"Sunlight" (Chapter 6- Few; NANOWRIMO)

TO BE MAJORLY REVISED AND EDITED POST-NANOWRIMO.

Chapter 6: Few

Less than three years ago

                He had seen her prior to the occasion of Liv’s graduation party. A glance here, a glimpse there, a very average someone two grades below him. They never really crossed paths all that often, but since their “formal” greeting, Damir had begun to assign meaning to those few brief sightings of one another. Neither was very sociable, though Damir’s expression of this non-social tendency was very different from hers, as Dan was extremely sociable.

                The week after their first meeting was punctuated by the thoughts of the young woman with the winter-blue eyes. She invaded therapy sessions of all sorts, grocery shopping, desperate job-hunting, lonely bus-stop waiting, insomniac nights lying idly in bed. Only the presence of his parents caused the thoughts to cease. He was forced to drive, an activity barely possible with the graphic images of the recent past constantly scraping his thoughts, helping them in and out of their single vehicle, from various therapies to home and then back again, day upon day. It was difficult not to fix his thoughts on their circumstances, on the thought that this was likely to be the routine of the rest of their lives. The proverbial bills were beginning to pile up, and at this time, he was the only one recovered enough to begin to provide. Any attempts to obtain a diploma of any sort were now a small pulsation of anxiety among a mind filled with other priorities. The sliver of free time which allotted the graduation party’s time, weeks ago, had all but subsided.

                In spite of all such priorities, there she was, the sun’s illumination poking through the clouds of tasks in his mind. He was grateful for such a distraction in his minimal moments of pause. It seemed impossible that he would have the slightest bit of time to ponder such things, but rather than dwell on the Pax family’s circumstances, he thought of her. It was selfish, escapist. Impractical. Unlikely. But this he did. He wondered, in those brief moments, what book she had been reading in the study. What flower she enjoyed the most, especially being a gardener herself. It was impractical, selfish, escapist, and perhaps more than a little bit odd. He’d really only seen her once, and that once gave him a revealing glimpse into her self, her nature. Her first real impression made him wonder if they had more in common than the desire to avoid socialization with others… but perhaps they were very different. Even so, that once made him wish to know her more than he had ever wanted to know a person before.

                It had been months since he had attempted to get to know someone. No, perhaps, longer than months…  Dan was his only true friend. It had been years since he’d attempted to make any new connection with somebody else. And now he hadn’t the time to do so.

                In about the middle of June, he received an unexpectedly untimely phone call. He had just stumbled inside from another unwanted transportation nightmare, struggling to clear his head before putting in a load of laundry he had recently neglected, when the phone began to vibrate, the simple blue screen clearly stating "Dan".  Sighing, he flipped it open.

"Hello?" he said, using all his effort to sound unafraid.

"Hey, Damir. How's it going?"

"...Fine, um... did you really call for small talk, or what? I... kind of have some stuff to do..."

"Oh, that's okay. I was just wondering if you weren't too busy on Saturday. James is having his grad party, and the guys from the team were thinking about going out somewhere afterward..."

Saturday. What did he have to do on Saturday? Damir thought of his every move as he made his way to the kitchen, and glanced very consciously at the calendar. He wished to keep his mind on all things of this very moment, grounding him in place, in the present, to keep from wandering into the depths of the past.

"...Uh... sure, yeah, I... I... what time?"

"Between six and eight."

"Sure. I think I can do that."

"And after...?"

He glanced at the kitchen window, and there was another window, longer and wider with straight white blinds, in a white walled room, with the nurse, alarm in her eyes, in scarlet-splattered scrubs at the end of the bed...

