[center][u][color=black][h1]The Second Labour[/h1][/color][/u][/center]

[hider=Too Much Power][Author’s Note: These two characters come from a series of stories written for contests on the site. The RPGC contests to be exact. If you’re curious, start with “The Escalation of Two Brothers” and then “Power, Figurative and Literal”. I had some trouble figuring out what exactly the ‘burden’ of the too much of a good thing was until @RomanAria mentioned the stories to me for inspiration. Well, hope you enjoyed it]

“PLEASE! I GOTTA TALK TO HIM!” I pushed through the hospital doors as they tried to pull me away. I exerted a small amount of heat from my body, though with how adjusted I was to this power; it was just as hot as the summer heat. The medics instantly stayed away as I rush to his room. 

I had heard the stories of my brother. Of how he called upon the storms in the Middle East, of how dictators disappeared with a thunderclap, of how he liberated people and razed any kingdom that dared disregard human life. Some call him a hero, others called him a terrorist. I didn’t care. He was still my brother.

When I opened those doors and saw my brother, I nearly cried. The heart monitor busted open. Some smoke came from its charred remains. The IV drip was knocked onto the floor, its metal humming with electricity. And there, on the very bed, lay my brother. He writhed as I could see tiny sparks dance around his body. His hair was spiked up as I saw the static electricity travel through it. 

“What happened!?” I asked him. His eyes shifted to me and raised a hand. He tried to speak, but a bolt of lightning escaped his hand. I blocked it in time with a wall of fire. He spoke up, though at a rough and raspy voice.

“B-brother…” He said to me.

“Zack… Don’t worry, I’m here.” I told him. He grabbed my hand. My heat managed to stave off his static.

“Sammy… It’s my body… I can’t…” He tried to speak, but he began to cough. He spat out something onto the blanket. At first, I thought it was blood, but when I saw the blanket, I saw that it was a strange, blue fluid. “I… I needed more power…” He said.

“Huh?” I asked. Zack looked up and told me everything. I tried to listen through his raspy voice, tried to make out what he would say as he coughed, and this is what I got.
[hr]
You see, Samuel, I had spent my time fighting the tyrants who had threatened the livelihoods of dozens. However, it was never enough. Escalation has always been a weakness to our kind. We were made in a time before the concept of splitting atoms was even considered for military use. As such, our power was only meant to combat regular people. Regular vehicles.

Then there’s escalation. Weapons became more deadly. Wars were now fought through digital transmissions. And every passing day, more and more innocent people are affected by the trauma of war. Just like us.

We needed to become stronger. We needed to become more powerful. Fortunately, I found a way. By absorbing the elements themselves, we could amplify our power… You remember when you defeated me? That was because you took in my elemental power. So, I did whatever was necessary. I flew into thunderclouds, I tazed myself on a regular basis, I even absorbed an entire generator full of electricity.

And it worked. You should have seen me, brother. I was able to control not just my own lightning, but also the thunder of everything else. I was able to move thunderclouds and use them like drones, I was able to shut down an entire power grid with the flick of my wrists, and I was able to make thunder dance like a Chinese dragon.

I. Was. God. However, it seemed that you can have too much of a good thing. My body wasn’t made to store all this power. It has begun destroying itself. I’m not sure if I’ll live another day.
[hr]
When I had heard what he explained to me, I nearly cried. I had to find a way to fix this. 

“Maybe you can zap me. I can be a conduit and-”

“No… I don’t want to hand you my burden… I played with fire, and now I will get burned…” He said. I shook my head.

“No! There has to be another way!” I said. Just then, I saw the busted machines. I replayed the story in my head and realized what I had to do. I picked up my brother and flew out of the hospital. I busted a hole through the roof. I’d pay for damages, but right now I had a life to save.
[hr]
I observed the area. I figured that if he was able to unload the electricity, he could offset the imbalance he had and lessen the burden. The problem was dumping him somewhere that wouldn’t hurt anyone else…

That’s when I saw it: a rain cloud. It didn’t have enough to become a thundercloud, but perhaps with Zack’s power…

I flew over to the cloud and once I was inside, I shouted: “ZAP THE CLOUD!”

Zack did just that. His body exploded into a burst of yellow and blue light as lightning bolts sprayed from every corner. My heart winced as I heard my elder brother let out an ear-piercing scream as all this happened. The lightning bolts entered the cloud and at the sound of thunder, I saw my brother was alright. I flew out of the cloud and to the ground. I set him down.

He looked to me. 

“I… can’t feel anything…” He said.

“Good. It must have worked then.” I said. He shook his head.

“No… I can’t… do it… anymore…” I looked to his arm as he tried to flick it. Nothing came, not even a tiny spark. 

“Don’t worry… The important thing is that you’re okay.” I said to him. He grabbed my hand tightly.

“No… I… I lost them… All of it… I… I needed my… power…” I can see him tear up. “Everyone… will be hurt if I don’t… have my powers…” He wept.

I took him up and brought him back to the hospital.

I later learned through study of old notes from a camp back in Germany that our bodies didn’t become generators for energy but rather vessels. Holding banks for such powers. We weren’t made to store so much power. Once we exhausted our power, that’s it. We’re done. We can always reload ourselves, but one look at my brother tells me that I shouldn’t give him that idea.

He had risked his life just to have more power than everyone else had. I don’t want him to continue risking his life for an addiction that he can’t cure with normal rehab and cold turkey tactics. I continually visit my brother in that bed every day, and he still felt miserable over what happened.

“Do you know how many people died to this one man’s firing squad over in Turkey?” He asked me at one point. “Dozens. If I had been there, they would have lived…”

“Zack… don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” I kept telling him since the time he got into the hospital.

