Why are you scared of the dark?” I asked him after a little while.

                “There was this time, um, you know,” he took a deep breath and continued, “I disappeared. Shadows can disappear in daylight, but only at the right angle and intensity. It’s so much easier to disappear in the dark…and dangerous. It’s hard to get yourself back.”

                “Like finding a drop of water in the ocean?” I asked, cocking my head, thinking.

                “A little easier than that, but yeah.”

                “ I get it, but shouldn’t you be more afraid of the light? You did just say light eats dark, and shadows are typically dark, aren’t they?”

                “Shadows are a bit different,” Said Page looking ahead, “they are part of something, rather than just light and dark themselves. They are a part of life, which also makes them a part of death. When you look at your shadow, it is always lying on the ground or on something else, correct?”

                “Yes, and not always the right length or size,” I said, “what’s all that about?”

                “A shadow shows where the end is. But the end can change, though it is always the same.”

                “Some of the old scientists thought if we cut away our shadows, we might live forever,” said Scribe, kicking a rock, but watching his foot just slide through it. “But just because your death is far away from you does not mean it’s not there, just because it’s not attached to you. They even tried to destroy the shadows, but the patients they tried that on died. Life is nothing without Death.”

                “And Death is nothing without Life,” whispered Page. “They made a mistake.”

                “Yes,” Said Scribe, “they did. They thought our shadows were our death. But they weren’t. They were only a semblance of it. A map to it, you might say. Our death was in ourselves, twisted in with our life being. If you removed one, you removed the other.”

                “And something without life or death was created,” said Page.

                “Huh?” I asked, “what was that?” But neither Scribe nor Page would answer.

                We had stopped at a dead end.

                It was just a concrete wall with no side passages or nothing. It was covered in moss, and a small ray of light from outside made it in from a crack in the ceiling.

                “Oh no, what now?” I said, stomping my foot in frustration.

                “Wait a minute,” said Page sniffing at the wall, “Scribe, come over here.”

                Scribe squeezed past me, making sure he didn’t touch me, although he could’ve just walked through me. It was a respecting thing, and I recognized that.  He crouched down next to the dead end and studied it.

                “Page, right here,” he said, pointing at a clump of moss. Page stood up on his hind legs (still water) and moved the moss he was pointing at aside with his blue paw. I stood up on my toes, attempting to see.

                “It’s a door!” I said in surprise, seeing a keyhole. But by standing tiptoe, I had neglected the slippery flooring, and fell to the hard ground with a crash. “Ow!”

                “Page, get my key would you?” Scribe said. Page twirled in the air, and with a flourish of ripples he removed a key attached to a leather necklace from another pocket dimension. The poor cat robot tried to get it in the keyhole and turn it, but paws aren’t really that great for things like that.

                “Here, let me,” I said, taking the key from him and turning it in the lock. The mechanism was surprisingly easy to open, despite having moss covering it. A small clicking sound satisfied our gratification at opening it. Hesitatingly, I pushed open the door, sliding it inside a little so I could peek in. It was a large room, cave-like, and beautiful. There was a large pool of water on the right side that I couldn’t help but shove the door all the way open and run to right away. There were rays of light coming from cracks in the rock ceiling that allowed you to see the room without Scribe’s light. Scribe and Page were a little more cautious when coming in, checking each of their steps with their eyes. They explored the room while I lazily looked on, playing with my fingers in the water.

                The room was large. It might have been about the size of my auditorium at school, only distorted into a not-quite-circular shape. The only sound audible was the dripping of water and the splashing of my fingers. If I had been there alone, it would have been almost creepy, but since I wasn’t, all I found it was pretty. There were cave crystals everywhere, reflecting the light; blue, gold, cream. The pool of water made reflecting squiggles on the ceiling, moving like snakes made of light. Moss was clinging to the walls, and hugging the floor. A few straggly mushrooms had popped out of the little ground there was, making fairy rings where the light was streaming in. Scribe and Page were exploring the room, but visibly growing more and more frustrated.

                “It’s a dead end!” Said Scribe, turning around in circles.

                “The map is close,” said Page jumping onto a rock, “but nowhere to be found. We’re running out of time.”

                “How much time do you have left?” I asked.

                “Not much,” said Scribe, “Not much at all.” He sank onto a rock and held his head. “I should have never gone out so far.”

                “It was hardly your fault,” said Page, “who knew we were being drawn to your death?”