"I have to go," he said, quickly, hanging up before staggering into the bathroom, and slamming the door shut. He always saw the room. The room and her expression, their concern, and all the words he couldn’t yet say. And there were the images themselves, the road twisting, winding, in and out of focus, blurred among flashes of iridescent blue and stiff brown green grass… tumbling, twisting, winding, shattering, into the ground, only to be met with the sudden agony of a swiftly blighted body, and the sight of the triad’s life force draining thick and dangerously fast, coating once-sturdy grey seats and dashboards and smashed windows…

                He sank to the icy tiled floor, his reflection obscured by the memories. Some vague part of him acknowledged that he needed to regain control soon, as the hour would end quicker than he could ever expect. He took shallow, ragged breaths. There was little he could do to stop it from coming. If he slept, the scenes came more vivid in nightmares, sometimes enhanced horrifically by his brain during sleep. And if he laid awake, the scenes still came. They had been put off for a while now; he’d seen them less and less by keeping busy, and using his will to see and think of Amira. But they remained, if not at the forefront of his thoughts, always somewhere, spiderlike, laying eggs that grew into more dark and poisonous pests.

***

                The week went on in a feverish blur. His family did not assist in making the scenes less vivid; rather, they did the opposite. But Damir had little choice in the matter of seeing them, holding them, assisting with many things that once necessitated only themselves to accomplish. Their frustration became his. Saturday seemed like an entire impossibility. It simply ceased to exist, until the day itself arrived. He had been sending down a cardboard box, down stairs he did not yet attempt to descend, when yet another call punctuated a seemingly meaningless moment of his life. He scrambled away from the stairs, straining to keep his balance as he searched for the source of the phone’s loud vibration.

                “Hello?” he answered, out of breath and clearly startled.

                “Hey, you need a ride tonight?” Dan replied.

                Damir found that his gaze was already fixed on the clock, something he’d relied on very much in recent times. Saturday had somehow managed to arrive, the abrupt arrival of the last frazzled marathon runner, outlying from the rest. The stern numbered face stated that it was forty minutes from six o’clock, the alleged time that one could begin arriving at James’s graduation party. His parents were tended to, and it would be another couple of hours before he would need to retrieve them.

                “Sure, but… I… I should get back by 7. If that’s okay.”

                “That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”

                It was unlikely that Damir could settle the slight sense of nervous panic brought on by the recognition of this coming event, nor the constant ache which accompanied his steps, nor his relief at Dan’s offer of transportation, even if he frequently used his cell phone while doing so.

                Nor did the sudden return of the sunflower on the tree, in the park, down the street from Liv’s house. The return of the presence of the girl who had accompanied him, next to him on that bench. Enigmatic, yet clear as an unwritten page, a wide, open sky. Her return to his thoughts kept him from his acknowledgement of the light, chalky tablets in his palm, brought to his tongue and swallowed without water. Only the necessary dosage. He allowed the girl to occupy his mind for now, while the medication took its course. Time would soon enough bring Dan to the door once again.

                Damir attempted to keep his gaze from the daunting mirror before him. His reflection had been something he had grown accustomed to avoiding. Though the worst he could cover with his clothes, they hung upon a once-strong, now wiry frame, his sleeplessness revealed in the darkness beneath his eyes, nine month old injuries in his every unforgiving step, the cane giving him no way to hide. There was no way to forget. It could be worse, he knew. Much worse. These memories, the hospital, his parents, those enduring their own challenges among them… they had also begun to take residence in his mind, settling in on the dusty furniture. Each on their own difficult journey from personal catastrophe to something resembling normalcy.

                So he let Amira enter his thoughts once more, as he left from this house to James’s. Any conversation which Dan attempted to have with Damir was futile, his thoughts beginning to fill with a heart-racing sense of anticipation, tinged with irrationality.

                “Seven, right?” he heard, suddenly realizing the lack of motion in the vehicle. All throughout this week, until this very last 15 minutes, he had noticed every minute detail of the automobile travels he had made. 

                “Yes, seven,” he replied, as the locks popped up, and the two stepped out.