“No. It won’t be.” And he kept responding with that every time I said that. I sighed and left, but I could feel my brother tug at my sleeve.

“If you find out anything about restoring my powers… You’ll let me know, right?” He asked. I smiled.

“Of course I will… But, you know what you told me… Sometimes there is such a thing as ‘too much of a good thing’.” With that, I left. When I left, I made a strong promise in my heart. 

I will never let my brother grab onto this burden again. Not for as long as I lived.[/hider][hider=Curiosity Killed the Cat]A cart drawn forth by a horse rolled over the dirt path. On either side were wheat fields and farmers worked hard to harvest their crops under the relentless sun. The man sitting in the seat of the cart raised his hand when he was greeted by one of them. The light brown hairs were covered by a straw hat and his attire showed the wear and tear of a frequent traveller. With one hand he held the reins to control the animal in front of him and he whistled a happy tune. With his free hand he took an apple from the bag and occasionally he bit a piece from it. 

While his parents had given him the name Oscar, he was frequently called Mappy by those who knew him. They did so, because that was what he did: he made maps. Even though most of the kingdom was already mapped out by royal cartographers in the past, there were still unexplored areas. Most of the area’s were simply too dangerous to venture in, but Oscar went in there anyway. Even as a child Oscar had shown a curious and adventurous nature by exploring the forest behind his village. 

One day, as an adult, he had ventured into a swamp where almost no-one ever returned from. Some said people disappeared because of the swamp spirits that lived there, others said the swamp was just a treacherous place and people drowned because they hadn’t paid attention. Regardless of the reason, hardly anyone ever went in there and from those who did only few had ever made it out. Oscar, curious as he was, wanted to know what it looked like. To avoid getting lost he drew his path on a piece of leather with a piece of chalk tailors used to make their clothes. He used something his uncle had invented to pinpoint his direction. It was a round piece of wood with an iron pin on top which could turn around and it pointed to the north every time. He wasn’t sure how his uncle had made it, but it certainly had been useful. Carefully he had ventured deeper into the area and he used a stick to avoid any sinkholes. Days he spent in there and people had already started to assume he had drowned when he finally came back. With a preliminary map of the place. 
In the weeks that followed he mapped the entire swamp, including the sinkholes and other dangerous locations and with that made it accessible for travellers. 
After this he was allowed to become one of the royal cartographers and he dedicated his career to the areas all other avoided. He enjoyed to venture into places that carried names as ‘cave’ or ‘swamp’ on the big maps and provide detailed maps of those areas.

Oscar enjoyed his years living as an adventurer, but there was a downside. He had barely seen his children grow up and one day he had come home to find his wife had left him. The neighbour informed him his wife wanted someone who would be there for her and not travel around all the time. It had hurt and up to this day he felt sorrow for that. Maybe he could have made things right with her, but then he would have to give up his travels and he couldn’t. His desire to explore those inaccessible places drove him to travel again and again. It was something he was praised for by the king and his colleagues. There were moments he felt the loneliness of this existence sting, but his maps really helped people. With his work people could travel in places without getting lost, places there were deemed dangerous before were accessible now. 

He stopped whistling when his thoughts returned to his wife and he thoughtfully chewed on the apple. If he’d turn around now and go back to her and promise her his travelling days were over, would she take him back? He knew she might. His daughter would get married soon, it was something he’d love to witness. Oscar glanced at the map next to him, his eyes moved to a green area which was known at the Witches Forest. It was a place where many got lost and several people had never returned from it. It was the place he wanted to explore next, he wanted to map it and prove the tales of witches feasting on human flesh were nothing more then myth. 

Doubt prevailed as Oscar looked at the map, should he go back or give in to his curiosity once more? It would be wise to stop, not only did he feel the need for someone in his life, he started to feel too old for it as well. Under his clothing numerous scars were the silent reminders that this life wasn’t easy. Some of the scars were left because he hadn’t been careful, others were left there by muggers. And while it was good weather now, that wasn’t always the case. He had almost died in the snow, he had almost drowned in the swamp. His joints ached when he travelled through the wind and rain. And still he travelled to the unexplored places. Sometimes it was hard to live this life, to be alone and to feel the physical toll on his body, but he felt he did much good with his work and that kept him going. Curiosity killed the cat his mother used to say. And a few times he had gotten close to that. Maybe it was time for an easier lifestyle and let someone else map the area’s. At the same time he longed to see those places himself. 
Go back or go further? 
After a moment of contemplating he decided for the latter. He promised himself it would be the last journey. After this one he would stop for good and settle down. For now he just wanted to go to that forest and discover it. He was already half-way after all and he couldn’t help but wonder what the forest would be like.

When Oscar finally reached the forest he got down from the cart, grabbed a leather bag and made his way to the forest. At the edge of it, he drew a cross on the bottom of the map to indicate the road leading up to the forest. He used the device from his uncle to pinpoint what direction he was facing and added the information in the top-left corner of the map. He put the device back in his bag and armed with the piece of leather and piece of chalk, he ventured into the forest.

