I’m standing in between the automatic hospital doors, it’s dark.
They must have released me all on my own. I shift my eyes across the scene.
There’s something to be said about this night, something to do with moon-glow rooftops or
the chilled, stiff breeze. I take my first step forward onto the asphalt of the hospital parking lot.
I look down while I walk. My white gown flows like a tablecloth to a box fan.
My pale skin shines against the rock. The grooves in the walls of this town grow shadows.
In them, I find the faint glow of fireflies, portable night lights, and with nowhere else to go,
I follow them into the night.

Together, we light up the world of overgrown streets and buildings—one stands out.
A cake shop with a large board overhead, the design is a slice of cheesecake.
All the lights in the building are off, in fact, the town is completely dark aside from my
glowing friends. Through the tall window of the cake shop, the dull light of a rectangular
digital clock flickers O : OO. My focus shifts from the clock to my reflection:
her long, dark hair is scruffy, her lips are dry, her eyes are sharpened ice.
We tap our fingertips against the rotten glass— my nails are trimmed short…
was that the way she liked them?
The question would only open the wound, so instead,
I follow the floating lights deeper into the night.

We traversed the empty streets of the town, now greeted with it’s neighborhoods.
Charles Street, then Saffer, then Pyre. Pyre street is unnaturally dark and gray.
The life had been drained from this place, replaced by shadow.
Down the crooked, cracked sidewalk— the fireflies stop atop a fence gate,
from which the paint had been mercilessly chipped away. They land in
slow precision. I trek the parted landscapes with a few hops, and search
the back of the gate with my hand. It only took a moment— the lock clicked open.
It’s where it always was.
How is that?
I shiver.

The fairy lights glide through the yard in collaboration, their target,
a sickly plastic bucket. Its color had been torn away by shadow.
The small creatures form a circle just above its handle, moving in unity.
I crouch to the ground, feeling the cool stone path in one hand,
cold, lifeless grass in the other. Slowly,
I pull my right hand from its gray garden
and grip the handle of the bucket.

I’m blinded— the sun spills light into my eyes and into the steamy air. All I can see is the dark behind my
eyelids; I unravel them. My feet are covered in sand. I lift my head to shifting, unending blue; at least the waves
are calm today. A woman is sitting on a green and white striped beach chair in front of me. Her long, dark hair
rests untangled against the tanned, freckled skin of her back. Her hands, which bear short-trimmed nails, hold a
blue-covered book— I imagine it to be a few hundred pages.
She shifts to look back at me.
“Hey hon, sumin’ wrong?”
I shake my head.
“You see that awfully silly looking man out there?”
She points out to the shore. A man in yellow swimming trunks is attempting to construct a grand castle with
only a plastic garden trowel, he seems distressed.
“Wanna go help him together? Make good use of that cute lil’ bucket you got there?”
I look to my left hand, which holds the yellow handle of my red bucket, so tightly that my hand had been
losing circulation. I look back to her, nodding in pure enthusiasm. She smiles. There’s something to be said
about that smile. I quickly stand and turn to grab the bucket from the ground, but all I see is the deep gray grass
of the yard. Panicked, I whip back to the shore, to her— all gone. I groan in anguish; I wish I had told her how
pretty she was. Before I can think to cry, the fireflies begin to pierce the barren air around the bucket with light.

Bright bubbles float in expansion about the yard. Through them,
I can see grassy greens and my bucket’s true colors, they’re really here.
The fireflies, proud of their work, begin to drift toward the front door of The House.
The House’s exterior is dark in its entirety, nearly pitch black, though it’s door
is formed of a bright maple wood— an invitation away from the shadow.
I take each step along the stone path cautiously, I set foot on the first doorstep.
I stop. My heart pounds ruthlessly.
The ache persists, it cannot cease, and I want to run PLEASE I want to leave!
I turn away from color to the trashing, endless void— the ground is gone and
it’s chasing me.
I sprint toward the light, allowing my heart to drop and my eyes to cry.
I grab the handle, tackle my body against the door and slam it fast behind me.
I breathe.
With only seconds for breath, I dart my eyes around the space.
Dim gray and white lamps and lights splatter across what seems to be a living room;
what a stupid name for a room.
Within this dreary scowl of a place, carpet patterns, old furniture,
a tall ticking clock that takes up too much space for its sole purpose.
I’ve heard something like that before.

The fireflies had long been away, I lost them in the mess before I shut the door.
From the entrance, everything appears quite small, except that which stretches
near my right eye. A long, diagonal hallway that begins where the house’s corner might end.
It’s depths spill with many doors that don’t seem quite right, each with the same handles
and kitty cat scratch marks, but all scattered. Vines creep through cracks in the walls,
while the few lights left unbroken buzz and flicker.
There’s a door in the ceiling. At the end, there is a door with a hanging board,
a carved nametag though I can’t quite make out its letters.
Moving down the hall, I open the first grounded door on my left.
I step into a kitchen.
The air is cold, and each of the three countertops are completely spotless.
The long window sitting across the table pours in the moonlight. A small, rectangular
object sitting on a barstool reflects a glare into my eye. It’s the screen of a cube
with buttons and switches. Cartridges lay about the kitchen table.
I step into the kitchen, freezing square tile burns my feet.
I pick up my strength, in hopes it had stuck around,
and press START.