                Damir knew James significantly more than Liv; he had been his last soccer team’s keeper, and quite a good one at that. James had also occasionally lived the wild life with Dan and his friends, leading to at least a handful of surface conversations. A slight pang of guilt arrived with the realization that he had prepared nothing to give this almost-friend. As discreetly as possible, he retrieved his wallet from his pocket and skimmed for something potentially worth giving… there was a very low amount of cash within, a couple of cards. He withdrew a neglected Starbucks gift card, from what seemed like eons ago, with a high potential of being expired. Regardless, the card was untouched. It would have to suffice. As he scanned the room for something with which to designate James’s gift, he found his gaze drawn to the very essence of his thoughts.

                She stood beside the kitchen counter, among a cheery James himself, a ghost of a smile coming to her lips. The now-celebrated high school graduate warmly embraced Amira, and her smile grew more genuine. As pleasant as her joy was displayed, there was an uncalled for dismay at the sight of the togetherness between the two…

                He began to turn away, when James crossed the room to meet him.

                “Damir! Glad you could make it, man!” James said, the grin plastered to his face.

                “Yeah… me… too. Um… Congratulations. I’m really sorry, I couldn’t get you_”

                “Oh, no, it’s fine, that’s cool_”

                “Uh… here.”

                Damir handed him the unsigned card.

                “Sorry…”

                “Starbucks. That’s totally alright, Damir. Good place. Hey, have you met my cousin?”

                Private embarrassment rose up in Damir’s face, as he noted James’s gesture to Amira.

                “Damir, this is Amira. Amira, this is Damir.”

                Amira’s sun ray smile remained.

                “Hi, Damir. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand, meeting his eyes with their secret, second greeting.

                “Nice to meet you too, Amira,” he replied, accepting the offer of her slender hand as a sudden, pleasant tightness entered his chest. Her cousin was swiftly swept away by new others to welcome. Damir was surprised to find that such an expression as a smile was still possible on a face so accustomed to grimaces, frowns, and masks of apathy.     

                                “So… how have you been?” Damir began. Had it really been nearly three weeks since he’d seen her?

                “I’ve been… good… I think,” she replied.

                “That’s great.”

                The conversation was a jacket covering a bare chest. There they stood, his eyes on hers, hers in the corner of the room, both sets of lips and vocal chords muffled by rushing thoughts.

                “Amira, who’s your friend?” an unfamiliar voice chimed unexpectedly beside them.

                A woman and a man, nowhere beyond their mid to late forties stood near the young woman before Damir. Though he’d never met the couple before, his recognition was immediate. The faint azure of Amira’s eyes belonged to the man, the tawny hair, the woman. Her stature differed mildly from theirs, but if Amira’s reddening face, and shifted gaze did not create an even clearer perception of the couple’s identity, he was not sure what would.

                “This is… Damir,” she said, her voice returning to its prior quiet tone.

                Her mother and father each took a turn to firmly shake his hand, the latter clearly testing something, as if Damir’s grip would give some sort of insightful indication of self.

                “It’s very nice to meet you, Damir. We are so glad that Amira’s made a friend here,” her father said. Their demeanor betrayed something further than simple politeness, which he did not comprehend. He glanced at Amira, who had fixed an empty stare at the corner of the room again, now populated by a woman and two nagging children. The concern which had suddenly flashed in her parents’ eyes further perplexed Damir.

                “I think we’re going to go speak with your aunt now, Amira. We’ll catch up with you later,” the woman stated, with peculiar urgency, as she and her husband took off toward another.

                                Amira and Damir’s silence was nearly noticeable among the dozens gathered in the crowded living room of the young man’s home. Damir decided to say all that he knew to say; retreat appeared to be their only option once more.

                “Do you… want to go somewhere else?” he inquired, his voice barely above a meager whisper. Somehow, the girl received the words and nodded, purposeful in her leading steps through and around the crowd, until they reached a strangely placed door adjacent to an ascending staircase. The girl flipped a switch to the door’s left, faint autumn gold slipping through the tear between door and carpet. Amira turned the knob, revealing yet another set of stairs, fortunately shallow, of neat, dark texture. The girl remained a few steps ahead as the two descended the stairs, yet she moved as slowly as he. At the bottom of the stairs, the contents of the lower room were revealed.