As Oscar walked through the forest he drew every crossing he came across and he mentioned some landmark like ponds or peculiar trees. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been walking here when he noticed how quiet the area had become. Normally a forest was filled with sounds, there were always birds singing, insects buzzing and the wind moved the branches and leaves of the trees. None of that was happening now, an eerie silence had filled the forest. Oscar looked around, instinctively he made a step back. A twig snapped under his foot, the sound of it seemed to echo between the trees and it made him cringe. When a female voice suddenly spoke his heart missed a beat and seemed to try and make up for that with beating faster then before.
“My, my, what have we here,” the voice said. “A traveller. We haven’t had those in a while.”
Oscar turned to see who it was and his jaw dropped when he was faced with an elegant young woman. Her skin seemed to resemble the bark of a tree and she had leaf-green hair running down her face like twigs from a willow tree. While the voice sounded like a female, her body showed no such signs.
“W-who are you?” Oscar stuttered.
“My, my, have you not heard of the mermaids of the forest?” she inquired curiously. “Oh, how is it that humans call us. Wood spirits? Nymphs? I have lost track of the names you people give us.”
“T-this place is called Witches Forest,” Oscar muttered.
“Oh, then we must be known as witches now. How peculiar. But it is of no concern.” Her voice started to gain a soft and luring melody. “You must be tired from your walk, traveller. Why don’t you rest with us for a while?” She beckoned him with a gesture of her slender finger. “Rest with us,” she cooed with that soft voice of hers. 
Oscar found himself stepping towards her. He barely noticed how more of these creatures walked towards him, all he really noticed was the one in front of him. 

The horse at the edge of the forest waited patiently for it’s owner to return, but he didn’t. Days went by without any word from Oscar. The days turned to weeks and into months, but Oscar was never seen again. People said to each other what a shame it was Oscar had disappeared in that forest. Some said it was only a matter of time before his unending curiosity would get the better of him. Maybe they were right. While a healthy dose of curiosity is a good trait to have, too much of anything is never good. After he had realized the price he paid for his lifestyle he should have made it right, but he hadn’t. And now it was too late.[/hider][hider=Thirteen Flat][u][b]Terminal's Note:[/b][/u] This story was submitted by [@mdk]. It won the [color=coral][b]Chthonic Virtue[/b][/color] Challenge Accolade for being a winning entry of exceptional quality.

Michael Manderly was a thin man in his late thirties, with dark hair and sharp eyes. John noticed him from a long ways off, and guessed from his black cane that it could be no one else. He nodded to his pit crew and left them to their work, walking out across the strip and trying to rub the grease from his hands. He looked up, supposing that if this encounter was bound to come, this was as good a day for it as any. The Alabama sun was still climbing through clear skies, and the temperature with it. 

They shook hands on a grassy berm. “You’s looking good, mistah.”

Michael struggled a bit with his footing. His body was stiff but energetic, and he wore an infectious smile. “Well I been better,” he said lightly. “Not for a time though. Y’all got water?”

John nodded. He offered Michael a hand across the grass, and led him slowly towards the covered pit. He politely averted his eyes from the scars on Michael’s neck and face. “Might get us some weather later on.” He was trying to talk about anything else. “Should be good fer a few hours though.”

“Good, good,” Michael replied absently. His eyes were fixed on the end of the track, where a big-bodied Chrysler was lining up. They stopped long enough to watch it rip down the track, crossing the line at 14.7, to some fanfare from the very small crowd. “Faster’n hell, that is.” It was good to see Michael smile. 

“Yessuh,” John replied. “We’ll give ‘em a run though, just you wait.” They came into the pit, where a few men were adding fluids to a pair of Mustangs. One of the boys brought water and bowed a little as he handed it to Michael. “We takin’ good care of the ponies.”

Michael looked like a man lost at sea, who touches the shore for the first time in years. He picked up his cane and limped to the first car – a silver ’61 with white stripes. “I remember this girl,” he said in reverent tones. “Fifteen second quarter. Sang like an angel, too.”

“She still got it,” said John. “We keep her real nice for ya. Tommy there heard tell you was comin out, gave her a good rub.”

Michael produced a coin and flicked it towards the negro John pointed out. “That’s a good boy, Tommy. She’s gleamin’ some fierce.”

“She happy to see you.”

“Runnin alright?”

John chose his words carefully. “Ain’t none of us can hardly keep up with her. But she done sixteen last week. We need us a driver’s all. You’ll set her right.”

“Surely will,” Michael smiled. He ran his hand along the frame, and gazed for a long time at the engine, remembering another time. “Beautiful,” he said finally.

“Yessuh, she a looker alright. Still got the legs for runnin. She treat you right.”

Gradually Michael’s attention turned to the second car in the pit, the jet-black ‘65. It seemed to draw him in, and as soon as John noticed, he popped the hood open. Michael whistled. “That’s the one, ain’t it?”

“Yessuh, she’s the one.” The engine cavity had a profound effect on Michael. He steadied himself by leaning against the wheel well, and rubbed his stiff leg. “Somethin’ else, ain’t it?”

“That she is.” John noticed that Michael was spending a long time looking at the firewall and the fuel lines. He tested a few connections by hand, then, satisfied, stroked the big block engine. “She give you any trouble?”

“Heaps of trouble,” John said cautiously. “But we good now. Took the 427 right out cuz it was misbehavin’, an’ throwin’ problems on the shaft too. Bent two of them right up.”

“What’s she running now?”

“A 409, an’ a blower too, here.” He tapped the manifold sitting atop the engine.

“Blower on a 409?” Michael sounded incredulous. 

“Yessuh,” John said proudly. “Ain’t another like it in the south. Most folk, 409’s plenty, an 427’s overmuch. This’n’s special. She put all the others in place.”

“I believe she will,” Michael said. He held some reserve in his voice. John sensed it.

“She ain’t been a bother since we got that new block in her. Won’t be no trouble. A sure hand, that’s all she need.” He found his eyes wandering towards Michael’s scars and wrenched them away. “I could take her out, warm her up if you like.”

Michael thought about it, then straightened his back. “I trust you,” he said, sounding a bit more like the man John remembered. “Better warm me up though. Ain’t seen real horsepower for a spell.”

John laughed pleasantly. “Like ridin’ a bike, mistah. You’ll see you still got it. I see you.” 

