The Weight of Stars: Prologue

Its a funny thing, lying on the floor with your life slowly draining from your veins. Its not funny, its terrifying and, in that moment where you embrace death, you realize how much you want to be alive. You almost pray for a miracle, someone to walk in and save you, but this is the culmination of what you wanted, right? Isn't this the out that you've been desperate for since you first saw his face twisted with anger and disillusionment?

I feel like I'm standing outside of my body, like I'm trapped in the mirror watching it all with terrifying clarity. What a mess I've made of everything. At the same moment that I'm drifting out, I'm pushing back in, trying to fix this. Its not too late, it can't be. My mother said there was always a light to carry you home if you were lost. I'm so lost right now. I want this sweet agony and I want to live. I want to live more than I've ever wanted it before.

I'm screaming. Not physically, but outside of my body I am screaming and pounding against the glass of the mirror. This isn't fair! It isn't right! I'm supposed to live a long and happy life! What have I done?

What have I done?

I sit down next to myself and watch my eyes dim.

"Don't go yet, buddy. Hang on, please! Please, don't go yet. We have to make it until Mom gets home. Please."

Its useless to plead, but I can't help it. I look back up at the mirror, fractured from where I smashed it with my fists. I have bits of glass embedded in my hands and a large piece clutched in my loosening grip.

The memories come rushing in, flooding out the bloody scene before me. And I guess there is nothing to do but to reminisce in my final moments. I stand up and follow a white rabbit, of sorts, to the tunnel of my memories. His smile. His lips pressed to mine as we stood under the changing poplar trees. His eyes when he told me that he loved me. His hand in mine.

I glance back at myself, hearing the sound of my sluggish heart as it struggles to save me. He had called me a brave heart, once. I suppose I still have a brave heart, it keeps trying, staggering on even though the rest of me is already limp with defeat. Sunshine beckons me back toward the memories and I don't look back again.

The Idealist

Looking at her, you would never guess that her heart beat like a lioness'.
She drove with the brashness of one who knows the roads, even if she didn't.
She dressed as though no one, but her, would notice her.
She dreamed with all the power that beat in her lioness heart.

They called her a stargazer.
They called her a fool.
They called her a dreamer.
They called her an idiot.

She never listened to them, her mind already taking her somewhere else.
She lived the way she wanted to. She dreamt and she danced.
She moved with the grace of a ballerina and the joy of a bird.
She dared to be an optimist in a world that frowned upon the word.

And when they came to break her spirit, she laughed at them.
When they came to take her joy, she fought back.
When they told her she was an idealist, she embraced the word.
When they tried to drag her down, she rose higher.

They tried to destroy Joan of Arc, but you cannot burn the spirit.
And, like Joan of Arc, she burned at the stake of lust and hatred,
but she did not die. She merely rose higher than any of them could imagine.
She transcended their ignorance and she changed the world with a word.

Imperfection

I have never been what one would call a "heart-breaker."
I have been a heart-mender, a heart-lover, a heart-mother.
I have been afraid of my own heart's desires and wishes.

When I say I've never been a "heart-breaker" I mean to say:
I've never been pretty.
I've never been gorgeous.
I've never been drop-dead sexy.

I have body issues.
I have acne.
I have a mustache. I have chin hairs, so very unladylike.
I am overweight.
My smile is crooked and I show far too much gum for my taste.
My feet are flat and my chest is too voluminous.
I have a pancake ass and I don't shave my legs.
I could careless about wearing make-up, but feel the need to hide.

I am as imperfect as you can get, in my own opinions.

I am a worry-wart.
I am anxious.
I have all kinds of emotional problems;
I play the depression drums until I can't even move.
I dance myself through anxiety attacks and moments where I'm too scared.
I dream of days where I don't have to leave my house.
I berate myself for all my mistakes. I over-think. I over-drink and
over I go, over that edge, into something deeper than a sink.
I take all the cruel, off-handed, comments to heart and my wounds are raw.

But I'm an idealist. A word that seems so dirty in today's world.
I believe in the magic of just one kind sentence. One sweet gesture.
I believe in the power of a word, just one.
I believe that I could change the world, because all it takes is one voice.

I would rather be a heart-fixer, a heart-gatherer, a heart-whisperer
than a heart-breaker any day of the week.
Because who are we without our imperfections and our flaws?
Who are we without the things that made us into who we are?