                Chests of stuffed animals, tiny race cars and elaborate plastic tracks, at least one visible and fully furnished dollhouse, populated with miniature families, among abandoned dump trucks, and other various articles of archetypical boyhood and girlhood, a scene captured from a fanciful children’s film. Yet within the room, was an undeniable and ominous weight, as though dust had piled itself into stone and crammed itself into children’s toys. He had been fascinated by the room, yet Amira herself became his focus once again as she took a seat on a closed chest. He cautiously maneuvered himself to the floor.

                The moments passed as if they were infinite, as if he could shrink and sleep for ages more in one of the beneath the small cloth sheets of the dollhouse’s miniature wooden beds.

                “We used to come here all the time,” Amira murmured, her voice piercing clouds of dust, her blue eyes piercing the blue tub filled with the deconstructed car ramps and trucks, action figures, multi-colored blocks and Lincoln logs. Her gaze was fixed there as it had been in the corner when they had been upstairs.

                “It was just so nice for my parents… just for us to have our Aunt and Uncle, and James right here, here in town…”

                He could not help but note the way she scanned the toys, in such a strange way. Watching them in the way that he watched her.

                “Us?” he spoke, immediately regretting the word.

                “I… I mean… me. My parents took… me… here. When we were little… I,” she stammered.

                Her gaze moved to the floor. Then to the blue plastic tub once more. The small mauve one beside it. Then back to the blue…

                “Are you alright?”

                A moment.

                “Hm…? Oh… um. I… I’m fine,” came her nearly inaudible reply.

                “Are you sure?” Damir treaded on, a heterogeneous mixture of concern and dubiousness coloring his speech. “You look like you’re seeing a ghost…”

                His last word made the girl freeze, changing her pallor into something like the word and all it implied. She stumbled over her own words once more, before scrambling to her feet and sprinting up the stairs. The weight of the room seemed to collapse upon the young man now. If he stayed her for too much longer, he would indeed shrink into an abandoned child’s toy, destined to remain in a haunted blue plastic tub. Slowly, he arrived at his feet as well, and began the treacherous trek up the stairs once more.              

                Guilt for whatever he’d made Amira feel consumed him. The crowd upstairs seemed as subdued as the level below them; there was a silent, haunted weight upon them that he hadn’t recognized earlier. The worlds of the celebration and apparition had seemed to blend into one. Amira was nowhere to be found. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the door to the outside, his destination, the single way out, though he had not wished to leave after seeing her again. But he knew now that he’d done something terribly wrong, that he’d seen something that perhaps he was never intended to see. And though her wandering eyes gave way to even more curiosity and wonder and worry than he had ever had for a single being, he knew it was not for him to understand, unless she were to elect to explain. He hadn’t the right to ask, to be in any of her family’s homes, or in their children’s old wonderlands. His exit was imperative.

                “Damir, are you leaving?” he heard Dan’s voice break through the dozens as he arrived at the door. The brighter and younger young man came quickly beside him.

                “Y-Yeah. Um… Yeah, I’m going home,” he replied.

                “It’s six-thirty… I can take you though, if you want.”

                The summer sun remained, though a swarm of gray just beyond it loomed eerily above them. His home was several miles away; his vehicle in the driveway, awaiting his keys and demanding his Senela-touched hands on the wheel, shoes controlling speed and stops. He did not wish to conclude this reprieve, no matter how much dusty weight it carried. But the inevitable would arise without regard for his wishes.

                “Sure.”

                He watched as Dan discarded a half-empty can of soda into a recycling receptacle by the door, and breathing the outside air before Damir. The relief and the wonder, the fear and the guilt, and the longing within him in leaving this house, were more than he’d truly felt in weeks.

                “You ready?” Dan asked, as they each took their respective seats in the vehicle. Damir was tempted to close his eyes on this ride, a futile attempt to drown out the inevitable scenes of his memory, but he knew it would not make a difference. He gave Dan a dishonest nod, and his friend started the car.  As soon as they began to move, Dan began his comradely inquisition.