His inspections complete, Michael offered his cane to one of the boys and hobbled towards the silver car. “Think I’ll take a few turns,” he said with youthful energy creeping into his voice and face.

“Get your bearings back, ah? You’ll see.” John made the necessary preparations. “Want I should get the other girl ready for yeh?”

Michael nodded. “Gonna see if I can take her down to thirteen,” he said boldly. John’s eyes popped, then he nodded with excitement. “First gotta see that I can still drive it though,” Michael laughed. 

“You take your time now,” John said, shutting the driver’s door. “We’ll have her ready.”

They kept working on the black mustang while Michael took the silver on a few laps. John couldn’t help but watch him race. It was a mixture of curiosity and protectiveness guiding him. He was concerned for both the car and the driver – Michael after all had been down for quite some time. The first few lap times reflected as much. His first quarter mile was a frustrating 18 seconds of missed shifts and high revs, high enough that John rushed out with a bucket to cool the engine, and some words of encouragement. Michael said his leg wasn’t cooperating with the clutch, but he’d get it, and John agreed. A few laps later, he was down into low 16s, and there he stayed for about an hour. Finally he brought the hot car back into the pit, stopping just outside the shade. A few of the boys ran out to push the car into place by hand, and set to work on it immediately.

“That’ll take a man back,” Michael said, panting. He was sweating profusely from the heat and the work. John found him a chair and a cup. 

“You lookin real fast,” John said. He was exaggerating only a little – Michael was clearly past his prime, and certainly wouldn’t be satisfied with a 16-second quarter, but regardless of the times, he seemed more than ever like himself when he was throttling down the track. There were only a few spectators, most of them mechanics or drivers themselves, and all of them had recognized that same spark in Michael’s demeanor.

“As you say, John. Riding a bike.” He took a few minutes to collect himself, while John and the boys saw to the silver car. After a while, Michael was up again. He placed a tentative hand on the hood of their supercharged black mustang.

John hesitated. “We can have the silver ready in a spell,” he offered meekly. In truth, he wasn’t sure if Michael was ready for the new ride. Michael didn’t seem certain either, but he shook his head and dropped himself into the seat. “You take it easy first, now,” John warned. “You ride a lot of mustangs afore, none of ‘em kick like this girl here though, believe that.”

Michael nodded. His face was pale and fresh beads of sweat were forming on his brow, but he set his teeth and cranked on the engine. It growled, deep and powerful, more like a churning locomotive than a car. He goosed the throttle in neutral a few times and felt the power rumbling through the frame. “Easy,” he said.

“Try a lap or two in first,” John suggested, speaking loudly to be heard over the engine noise. “See how she handle it.” 

Michael nodded, and put the car in gear. It jumped out of the pit and nearly stalled as he backed off the throttle, then gently eased forwards and paced calmly up and down the track. John told the boys to keep working on the silver, guessing from Michael’s expression that the supercharged engine was too hot to handle. But after six or seven easy laps, he rolled back to the pit with a firm expression, and kept the engine running. “She’s ready,” he said, cracking the door open. His safety belt was tight across his waist, and his knuckles white on the wheel.

John nodded, frowning. “She be ready in a week too. Ain’t no need to rush, she get you there.” 

Michael looked strange. It was as if he wanted to kill the engine, but couldn’t. He shook his head, but couldn’t clear his mind. “She’s ready,” he said again. He closed the door and revved the engine again. Then, with the spark creeping back into his eyes, held up his fingers, one, three. John went cold. 

Work stopped when the supercharged black Mustang took its position. Michael was slow off the line on his first attempt, but dropped the hammer in third gear and screamed down the hot track. John’s clock showed 15 and a quarter, and the track’s clock just a little under that. Michael came around for another try. This time he started slow again, but got on the throttle sooner, and both clocks showed 14.5.

“He gonna do it?” asked one of the pit boys. “Thirteen. He gonna make it?”

John didn’t answer. By now all eyes were on the hot black mustang. Not only John’s pit – everyone recognized the throaty roar, and all wanted to see the old driver and his new engine break thirteen seconds. A few other racers made way and stepped out of their cars to watch as Michael lined up for his third drag. There were scattered cheers and applause. John was silent. 

The flag came down, and Michael threw the throttle wide open. The Mustang tore off the line, its roar accompanied by joyful shouts from all around. It climbed into second gear in no time flat, setting a blinding pace. John could feel his heart beating. Third gear. More throttle. John heard himself begging Michael to ease off, but couldn’t remember saying it. The front of the car began to shudder, but there was no holding back. He threw it into fourth. Three hundred feet from the finish line, catastrophe struck. The engine was wide open, throwing reckless power into the rear axle, and as it gained speed the front end began to lift into the air. Michael should have stomped on the clutch to bring it back down, but it never happened. The car raised its head like a rearing stallion, caught the wind, and flew up into the air. John was running. The black Mustang crashed down on its side, and tumbled end over end, throwing up smoke and dirt and soot and flames. 

John was running, already halfway there when it came to rest upside-down in the grass. Thick black smoke rolled off the wreck, smelling of oil and flesh. It was completely engulfed in flame by the time John reached the driver’s door, but he threw himself at it anyway, trying in vain to pry it open and burning his hands. The cabin was sealed shut, the hinges warped and immobile. No sound came from inside. Men threw water on the wreckage, trying to kill the fire, while the rest of the pit boys wrestled John away from the crash and held him down. He was sobbing. 

Half an hour passed. They killed the flames, and an ambulance arrived to help the other drivers work. They couldn’t manage the door, but someone fetched a jack to raise the front end. Once that was done they were able to crawl underneath the hood and pull Michael out through the broken windshield. Someone was wrapping up John’s hands, but he made them stop so he could check on Michael. By some miracle, he was alive – breathing, but unconscious, and covered in blood, glass, and char. Tommy, one of the pit boys, held his hand as they loaded him into the ambulance.