Bookish

She always sat in the corner of the book store, huddled in a corner with a cup of high priced coffee, barricaded by the shelves. Behind the walls were wars and love affairs, murders and rising kingdoms, things that couldn't possibly exist but she wished would. Every day she grew smaller and every day she grew bigger. She grew a spine, her ribs becoming covers to hold the writing of her insides, her fingers grasping the pages of her body. She sat huddled in a corner, barricaded by the shelves of romance and horror, waiting for someone to pick her up and read her.

All of Her: Epilogue

I am sitting in the rectory of a church. My bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath clutched tightly in my hands. This scene is familiar. It is because of this that I'm so nervous. My mother is puttering around behind me. She is nervous for me. I wish I could ease her fears, as well as my own.

I stand up, my long, red and white gown pooling around my feet. I am barefoot, per my soon-to-be-husband's request. I hope he will be my husband. I can't be that unlucky, right? Dumped at the altar twice?

"It's time." My mother says. She is beaming. Have I ever seen her this happy? Perhaps on her own wedding day. I smile, nervously, and squeeze her hand. She opens the door and ushers me into the foyer. Kevin and Clark stand on either side of the double doors. Two guards at the gates of the castle, awaiting their orders.

Elizabeth is my flower girl and Kristopher stands at her side holding his ring bearer pillow. Emma and Sophie stand behind me, adjusting and re-adjusting my train so that it will ripple like small waves on the shore. Anna stands beside me, smiling at her children and me. I am shaking now. Brad and my mother come up and each give me a kiss on the cheek. They slip through the doors and Greg replaces Kevin at the door.

Kevin takes my hand and we hear the music start. Greg and Clark open the double doors so that I can see the inside of the chapel. As I start to walk in, Clark winks at me. I may have made a lot of mistakes, but at least I made a wonderful friend along the way.

Against all reason, I freeze at the beginning of the aisle. At the other end is Jae, his white sherwani with dark red embroidery perfectly matching my dress. He smiles at me, that beautiful and constant smile, and suddenly I want to fly down the aisle and into his arms. I feel like dragging my brother down the aisle with me, though decorum prevents me from doing so.

It seems hard to believe that it has been five years since David and Alice broke my heart. Its been a little more than two years since I gave up on ruining myself. Its been two years since I finally let Jae into my heart far enough to make me fall in love with him. Two years falling in love. Two years realizing I was in love.

As I float down the aisle on Kevin's arm, I can only see Jae. He has his long black hair, with its signature dark red strip, down around his shoulders. Noah is standing next to him, a few tears glittering on his lashes. I can't believe this, it feels like a dream.

Anna, Sophie and Emma follow closely behind me, gently carrying the excess of my white lace veil. Greg goes over to his video camera to make sure it is recording. My mother and Brad stand off to the side, holding hands.

After what feels like a century of walking, I am presented to Lee Jae Hwa. My rescuer, my mysterious kisser, my friend and lover. The man I, finally, decided to give my heart to.

I've never been so happy.

All the heartache, all the terrible decisions, everything, was just a prelude to this moment. It seems hard to believe that five years ago I was destroyed by betrayal on a beautiful beach where the two loves of my life fell in love with each other. Its hard to believe that any of the past few years have been real.

I think of our first encounter, in the bar, and I blush. I think of that first kiss and I want to have many more like them. For years and years to come. I think of the first time I realized that I might be in love with him and thinking I was so crazy. I still think I am crazy. Crazy for waiting so long to say yes to the one who had been chasing me for years. Crazy for making him run after me and save me from myself. For everything.

I don't want to get overly sentimental, but they say a girl gets that way on her wedding day. I don't want to look back anymore, after this I am only going to look forward.

In a white and red dress, barefoot and with honey-gold curls trailing down my back, I take Jae's hand.

Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Here's to the plunge.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Noah arrives a few minutes after three, the king of 'never on time.' I am sitting behind the counter with my co-worker, chatting, when he walks in. He smiles and waves. Tossing a good bye over my shoulder, I follow Noah out the door. I hook my arm through his and we skip to his car, Dorothy and the Scarecrow off on an adventure in Oz. Noah takes me over to a new restaurant, the "Wicked Delicious," and before I know it we are seated with villainous menus full of "Witch's Brewskis."

"So, spill." says Noah, handing the menu to our waitress, who is dressed up like Harley Quinn decided to be a candy striper.

"I don't know that I can be serious in this environment, Noah." I reply, also handing my menu to the waitress. She smiles, brightly, before wandering off to get our drinks.