The first thing that comes is the breeze, out the half-open window of the car. The inside is fuzzy. I’m sitting in
the backseat next to a small girl with short blonde hair, she’s playing with a simple toy. Pixelated pinging
sounds sprout from my hands— I’m playing a game and it appears I’ve just gotten myself into a battle. A long,
exaggerated sigh comes from above, I lift my head.
“Alright, fine, but we’d better grab your brother a slice too, I don’t wanna hear anything about being ‘unfair’
ever again.”
She smiles as she speaks. After a long silence, she shifts her gaze to me from the passenger seat.
In her eyes there is something that only I can see.
“&X@$DZ?”
I can’t hear her, but it’s clear that she’s talking to me.
“Um… yeah, sounds good.”
“Um yeah! I’d hope it sounds good, you’re the one who asked to go!”
The warm, loving man sitting in the driver-side laughs loudly, the way he looks like he’d laugh.
“Well hold on now, I may have just slightly encouraged her… just a little bit!”
The woman smirks a smug smirk.
“Mi Amor, you act as if I hadn’t known.”
A fizzling sound comes from below, my favorite monster fainted. I switch her out for “Scott”,
my goofiest catch. The car stops, and the energetic man unbuckles himself, the woman soon follows. They both
exit the car, though she returns, now in the driver seat.
“Okay you adorable, difficult children! Love you both— see you soon Sam.”
He kisses the woman quickly, but his face lights up as if it had been the first time. He begins to walk away.
“Wait!”
I jolt, removing my seatbelt and swinging the door open to retrieve my usual peck on the cheek, but outside the
door is just the kitchen. I reach for the handle to close it, to stay here, but the door is gone. The man, the girl,
and Sam, no… Mom. They’ve all gone away, and I am sitting on the cold tile of the barren kitchen floor, alone.

My legs begin to numb as the translucent orbs of light make their return. The beiges,
browns and whites of the kitchen appear. There are books, short stories
and comics littered about granite countertops.
I remember— they belong to mom.
I stretch my hand through one of the orbs in attempt to grab a book,
but only feel a cool, smooth surface. I look to my handheld, made of vibrant red
topped with stickers of meaningless things.
I can’t stay here.
With that, I return to the long hall, where there is no longer an exit.
A flat gray wall, covered in dying vine, has replaced the entirety of the living room.
The door at the end has pulled so far away that I cannot see it anymore, yet
I know it’s there. With stiff legs I begin walking into the depths. I try at door
after door, but each is locked. Still, I try. There is nothing to go back to.
After spanning halfway down the hall, it’s finally here:
the door covered in scratches though not by any cat.
My own nails etched these grooves.
I’m afraid.
But even still, I grab on tight to the doorknob, and with a heavy breath, twist.
Just one push, it swings open.
There is nothing but dark, not vast,
endless.

I step over the void, dangling my right foot past the doorframe. I throw my trust
into the dark and myself along with it. The world spins, the open door now lie at my feet.
I venture into the open dark, moving so far forward that I can’t help but check behind me.
My building fear shortly relieved by the upward-sprawling light of the open door.
I turn back toward the void— something has changed. A thin box of pure white sits in
the distance. I move, at first walking, attempting to make out the shape. Then I’m running,
now sprinting. I move so fast that the wind should be whipping, the floor pounding,
my body aching, but there is nothing.
There is no feeling, no sound.
I cry out to her.
“SAM! … SAMANTHA! PLEASE!”
I cry out to the woman with dark hair and nails like mine, but my voice is hollow.
“MOM!”
Then it happened. The blank side of the bathtub spilled over with crimson; it is endless.
It mixes and stirs into the void, floating, and I am the first to see it. From here,
I cannot see her lifeless eyes, but I know that they are there.
They had been there.
I look down at my hands, my nails are bloodied.
Along with the crimson slush, I close my eyes and sink into the void…

Open.
There it is, I knew it would be here! The door with the etched name: it reads “WINTER.”
I enter my room to see everything the same way I left it only weeks ago, even the color is here.
My royal blue comforter, silver study lamp, posters of purples, yellows, reds all round.
There’s a half-open desk drawer with drawing mateirals and a worn moleskin notebook.
I grab it, opening it to a random page:

Pg. 14
7/23
I miss you.
I’m sorry, Mom.

I flip to the next page, finding torn fragments between the two.