“You done it,” he kept saying, “thirteen flat, you done it,” with tears in his eyes.

John placed a bandaged hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Ain’t doin’ him no good, lyin’,” he said. Then he sank to his knees. As the ambulance rushed away, Tommy insisted he’d seen him cross the line at thirteen, and one by one, the other drivers agreed. John wept, and muttered again, “Ain’t doin’ him no good.” Then they loaded him into a second ambulance, and took him away as the sun began to come down.[/hider][hider=Otherworld][u][b]Terminal's Note:[/b][/u] This entry was submitted by [@Dark Wind].

Merkel had it, and it was incredible. 

He spent years in his homeland where everything was comfortable and normal. Never moving. The sameness rolled by his sight in a never-ending wave of gray reality. There had to be more to his existence than helping at his Father’s shop. More to life than aiding his Mother with dull simplistic tasks. “Pick up the leaves in the yard, Mark.” And it never ended there. “Feed the dog, clean the dishes, you should try waking up earlier everyday. Did you look for a job at all?” All of it was maddening. Enough for Merkel—that’s what he preferred to be called now rather than Mark—to drown in his own mind with silent screams.

Schooling was a unique bubble away from the world. The only things to worry about were grades, girls, and friends. Sometime sports and clubs. All too easy to get lost in the wilderness of that fairy tale land where a high grade unearned was enough to make one feel like they were on top of the world. The peak of Merkel’s life resided in that moment as he marched in line with his fellow friends and received that piece of parchment. Smiling faces of friends and family in the crowd. 

But that was his last smile. Even his girlfriend couldn’t stay his blues. Kira was her name. Or was it Kylie? He remembered her screaming at him that her name was Kylie. All that mattered was Mother and Father approved of her. Sweet little thing. Kind, gentle and a bit shy. Never one to be excessively daring. He once loved her, but now spending time with her was a dreadful idea. 

But then he had it, and it was incredible.

A metallic ship appeared in his homeland, dropping off a new girl. Oh Celes, the sweet escape of his life. And her friend Jolin who helped along the way. Celes was a sorceress, a witch. Messy hair and ink on her skin in unfamiliar languages. Smoke often escaped her lips in clouds. The words imprinted on her beckoned him. As though they promised him adventure. So he came and listened to her sweet, cooing voice. Beautiful poison indeed.

Lured away with her charm. Rough, blunt language that sounded like his but so different. And Jolin with his bold spirit. He followed them away wherever they went. Late nights away from his homeland on that metallic ship. Rolling past the black, starlit sky. Shimmering moon that he’d soon know more well than the bright sun of day. 

His first journey away from home began simple. Merkel watched Celes longingly while Jolin kept his eyes forward on the path ahead. 

“Don’t gotta be so tense with me, boy.” 

“You’re just very pretty.”

“Bold. I like you. But you don’t know what beautiful is yet. Here, take this.”

Merkel took the item she handed to him. It transported him after he tried it. The world seemed to ebb and flow. He traveled on a bed of clouds to the land of electric tingle. When he came to a soft pleasant stop, he saw Jolin and Celes were with him riding upon clouds of their own. There was no pain here. Worries of yesterday died away. Physical stress evaporated in the seemingly nonstop massage. The land of smooth waves was what it was. 

He chuckled. Jolin did too, and so did Celes. For what reason, he didn’t know. Something was incomprehensibly funny. Soon the laughter died out and the music within the ship consumed them. Rippling over their skin in successive trembles. Drowning them in a sea of feeling. Was this what it was like to escape? 

“What do you want, Mark?”

Merkel looked at Celes and tried to grasp for an answer.

“None of that I want to be happy stuff. What do you really want?”

Merkel didn’t know. He shrugged.

“Yeah, me and Joe here don’t know either.”

“Fuck that Stephanie, I know exactly what I want.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I want to live.”

Merkel saw Jolin and he understood. 

“Do you want to live, Mark?”

“Yeah...” And suddenly Merkel found the words. Always there but buried deep underneath the layers of life that confused him from his true path.

“But to live we need to shed the weight of our pasts. Everything we were taught that was good or bad because all of it came from bigoted, ingrained thoughts of our parents and other authority figures who are looking out for their own interests, still living within the confines of the cells that society established for them. To live we need to escape them.”

“Word.” Jolin broke in.

Celes giggled. “That was deep, how do we do that?”

“First we change our names. I’m not Mark anymore. Call me Merkel. You’re Jolin, and you’re Celes.”

“Jolin huh? I dig it.”

“Celes is pretty.”

“I told you you were.”

Celes smiled. They held hands. 

Hand in hand the two traveled to new lands together with their pilot on course for better and brighter things. A future of living.

Weeks in the land of smooth waves and soon a new escape was needed. Mother and Father were on him. Asking constant strings of questions. The same questions over and over. On a loop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mother spoke.

“I’m taking a journey.”

“Journey? To where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Mark, come back here.”

“Call me Merkel.”

“What?”

Merkel left. 

He climbed aboard the metallic ship. Smiled to Celes and brushed his lips against hers. Jolin took them away to a new place. A wooden castle, grand enough for the three companions to rest.

Jolin brought the music. Sea of tunes around them. Smoke of the clouds in the air. Celes showed something to Merkel. It looked round. White.

“What is it?”

“Eat it.”

He did. 

Merkel fell back into a bubble of happiness. Felt right. Felt good. All was in its proper place. And the music. The music came alive. Mother and Father would never understand. Neither would Kira. In this new world where the sounds spoke to his very soul. Vibrating. 