"Well let's start with something easy. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know what I was thinking." I bury my face in my hands.

"I mean what made you think that was an okay thing to say?" he asks. I make a noise half way between a groan and a snarl.

"I don't know! I just, I was feeling too much."

"Like what? Like Celine Dion too much?" Noah leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. "Like, with your lady bits?"

"No!" I say, a furious wave of pink quickly taking over my whole face. “Well, maybe a little. But Noah I felt something else too. Like butterflies. Like, I don’t know. It was more than sexual attraction.”

“So what are you going to do?” The waitress returns with our orders and for a moment we are both lost in chewing. In-between bites of something called “Voodoo Chicken,” I stare off into space, almost longingly.

“What are you going to do?” he asks again, pulling me out of myself. He stares at me, quite intently, and I feel like he’s trying to peer into my skull.

“I don’t know. I don’t have his number even! And all I know is his first name. That’s not much to go on.” I push my food around on my plate for a minute, avoiding Noah’s eyes.

“So, how is it that he always knows where you are? Don’t you think that is a little creepy?” Noah takes a big bite of his “Ursula’s Seafood Salad” and stares me down.

“That, my dear Noah, is a very good question.”

"How do you intend to find out the answer?" he asked, taking another bite of his salad.

"Another very good question. I have no idea." I push my food around my plate some more and finally give up. I ask for a box and begin packing it up, while Noah takes care of the check.

"Might I suggest talking to him? I know its a crazy notion, but maybe you'll get an answer."

I look at him as if he just grew another head.

"You're suggesting I actually talk to him? You're not telling me to never see him again, get a restraining order, snap out of myself? Are you feeling well?"

"You know, I resemble the implication that I have always overreacted to situations. Resent, I mean resent." he smiles at me, inviting me to laugh at the joke and I smile. "Seriously though, Abe, I just want what ever is best for you. Destroying yourself over an asshole wasn't it and maybe this guy is the real deal and not a stalker. However, if he is a stalker, we always have Clark to defend us."

I laugh at that last, thinking of Clark fighting anyone, but quickly sober. Noah is right, damn it. He always is.

Somehow we find ourselves back in Noah’s car, driving back to the book store so I can pick up my car and go home. We ride in relative silence and I keep trying to think of ways that Jae isn’t as creepy as he seems.

At my car, Noah gives me a kiss on the cheek and I manage to drive myself home. Once I get there I flop on my bed, face first. Snuggles jumps onto the bed, beside me, and meows at me, nuzzling my head. I pat the bed a moment before my hand connects with a purring ball of fur and I pet him until he seems satisfied. I turn my head to look at him and he bumps my forehead, curling up next to my face.

We lay like this, Snuggles and I, for a good twenty minutes before I finally build up some semblance of motivation. I putter about the apartment for a moment, straightening miscellany before plopping down on my couch.

What if I’ve screwed everything up with Jae? What if he really is just some creepy stalker person? What if I’ve lost my damn mind? Oh, wait, that’s already happened. I heave a theatrical sigh, roll my eyes at my antics and decide I have to go to the beach.

I dig through my closet a moment, grabbing all the bits of my glow stick kite and a blanket to sit on, before leaving for the beach.

The drive doesn't soothe me and the more I think about the whole situation the more agitated I become. What if Noah is right and Jae is just like all the other men I've been with? A creep. Someone who just thinks he is madly in love with me. Someone who stalks me. I can't even stand to think about that, because I feel sick thinking about it. I realize that I actually have feelings for Jae, even though he is almost a complete stranger to me. My chest hurts as I pull into a parking spot. It continues to hurt as I unpack the car. And it hurts all the way down to the sand.

Sitting on the beach, my knees pulled up to my chest and my toes dug into the sand, I stare off into the horizon. My life has become soap operatic to the extreme and I brought it all on myself. I involved myself in dalliances, broke hearts, including my own; broke a nose, broke up a friendship. Resting my cheek against my knee, I sigh, again. A lot of things have become broken over this mess. And now, when I think I might have a chance to fix something, I realize that it might not be what it seems. And how can you fix something when you don't even know what it is.

As if he were summoned by my thoughts, Jae comes up and sits beside me. I don't jump, because when he sits down it feels as though he has been sitting beside me for years.

"How do you always know where I am?" I ask, glancing over at him. He looks very serious, his lime colored eyes searching the darkening horizon. "Are you stalking me?"