                “So where were you this whole time? I’ve hardly seen you since we got there.”

                It had been but a half an hour. Damir was strangely reminded of Amira’s parents at the tone of Dan’s voice. His friend had never been reminiscent of a parent, at least until now.

                “I… I was talking to someone.”

                Dan drove on without speaking, as though expecting elaboration. Damir suppressed a sigh as he continued.

                “Amira Senela… James’s cousin. Do you know her?”

                Odd, yet consistent with what he’d seen in James’s home, Dan’s eyebrow rising, his lip turning downward. He took a moment to take in what was just said.  His response of clear disbelief appeared as though Damir had described something incredibly absurd rather than told him the honest truth about spending a half an hour engaged in conversation. Or perhaps his surprise was in whom he was conversing with…

                “Amira? You’re serious? You talked to her? She talked to you?”

                “Yes… why is that so surprising…?”

                “Well, Amira hardly ever talks to anyone. Actually, she barely speaks at all, unless it’s for class or something, but even then…”

                They both remained silent for a moment now, as the young man in the passenger seat began to ponder on what this may imply. He could only hope that…

“I think something happened when she was younger. Her brother died when um… James was 12. He would’ve been our age,” Dan continued.

Though their vehicle moved at 65 miles per hour, the peripheral glimpse of a flower-and-ribbon-strewn cross on the side of the road, had stained itself into his mind.

Damir closed his eyes.

"Sunlight" (official prologue-"Photographs" NANOWRIMO HAS BEGUN)

Photographs

                The house stood empty on an empty street, soft lights occasionally displayed. Through the front door, and down an empty hall, with empty picture frames, and frames turned downward on misplaced display tables, there is another door. Beyond that door, is a downward staircase, unfinished wood all the way to the concrete floor below. The boxlike basement reflects its contents—boxes. It seems that all the empty walls had been stripped away and piled just over six feet beneath it. Within those boxes—some dampened cardboard, others neat pine crates, contain small medals and trophies, which could only belong to a child, haphazardly among three soccer balls, a basketball, and one American football, all in varying degrees of inflation. Others contain a tall woman’s clothing, scrubs, and jackets. Others still, the clothing of a small boy, which could fit up to a young man of 15. A few articles of medical wear in slim men’s sizes, and a suit.

                Yet the most fascinating boxes contain blank canvases, and unfinished paintings, draped over the sides, long frames jutting out at unstable angles. And beneath these paintings, lie three eloquent photo albums.

                One contains shots of nature, common trees and grass and flowers, juxtaposed with known world wonders, waterfalls, dirty streams, and deserts. Candid photos of strangers, both in comfortable, familiar suburban neighborhoods, typical Western scenery, still others of those in devastated and desolate lands, rummaging through rubble. The photographer herself makes but a couple of sparse appearances in this album,  a beautiful young woman with a mess of wild, but tightly wound black curls, the clothes she wears indicating a traveler’s comfortable and functional wardrobe. In one hastily shot image, she appeared to be clothed in a nurse’s uniform. The images in this album may have some sort of overarching theme, if one were to take his or her time flipping through it; they were not unlike the striking abstract paintings. Tragic and euphoric, chaotic and breathtaking, but incredibly human, and very real, but with a very specific purpose, to specific individuals.

                The second album is thicker than the first, its pages crammed with images that, while still beautiful, were significantly less formal. The woman appeared in many more of these pictures, often accompanied by a similarly young man, only a few inches taller than her, his sandy hair shaved close to his head. Some of the settings in the first album were shared with those in the second album. There was clear difference between when one took a photo of another, and when they were pictured together. There were very few shots of each individual. The album also featured captions, such as: “Soren and I in Morocco, 1988!”, scrawled in barely legible, small, cursive script, beneath an image of the young couple in the backdrop of an African sunrise. The photographs were interspersed with quotations and torn portions of unsent and blank postcards. The last image in this album was a single, unsent wedding invitation.