                I turned back my attention to the water I was playing with. Something was glowing in there.

                “It didn’t feel like death. It felt like I was being pulled to something else,” I heard Scribe say in the back of my head, “almost like destiny.”

                “I don’t believe in destiny,” said Page, “Too many variables.”

                I reached my hand in the water and tried to grab hold of it. It was still, yet for some reason hard to get.

                “I do,” I said, “just a little.” And I managed to snatch the thing up in my hand. I carried it out of the water and peered at it.

                It had a beautiful yellow glow, pulsating in my hand like it was alive. But it was just a small round thing with no eyes, nose, or tail. The only feature it had was that it was squishy.

                “What are you holding?” asked Page, coming over. I held it out to him. “Ahh, don’t do that !” he said, jumping away.

                “What?” I asked, confused at his fear.

                “That’s a Rain Fetter- it feeds on all matter that’s not physical! Get it away from me!”

                “That means I’m fine, then,” I said. I wiggled my finger at it, and too my surprise, a mouth appeared on the thing from nowhere and closed over the whole of it. It had no teeth, so what I felt was a strange sucking sensation that made me laugh. I pulled my finger out with a spluttering noise and watched the mouth fade away.

                “How come it’s here?” I asked, “I thought no alien creatures could be here.”

                “That’s not an alien creature,” Said Page, a safe distance away, “Those are everywhere. Your planet just hasn’t discovered them yet.”

                “Huh. Never thought I’d discover a new life form this summer. Pretty cool.”

                I played with it a little bit more before it wriggled out of my hands and rolled off my lap. Instead of rolling back to the water like I thought it would, it squeezed its way to my pocket, sniffing.

                “It….wants something in your pocket,” said Page in surprise. I wiggled my fingers into my damp jean pocket and pulled out my poor blue button I had ripped off earlier.

                “What’s it want with this?” I asked, waving it in front of the yellow squishy. Before I could react, its mouth materialized again, covering over my entire hand, and when it sunk back to its original shape, the button had disappeared.

                “Agh, it ate it!” cried Page, electrified on his toes.

                “What’s going on?” said Scribe, who had come over in his curiosity.

                The Rain Fetter glowed white, and hot, seeming almost like it would burst. Around the room a subtle blue glow began to light up the room. I stood up with the poor bulging fetter in my hands, watching in mystical amazement as lines appeared curving up towards the middle point of the ceiling and down to the floor in a globe shape. Large and small spheres began to materialized, twisting and turning in made out circles cluttering our way in 3D. I was stepping in several thousand galaxies at once, the light moving in complicated puzzles through our heads and bodies.

                “It’s the Intergalactic map!” cried Scribe in joyful surprise. “But how did it get here? What did you do?”

                “It ate my button,” I said, showing Scribe the Rain Fetter. He jumped back in fear, but leaned in for a closer look.

                “How clever. They hid the map in the making of one of these abominable creatures so we wouldn’t be able to touch it.”

                “She’s not abominable,” I said, sticking out my tongue.

                “She?” cried Scribe.

                “Yes. She’s very easily offended, you see.”        

 The Rain Fetter did look a little put out- it was flickering from its white to yellow with a bluish hint at Scribe’s comment.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna give her a name- how’s Eureka? You know, for the surprise with the map and all. No?”

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t give it a name!” He threw up his arms. “Though I do think Eureka doesn’t really suit it.”

“Hmm, you thought so too? How about Ham?”

“What is it now, a Guinea Pig?”

“Henry?”

“That’s not even a girl’s name!”

“Scribe!” said Page, “Pay attention and come over here!”

I watched Scribe hover away and the two of them ponder over the extremity of the vast Universe. Things I would probably never understand even if I had the patience to sit through a lecture on it. I sighed and sat down on a nearby rock, balancing the Rain Fetter on my lap. Two orange eyes popped out of its white glowing skin and stared at me.

“Didn’t know you had eyes,” I said to it.

The Rain Fetter rolled its eyes to Scribe, and then back to mine meaningly.

                “No,” I said decisively, “It wouldn’t be good.”

                The eyes stared at me a little longer and popped back out of sight. I sighed again. Were these creatures always this perspicacious? I was going to have to be careful.

                “Your button was probably a key,” said Page, coming over to lonesome little me. I looked at him.

                “What do you mean? Like Scribe’s? And how did his fit in that door anyways?”

                “His key was given to him by his mother. She was an explorer, or so he tells me. Say, where did you get that button?”