When did his hands get sweaty? He wiped them. Jolin created three straight walls of snow. The three companions made the white dust disappear. Good became great. A land of life and energy. Walls seemed to bounce from the music.

“Let’s hit it.”

Merkel and Celes followed Jolin to the metallic ship.

Merkel couldn’t remember much of what happened. Swarm of people. Lights flashing everywhere. Night fading away into a locked naked embrace with Celes. 

He woke up in his clothes. Mother cried. Father yelled.

This happened often. Every week.

Kira slapped him one day.

“What the fuck, Kira?”

“It’s Kylie! Who is Kira?” 

She’d never know. Never understand. Merkel went for the door.

“No, you’re not leaving. You’re not going with that bitch!”

Merkel shoved her out of the way, she fought with him. He hit her. He looked at his hand in horror. Tears flowed from Kira.

Merkel ran into the darkness. Had to get away and return to the lands of life, energy and bright sun.

All changed for the better. Jolin found the greatest of the greatest treasures. Three for the three companions. Listen to Jolin’s instructions. Tapped their arms. They looked at the potion. The orange glow chanted their names. Whispered sweet bliss into their ears and danced before their eyes. 

The three companions stuck it in.

World floated away. Merkel was above everything with his queen Celes. God and Goddess transcendent to a higher plane. Gave their thanks to the master of everything that Jolin was. The maker of journeys.

Days, weeks, months. Years? Time drifted on by in the otherworld. Mother and Father always tried to claw their way in. Merkel would not allow it. With Celes on a journey was where he belonged. Warm and safe. Or so he believed. Kira left a while ago. A storm of tears and begging pleas. Merkel did not listen. Simple words meant nothing here. 

Missed an event. Celebration of Father’s birth? Festival of snow and colored lights? Merkel knew not which. Mother and Father still tried. 

Unreachable. Until a funny thing happened on his quest. The cloud he rested upon lowered every time. Merkel thought it’d get higher. No. Only lower. Couldn’t remember the last day he didn’t journey to the otherworld. 

One day Jolin dropped. Fell off the cloud in a fit. Drifted still on the cold hard surface of mortality. Icy body. Merkel and Celes shared confused terror. Jolin went into the ground.

Merkel consoled Celes in passionate embrace. Rolled amongst the sky. Couldn’t see it was only a messy bed.

Soon Celes showed less often. Merkel sought her out. Tried to enter her wooden castle but was met with her captors. Her own mother and father.  Met her out back. Showed her the dancing orange potion. Celes said no. Merkel said yes. Celes said no.

Merkel found the darkness. Celes screamed.

Merkel stepped back. Looked at her. Stepped away in disgust, hate eating from within.

He traveled through the weighted, gray streets of hard sameness. Merkel didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong. Didn’t. 

Back home. Mother and Father saw it. He tried to stick it in. Father stopped Merkel. 

“Let me go! Let go of me!”

“Mark, stop it!”

“My name is Merkel!”

“You’re not Merkel. You’re Mark. You belong here.” You belong here is what they said. He didn’t feel like it was so. They denied the journey. There was no land of smooth waves. No land of life and energy. 

We love you, they said. He couldn’t feel it. Maybe he did. Merkel didn’t know anymore.

Sent away. New faces in an unfamiliar place. Only water and food and walls. No journeys. Just sitting. Merkel twitched often. Needed to get out. Too cold. Much too cold. Felt as though he was buried under ice. Shivering the night and days away. He sweat. What was this place that was in eternal winter?

But it wasn’t just winter. Fire burned under his skin. Merkel scratched at himself. He screamed. Yelled. Curled up into himself on the floor within a bubble of missed chances and lost opportunities. Fires blazed around him. Too hot. Needed to shed his clothes. Shed his clothes.

This had to be Hell. Mother and Father put him here. They were his only guests. Never amounted to much. Merkel had nothing to say. 

Unexpected guest today. Celes.

“Please… It’s Stephanie.”

“But.”

“No.”

“We had so much fun. Went through so much and saw everything together.”

“We did. But not the right things.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“It’s true.”

“Hm.”

“You can beat this. I know how hard it is. It still is for me. If anyone can make it. You can.”

“Sure.”

Stephanie hugged him. Mark hugged back.

He didn’t know whether he’d see Stephanie ever again. 

The cold winter and burning hell seemed to dull. Day by day. The burning burning burning faded. 

Mark looked outside the window. The shadow of Merkel on the wall. He glanced behind him, then back outside. Golden rays of sun on green grass.

Mark might belong here. Might belong here. Belong here. Belong.[/hider][hider=I think, therefore I am.]
[h3][I]"I think, therefor I am."[/I][/h3]
Hefting his chest high to breathe in as great a breath as he could muster, Émile looked up to the sky and—cringed, blinded by the sun. [COLOR=lightcyan][I]That was a dumb idea.[/I][/COLOR]
 
The day was bright and the birds dapper as ever; all-in-all, he was feeling [I]good[/I]. Glancing down at the small notebook he held in his palm, he quickly re-read what he'd written earlier—scrawled messily across the paper were the words he had carefully selected for his great reveal.
 
Alas, he had not needed them.
 
Ripping out the page and crumpling it neatly into his pocket, Émile strode confidently across the campus towards the café, where his date was no doubt waiting.
 
It was a small place, tight but comfy with large open windows and a splattering of chairs and sofas across the common area. Seated directly in the sunlight, at the very center of attention, was Julie-Lou, nursing a cup of hot chocolate. She seemed almost worried to him; not anxious, but perhaps a little apprehensive. He had to remind himself that despite her past bravado, this was a new experience for the both of them. [COLOR=lightcyan][I]Just gotta ease into it.[/I][/COLOR]
 
Émile slid in beside her on the sofa, startling her for a moment, but she relaxed upon realizing it was him. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"Hey,"[/COLOR] she muttered softly.
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"Hey."[/COLOR] The two of them were close in their childhood, but he had been sent away to a foster home after his family suffered a fatal car accident. Only recently had the two of them been reunited at college.
 