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" he replies, nonchalantly. He looks at me and I feel this rising bubble of something inside me. I don't know what to call it, this combination of hope and desire and fear, but it feels as though my chest may explode.

"Yes, it does."

"Its mostly coincidence, to be honest. Though, I feel like it is more fate than coincidence. I will admit to having some stalker-ish tendencies. I passed you and your girlfriend at the grocery store a couple times and then when I saw her picture in the obituaries I had to see you. I was worried about you, every time I saw you with her it was as if you had discovered color for the first time. I can't imagine what it must have been like to find her."

I feel myself tearing up, imagining Annabelle and I wandering the grocery store and him passing us.

"I may have also called every book store in the area. Twice." he looks sheepish at that last, ducking his head a bit. I laugh and, instinctively, lean over to kiss him. Its a short kiss, but when I pull away and look into his eyes, he pulls me back to him and kisses me in earnest. I feel all the mixed emotions expand in my chest, my face flushing with excitement and anxiety. After a moment, I push away, gently placing my hands against his chest and putting a silent wall between us.

"Abra," he says, looking concerned. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "No. I just, I'm not ready, Jae. I'm not ready to be in another relationship. I'm not ready, though I wish I were. I don't even know your last name or your phone number. You're like a ghost that appears to haunt me and then leaves me questioning my sanity. I don't know how to be around you because I have so many different feelings that won't let me think or breathe."

"Lee."

"What?"

"My last name is Lee. And my full name is Jae Hwa. I'll give you my phone number. I'm willing to go slowly. I'm willing to do anything you want. I'm willing to wait forever, Abra." He holds my hand in between both of his and looks at me, his face so serious, but his eyes are sparkling.

He says my name like it is the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. He says it and it is the most exciting and erotic thing I have ever heard. He says it and I believe he means every word he says. I look at him, the ache in my chest becoming almost unbearable. All I want is to be held.

"Abra," he gently pulls me toward him, mumbling my name into my hair. He hesitates a moment, to see if I will pull away again, and his eyes search my face for something I don't know. He sighs and holds me against his chest. He inhales slowly, as though he were trying to breathe all of me in.

"I love you." he says, pulling back to look at me, smiling. And I believe him.

The Gasp

He held her down, kissing her passionately.
She rocked against him, hands frantic.
He pressed himself into her and delighted in her gasp of pleasure.

Carousel (9/19/2013)

Georgia walked further into the abandoned apple orchard. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the twisted branches and a summer fog began to settle.

The sound of carnival music, drifting through the night air, seemed to announce her entrance. In the middle of the meadow, lit up like the fourth of July, stood an old carousel.

The horses rose and fell to the carnival music. The lights twirled and danced, illuminating the grassy meadow with pink and gold sparks.

The air bristled as she stepped toward the carousel and a great wind seemed to blow the lights out. She gasped, suddenly surrounded by shadows.

Phantom laughter sent shivers up her spine.

Her body was never found.

Android (9/18/2013)

Julia stepped out of the neon pools of light into the shadows of an alleyway. It seemed darker in the alley, as if the glittery psychedelia of the bar signs were being swallowed up. There was something else off about this particular alley, but she didn't turn away.

She felt drawn in, the fear and the curiosity driving her further and further into the dark. She reached a dead-end, almost close enough to kiss the white brick, and sighed. Gingerly, she caressed the brick, half expecting to find a knob or opening.

When an android, his synthetic flesh torn on his chest and face, walked through and grabbed her, she did not have the breath to scream.

The house is not for sale

There was a loud banging downstairs, like one of the children had climbed out of bed and was pounding on pots and pans. Jesse rolled over, groaning, and nudged his wife.

"Hmm..." she mumbled, rolling away from him. He rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow. The sun was streaming through the bay window of their bedroom, the smell of sea salt, ever present in their coastal Maine home, drifted past him and the banging seemed to increase.

"Honey," he murmured, leaning over and kissing her earlobe. She smiled, bumping her body into his and curling up further into the blankets. Smiling, he kissed her again and threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

His fuzzy slippers seemed to have disappeared and he swung himself, precariously, over the edge to glance under the bed. Oddly, there was no cat under the bed, her usual play place completely abandoned, and there were no slippers. Lifting himself back onto the bed, he glanced at the clock. It was only seven, the kids usually didn't wake up until nine or so. For a moment he considered flopping back onto the bed and just let the children do as they would, but the banging grew louder and there was no way he would go back to sleep now.