                “It was a possession of my mother’s.”

                “A-ha! I knew it. Your parents must have met at some point and created this whole jumbo thing at one point,” said Page to himself, “how wonderful, the chances of the children meeting and finding the map they worked together to hide so well!”

                “Did his mother die?” I asked, lowering my voice. Scribe was still scratching his chin over the map.

                “He’s an orphan, I believe,” said Page, looking at him. “Mother went off somewhere and never came back. I don’t remember him ever mentioning a father. Probably never had much of one.”

                “How’d he survive?”

                “A friend of his mothers got him a job with his company cleaning the bottoms of the sky ships that came in Moon Harbor. It had room and board, and a small amount of allowance. He never wanted that kind of life, though. As soon he saved up enough, he purchased me and got his shadow cut. Now he works on the ships in the day, and explores space while he sleeps.”

                “But I’ve seen him in the day several times,” I pointed out.

                “Your days are different than planet Atarion’s days.”

                We watched Scribe for a few moments tracing the maps lines with his white hands.

                “So he wanted to be an explorer like his mother,” I whispered, “I don’t know why, but our situations are surprisingly similar.”

                “I don’t know if he ever believed she died,” said Page. “He might have come out here half-hoping to find her.”

                “If I hadn’t seen my mother die, I would have done the same thing,” I said. “Even when you do see it, it’s hard to believe. You go around feeling like you’re in a nightmare for a few days wishing so hard you could, but you can’t wake up from it because it’s reality.”

                We sat in our own thoughts, not speaking a word.

                “Page,” I said. “I’ll miss you guys.”

                “Missing’ is a human emotion,” He said, twitching his tail.

                I glanced over at him. After a few moments I continued.

                “When you met me, you called me a human. But isn’t Scribe a human too? And you seem almost like one, at least, in personality.”

                “Personality is different from emotion. Scribe is a human, but not one from here. You look somewhat smaller here, and have larger ears.”

                I touched my ears self consciously.

                “They’re not that large,” I said.

                “I think I’ve found a way to get back,” said Scribe, coming over excitedly.

                Page and I looked at each other.

                “Time to go then,” he said. I stood up.

                “How am I supposed to get back?” I asked.

                “Just step through this dimension portal,” Scribe said, motioning to what looked like a floating blue sphere in the air.

                “Couldn’t we have just taken that to get here?” I said.

                “It’s not safe to step through a portal before you know exactly where you are going,” said Page, “You could easily get more lost than you already were. Portals are only over short distances, and are hard to create. Make sure you walk as straight as possible so you don’t fall into some other entrance.”

                “Got it,” I said. As I walked over to it, the Rain Fetter in my hands bulged suddenly and choked out my button. As I stuffed the thing into my pocket, it jumped out of my arms and rolled into the pond, fading to yellow. The map around us disappeared.

                “Goodbye Gummie,” I said to the vanished Rain Fetter.

                Scribe came over to me.

                “I wish I could take you with me,” he said quietly.

                “I wish I could come with you too,” I said. “But it doesn’t seem possible.”

                “You’re right,” he said, “it isn’t. But when it is, I’ll come back. Will you wait for me?”

                “Of course,” I said, “how could I not wait for my two best friends in the universe?”

                I took a step towards the portal then turned around.

                “Goodbye Page,” I said to the fox/cat ZeroGrade. “Goodbye Scribe. I’ll see you again.”

                “Goodbye Teagan,” he said. I smiled and waved to my alien buds, not really wanting to go.

                And then I stepped through the portal.

                I don’t know how they got back to their planet, or even if they did. After I stepped through the portal I was back at the entrance of Silver City smelling the rotten egg smell of dimension travel, looking for people who weren’t there. I picked up my bag and walked home. There wasn’t anything else to do. I missed them already, even if it was just a human emotion.

Every Summer afterwards I’ve been looking for them, watching for a shadow and a ZeroGrade. I’ll go to Silver City and sit on the crumbling rock walls, remembering every detail of the reality that almost seems impossible. And while I wait, I write. I write of the things people don’t know, of the universe that is a balance of dark and light, of Rain Fetters and artificial souls, of Scribe and Page.  And when I’ll see them again, I’ll write of that. There are so many things I haven’t done yet. And my life won’t stop for me to catch up. So I’m going out to grab the things I want.  But I’m still waiting, and probably always will be, just for a little bit of magic and something out of the ordinary to happen.

I never did get my camera back.