There was some serious catching up to do, and frankly, Émile didn't have a clue how to go about it.
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"So..."[/COLOR] he started, hesitantly. [COLOR=lightcyan]"You're looking good."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=cornsilk]"[I]Wow[/I], is that really the first thing you're gonna say to me?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"Oh, because [I]you've[/I] got something better to say."[/COLOR]
 
Julie grinned, darting her eyes away. [COLOR=cornsilk]"Undoubtedly."[/COLOR] She took a sip from her cup. [COLOR=cornsilk]"Now that you're back in town, where are you staying? Find your own place?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"Aye, I'm renting an apartment by the train tracks. Nothing fancy, but—"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=cornsilk]"—But you prefer being out in the crowd then stashed out alone anyways, right?"[/COLOR]
 
He paused for a moment. [COLOR=lightcyan]"Yeah."[/COLOR]
 
She sighed. [COLOR=cornsilk]"I'm glad you haven't changed. It's nice to have a familiar face out here."[/COLOR]
 
The two of them sat in silence, content as they stared out the window, and Émile edged his hand over hers. Julie-Lou looked back at him quizzically. [COLOR=lightcyan]"Would you like to take a walk around the campus?"[/COLOR] he offered.
 
[COLOR=cornsilk]"Yeah,"[/COLOR] she chuckled. [COLOR=cornsilk]"You read my mind."[/COLOR]
 
[hr]
The dirt path was narrow, with vast oaks breaching the soil on either side, reaching for the now cloudy sky. Émile was a bit lanky of build, and taller than Julie-Lou, so he wrapped his arm across her shoulders and held her close. [COLOR=lightcyan]"It almost feels like we'd never been apart."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=cornsilk]"Mmmmm,"[/COLOR] she mumbled.
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"You don't agree?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=cornsilk]"I moved on."[/COLOR]
 
Émile snorted, playfully nudging her away from him. [COLOR=lightcyan]"[I]I[/I] for one was devastated."[/COLOR] His face grew sombre as his eyes downcast, and he spoke more seriously. [COLOR=lightcyan]"After losing them, losing you too felt—unfair."[/COLOR]
 
Julie drew her russet locks back over her ear with a finger and looked him right in the eye. [COLOR=cornsilk]"It was a shock, for you more than anyone. How about we just focus on what's ahead instead of behind for now, okay?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"Yeah,"[/COLOR] he grinned. [COLOR=lightcyan]"I guess I can do that."[/COLOR]
 
They continued down the path hand in hand, each lost in their own thoughts.
 
[COLOR=cornsilk][I]Kiss me.[/I][/COLOR]
 
Émile glanced over at her. She was blushing slightly, staring off into the distance. [COLOR=lightcyan]"What?"[/COLOR]
 
She jolted, looking back at him as her cheeks reddened further, apparently broken free from her reverie. [COLOR=cornsilk]"W-what? Why are you looking at me like that?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=lightcyan]"Didn't you just tell me to—"[/COLOR] Her look of confusion silenced him. [COLOR=lightcyan]"Never mind. Let's keep going."[/COLOR]
 
[hr]
The smell of popcorn and cotton candy permeated the air as the young couple meandered through the rides and stands, arm in arm. Though the sun had nearly set, the two had decided to make the most of the yearly fair in what time they had. They'd already bashed about the bumper cars, sped through the roller coasters, and been blasted up to the sky in the elevator. Not to mention all the booths they'd visited and prizes they'd won.
 
Émile caught a booth out of the corner of his eye. [COLOR=#e0ffff]"Here, watch this,"[/COLOR] he said to Julie-Lou, pulling her towards it.
 
A wiry man stood behind a counter with eight cups, juggling three balls. Émile tossed him a toonie, and the man caught it deftly out of the air and flipped it into his pocket. [COLOR=#e6e6fa]"I imagine ye know how to play?"[/COLOR]
 
Émile nodded—it was the time-honoured game of hiding a ball in a cup and switching their places quickly. Guess the correct cup, and you'd win a prize. In this case, there were three balls, to increase the odds.[COLOR=#e0ffff] "Just one ball please."[/COLOR] The man looked at him quizzically, but set aside two of the balls nonetheless.
 
[COLOR=#e6e6fa]"Your funeral,"[/COLOR] he grinned.
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"Here,"[/COLOR] said Émile, passing Julie a ribbon. [COLOR=#e0ffff]"Blind-fold me."[/COLOR]
 
Now both Julie and the man were laughing. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"If you [I]insist[/I] on showing off, sure."[/COLOR] She tied it tightly above his eyes, and motioned for the man to begin.
 
Julie watched as the man swapped the cups in a rapid and perplexing series of movements. Once he was finished and the cups were aligned in a single row, she tapped Émile's shoulder. He took off the blindfold, considered the cups and their owner for a moment, and then pointed one out. To both Julie and the man's great shock, it was the correct cup.
 
The owner of the booth grinned ear-to-ear and passed him a stuffed dolphin. [COLOR=#e6e6fa]"Yer one lucky kid."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"I have my tricks,"[/COLOR] announced Émile, bowing, before leading Julie-Lou away.
 
With the fair almost closing, the two of them decided to take the ferris wheel up to look at the sunset—a traditional, romantic experience.
 