He yawned and stretched, scratching at himself a bit as he shuffled to the bathroom. A quick glance in the mirror showed him that he was in desperate need of a shave. Not that Abby minded his five o'clock shadow. He splashed some water on his face and thrust his fingers through the tangle of his brown hair. It was too early for the day to start like this, he thought, being careful to watch for toys on the stairs.

Everything became very quiet as he reached the second to last step. He half expected to hear little voices whispering, giggles or something, coming from the kitchen. Rounding a corner, he saw that the kitchen was empty and strangely clean. It wasn't that his wife kept a messy house, but with five children it was hard to keep things spotless. Except, the kitchen looked pristine, almost sterile. Had Abby stayed up all night cleaning?

He swung open the refrigerator door, expecting to grab a carton of milk, and gaped in shock. The fridge was not only barren, but it was not plugged in either. Cocking his head to the side, he closed the door, counted to ten and opened it again. It was still empty. He jumped when he heard the banging again. It sounded like it was coming from outside, but when he glanced out the window he didn't see anything.

He walked down the carpeted hallway toward the children's rooms, a feeling he couldn't quite explain settling in his bones, his feet no longer shuffling. He opened the door to Jack's room, expecting to bump into one of his son's elaborately laid out train tracks, but the room was bare. The walls, once painted with train cars, were white-washed and the furniture was gone. For a moment, all he could do was stare in horror, then he stumbled out and practically flew to the other children's rooms.

All five rooms stood barren, all the furniture gone and all the walls painted over. There were no children, no toys, no cat, no slippers, no food. Nothing. Reeling, Jesse slumped against the door frame, unable to process what was happening. Then, with a jolt, he ran toward the living room. The banging sound had returned, always just out of sight and, with it, he began to hear voices. Almost colliding with a built in shelf, he slid across the wooden floor and into the living room. A few pieces of furniture were covered with sheets and the door was wide open. He ran to the door and leaned out, glancing all around. At the end of the drive way he could see men, in paint splattered moving uniforms, loading furniture into a truck marked "Happy Harry's Moving and Painting."

"Hey!" he cried, waving his arms at the men. "Hey! You can't do that! Stop!"

The men seemed oblivious, continuing to move the furniture into the truck. Jesse tried to dash at them, but made it two steps off the porch before he felt something stop him. He punched at the invisible barrier, screaming at the moving men. He beat his fists against the air, ranting, tears streaming down his cheeks. Having heard the commotion, Abby came up behind him, her bathrobe wrapped about her and her face very pale.

"Jesse," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What's going on? Who are those men?"

"I don't know," he shouted, not turning to look at his wife, still pounding against the barricade.

"Honey, stop, please!" she cried, hugging him from behind. Leaning against the unseen wall, he sighed.

Gently, he undid her hold on him and turned so that he could hug her. They held each other for a moment, before they walked back into the house. What furniture was left in the living room was covered in white sheets, presumably to protect them from the painting that was going on. The wallpaper had been stripped from the walls and everything had been painted a shimmering shade of white. All the pictures were gone, all the cabinets empty. They sat across from each other on the kitchen floor, facing each other, but not looking at each other.

"I don't understand what's happening." said Abby, tears streaming down her face. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, something she hadn't done since she was a teenager. She kept imagining the faces of her children as they played on the beach, their faces shining in the sunlight.

They could hear the men working, coming in and out, shuffling the furniture. The smell of paint hung in the air, fighting with the clean smell of the sea. Slowly, the house became empty, as empty as the day they bought it. The men talked as they moved the furniture, laughing or arguing, it was hard to tell which.

"Do you remember when we bought this place?" asked Jesse, looking intently at an oaken cabinet door.

"I remember." replied Abby, a small smile escaping. "You danced with me, twirling me across the wooden floor and you even dipped me."

"You were pregnant with Kait, at the time. I wanted to make you happy."

She was quiet for a moment, reveling in memories, before looking at her husband, tears shimmering on her lashes.

"I've always been happy with you." she said. He motioned for her and she scooted across the floor to him, curling up in his arms. He stroked her hair, in a soothing way, holding her closely.

"What happened here, Max?" asked a voice.

"Carbon Monoxide poisoning. Took the whole family." replied a voice.

The ghosts sat on the floor, not talking, listening to the sounds of their world collapsing.