Pg. 32
I met a sweet girl today, Mom
she actually reminds me a lot of you, very sassy lol
we’re gonna hangout sometime soon!
wish i could introduce you
miss you

My chest tense, I close the book.
I can’t help but laugh at myself a bit.
Sharp, gnawing scratches break the sound.
They quickly build, looping over and over again.
The bedframe— deep grooves form in the wooden frame
quickly, all over, but seemingly nothing is there to cause them.
It’s unbearably loud; I cover my ears.
Thick blood begins to seep from the gutted grain, pooling on the floor.
In the loudness, I remember. The drawer in my nightstand! I pull it open, swiftly
digging through clutter to find the pendant that you gave me for my fifteenth birthday.
All of it is here, but nothing is the same.
I grab the chain made of silver.

---

Now, I’m back to two years ago, in a white summer dress with my black hair down and gift in hand.
I know, my name is Winter, but I was born in June, how horrible of dad.
“Winter! There you are. Is everything okay, honey?”
Standing under the tallest tree covered in sunbeams, within the mountainous park,
I hug her tight, fighting the orbs of light forming under my eyes.
“Oh sweetheart, you’re only fifteen now, but you’re so grown. You’re just so wonderful.”
“I love you, mom. And… I can’t seem to hook the necklace myself; can you help me?”
“Anything for my birthday girl.”
I hand her the necklace and she slides the silver chain gently over my skin, it’s cold against my collarbones.
Her pale arms rest in front of my teary eyes; around her forearms, where no one would likely look, I see many scars. I look over to her nearly-to-the-beds trimmed nails. I had seen them before, the scars, sometimes against
her upper thigh. For a long time, I wondered if Dad saw them too, he must have.
I hear the hook connect with a clink—the amulet fits perfectly.
“Thank you, mom, it really is pretty.”
“Mhm! Now, whenever you need me at school, or work, or maybe even when you get into an argument with
your first girlfriend—”
“Mom, no!”
She laughs crudely at my despair.
“Well anyhow, you’ll always have me there, even when I’m far away. Keep it with you, and don’t forget about me when you make it big! Remember, I’m just a call away, my little fox.”
I should have known back then, Mom.
I was there, and I was the first to see it.
I should have said something.
Why didn’t you say anything, Winter?
Through the swaying green leaves, late June sunbeams fall upon my eyes. Once again, I’m blinded.

---

My own arms, now shielding my eyes, reveal the contrast between my blank white gown and deep red grooves.
I slowly uncover my face. I’m standing in between the hospital doors, while Dad and those two not-so-smarter
dimwits shine the car’s brights directly at me.
“Heyyyyya honey!” Dad shouts from the driver seat, waving his whole arm at me. “Hop in!”
The town is different this time, it remains dark but there is life. Windows are lit orange under the quickly
dimming sky. I spot a white cat stretched out upon a distant windowsill; I miss my bed. Maria, the little blonde
girl, runs out to hug me. With all my strength, I’m able to lift her into the air. Feeling my little brother’s
impatience, I send her off to the car and slide myself into the passenger seat. Dad is looking at me in a way that says, “I love you” and even though I can’t look back at him, I’m glad.

The ride home is nearly silent. It turns out there isn’t much to say about being in the hospital for a few days.
I don’t mind the quiet, but it shifts abruptly when dad takes an unusual turn. For once, I don’t actually know
what he’s thinking. Mark leans forward from the back-middle seat— I still don’t understand why he
voluntarily sits in the least comfortable part of any vehicle— he asks,
“Where we goin’, Dad?”
There’s a short pause.
“You’ll see when we get there.” He says with a smirk.
Even I am unsure of where there may be, that is, until we reach Downtown. We only ever spend any time here
at one place. As the large sign of the cakeshop comes into view, I’m proven right. As expected as it is, we’ve
only been here together once in the past two years. It just hurt dad too much. These three don’t know that I’ve
come here on my own a few times, always right after school. Only when it’s all too much to handle again. As he
pulls into the parking lot, I look to him. This time, in his eyes.
“Thank you, Dad, you really didn’t have to.”
I hug him with as much grace as two people possibly can over the center console of an old Toyota Avalon.
“I know— I wanted to. Love you little lady.”

We all exit the car and make our way toward the jingling glass door. It’s see-through, no more surprises. We sit
in the red leatherette booth against tall windows. The others are reading the menu— I already know what I’m
ordering. The same as I always did. But, maybe next time I’ll try something new. On the server’s countertops,
I spot a familiar digital clock, it reads 9:23 PM.
Thank you, for not running out on me.
Out the big window, I can make out dim glows of clouds above the distant mountains. I wish they would
produce snow, but it’s only July. Still, from here I can feel the cold breeze that shifts the shadows of the pines.
The shapes sway against the softly lit road. It’s worn, cracked and crooked, but it’s ours. Flashing in the distance
catches my attention, a tiny red splinter of light— it’s from the electrical tower way up the mountain. Through
the glimmer in the dark, I’m reminded of the void, and the fireflies, and Mom, and all I can think is…
“I hope I can love as purely as she had.”
Dad gently scruffs my hair.
“You already have, dear.”
And with one gentle brush of the silver against my neck, I knew he was right.