Julie leaned into him as their chair rotated upwards. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"How did you do it?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"Do what?"[/COLOR]
 
She flicked his nose playfully. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"You know."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff][I]It's been almost a year. It's time to tell her.[/I] "Think of a number."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#fff8dc]"What—"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"[I]Thirty-two[/I], that was the number you just thought."[/COLOR]

She remained silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"How did you know that?"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"Guess."[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#fff8dc][I]Are you... Are you a telepath?[/I][/COLOR]
 
He grinned. [COLOR=#e0ffff]"Yes."[/COLOR]
 
[hr]
Émile awoke to the feeling of Julie-Lou's warm body against him, nudging him from sleep. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"Time to get up, gotta get ready for class."[/COLOR]
 
With a groan, he plopped his head back into the pillow, closing his eyes and absorbing the softness of her bed. Comfort had never been a luxury he's afforded himself. [COLOR=#e0ffff]"Man, I could just lay here forever."[/COLOR] Julie's response was to toss his dayclothes in his face.
 
[COLOR=#fff8dc]"Get up, you lazy bum. I call first shower."[/COLOR] After collecting the appropriate apparel from her dresser, she left him alone in the room.
 
It had been a couple months since he'd told her of his newfound ability, and it had not taken much to convince her. Their mutual trust went deep.
 
He dragged himself out of bed and started pulling his clothes on, still a little drowsy. Out of curiosity, he reached out his mind to Julie's, testing its range. He'd always found it easier to connect to familiar minds, and who did he know better than Julie-Lou? It took him a moment, but he soon located the familiar voice of her thoughts, allowing them to play gently in the back of his mind as he fastened his belt. She was thinking about the day to come, plotting out her spare time accordingly. [COLOR=#e0ffff][I]Even in her mind she's got it all figured out.[/I][/COLOR] As he was pulling on his shirt, he felt her mind focus on something—her foot had entangled itself in her clothes as she removed them. He decided to pry a little further.
 
He felt her stepping into the tub, and as she opened her eyes, he saw her hand reach for the tap, flipping on the shower. The barrage of warm water rushed across her body, and she let loose a relaxed sigh. He saw her reach for a bottle, and she started to balm up her hair in conditioner. Next she grabbed the soap, and began applying it to her skin. He could feel her hands gently caressing their body, and he couldn't help but release a groan of pleasure—
 
[COLOR=#fff8dc][I]What are you doing in my mind?[/I][/COLOR]
 
He jolted back into his body, panting in a cold sweat. [COLOR=#e0ffff][I]What the hell just happened?[/I][/COLOR]
 
Grabbing his bag from the floor, he rushed out of the room. Julie-Lou accosted him from the side, having just left the bathroom with a bathrobe pulled tightly across her. Concern flashed in her eyes as she saw the panic in his. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"Are you okay? I've never [I]felt[/I] you do that before." [I]I'm scared.[/I][/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"Me too,"[/COLOR] he muttered without thinking. [COLOR=#e0ffff]"I-I just need to be alone for a bit, clear my mind. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"[/COLOR]
 
Julie-Lou was unconvinced, but he pushed past her and out of the house, leaving her standing at her doorstep, dripping and worried.
 
[hr]
[COLOR=lavender]Damn, late for work—[/COLOR]
[indent][indent][COLOR=lightgoldenrodyellow]—Why does she hate me so much?—[/COLOR][/indent][/indent]
[CENTER][COLOR=gainsboro]—God bless me on this day—[/COLOR][/CENTER]
[RIGHT][indent][indent][COLOR=beige]—Don't forget the keys—[/COLOR][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=mistyrose]—Who's the fucking kid?[/COLOR][/RIGHT]
 
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff][I]I am Émile, and my thoughts are my own.[/I][/COLOR]
 
At the very least, that was what he was desperately trying to convince himself of.
 
The streets were [I]packed[/I] with people, and Émile couldn't keep [I]his[/I] mind [I]out[/I] of [I]theirs[/I]. He stumbled about the sidewalk, hands to his forehead, trying to isolate himself, but each pairs of eyes lent him their sight, each pair of legs took him another step forward, each mind bombarded him with thoughts. It was all he could do to keep himself [I]walking[/I].
 
[hr]
As expected, his door was locked, but the landlord assured her he had come home. With a liitle bit of persuasion and charm, she managed to appropriate from him a spare key.
 
Julie had never entered his apartment before, and was shocked to see it almost entirely unfurnished. It was almost as though the apartment was without resident; a layer of dust coated most surfaces. A few trails cut across the hardwood floor, leading from his bedroom to the bathroom and the fridge, respectively—but most oddly were the small clean squares scattered about the wall, as if photos had been recently been taken down. After some snooping about, she found the discarded photos in the trashbin—photos of Émile and his deceased family.
 
[COLOR=#fff8dc][I]Enough of this.[/I][/COLOR]
 
She edged her way to his bedroom door and slowly creaked it open. Émile lay flat on his covers, staring up at the ceiling.
 
Grinning in relief, she rushed to the side of the bed, calling out [COLOR=#fff8dc]"É—"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"—mile!"[/COLOR] he interrupted, smiling.
 
She reached her right arm out to him. [COLOR=#fff8dc]"I was so—"[/COLOR]
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]"—worried about you,"[/COLOR] raising his right arm above him.
 
Unsettled, she lowered her arm, and he did the same. She could feel the familiar prod of another mind, but she couldn't sense his thoughts as she had in her shower. All she could sense was an echo.
 
[COLOR=#e0ffff]A[COLOR=#fff8dc]n[/COLOR] e[COLOR=#fff8dc]ch[/COLOR]o o[COLOR=#fff8dc]f h[/COLOR]e[COLOR=#fff8dc]rs[/COLOR]e[COLOR=#fff8dc]lf.[/COLOR][/COLOR]
[/hider]