                Further beneath, is the most recent album. The couple was present in only a few images now, the only consistent presence being first, an infant, and later, a gangly young boy with shaggy dark brown hair. He was pictured in soccer uniforms, with a team, from the age of four until he was at least 16. He was seen with some sort of ball in almost every photograph, and very few featured him with people other than teammates, or the couple, who had aged ever-so-slightly. There were photos of him kicking a soccer ball from behind, action shots, with captions just as present as ever. One page featured one such action shot, the young boy in his early teens, alongside a browning image of the man standing in a football uniform, helmet in hand. The caption read, “(I know it is cliché, but) Like father, like son…” The boys on the teams kept changing. And a photograph of another house, or an apartment door, or any variety of housing, would continue to show up, taking up a single page, every few pages of photographs.

                The album ended with many empty pages. The last one filled was a candid shot of the boy as a young man of 16 or 17 years, wearing a rare smile, with a joking friend at his side.

                Across town, was another home. With yet another corridor, to another basement, though these stairs were finished, smooth, glimmering mahogany, at least in texture and color. And this basement was filled with abandoned toys, a rocking chair, a dollhouse, Lego sets, plastic tubs of a long-forgotten childhood…

Sunlight (Chapter 5- "Familiar")

The last time, the ambulance came too late. The last time, he rushed to help his father into the car, he put the key into the ignition and drove, and drove, hardly able to keep his composure, narrowly avoiding the potential earthquakes on either side of him, as they rushed by.

The last time, it was only the two of them, holding her hands, trying their hardest not to cry until they were home, a task of which they failed to accomplish. The last time, all he could see were brain scans and all he could hear was quiet words, all muffled by angry tires and shattering glass, and crunching metal. The last time, they weren't sure why.
This time, his gaze was fixed on the road, his head was still pounding, the images were still vivid, but the complicated light with her hands on the steering wheel was at his side.
The caregiver had been called home to her children sick to their stomachs and lungs; he heard coughing on the phone as she hurried out, he heard the desperation in her eldest daughter's voice.
He understood. Her family came first.
Damir shut his eyes tightly, papyrus fortifactions to prevent the lightning strike. The fire was lit. Inside him were smoldering ruins; rubble filled his bones, sank him into the sea.
The brake, the tires scraping against pavement, sounds like amplified claws on chalkboards echoing in a canyon, spiraling, past her face, the ditch, through the glass...
His eyes shut then as well. All else was clear...
...sounds like a softball hiting a brick wall, shatter-sounds immediately afterward, inflated airbags, something piercing skin, sharp pain, the deafening sounds of crumpling metal throughout... a single voice... deep sanguine warmth leaking... 
It would never end.   
A pause in movement.
"Damir?" she whispered.
"Damir, come on... we're here..."
He stared ahead, seeing, hearing, feeling, sharpredcrackshatterscreechthnkshoutscreechstabpierceredredred...
The water ran in the shower. She was by herself, she was alone.
"Damir..."
The woman laid on the hospital bed, silent and sleeping, chest rising and falling and falling once more...
"Damir..."

Tears.

Her hand reached his shoulder.

"Come on..."

He heard breath catching, a torn sob. His own or hers?

The lock popped up. The woman had been sitting right here.

The sunlight traveled from driver's seat to passenger's door, taking the handle, opening it. Damir could hardly comprehend the blue-gray eyes upon him, her hand taking his. He left the vehicle, with his arm under her. He had heard the sirens as his father had arrived. He saw the lights. Was his father already inside?
He could not prepare.
Somehow, the young woman brought them both through the door.
"Damir," she whispered again. They were at a station, a counter, a woman with a computer...
"Soren Pax," he choked. "We... we need to see him."
"Are you family?"
He could only nod. Amira pulled him closer; he noted her arm around his waist. He noted the feel of the winds and the rains and lightning inside, tearing apart all that once was; even stone ruins breaking. Ache. Needles and bruises up and down his leg, it felt, while the rest of him crumbling ruins with rain and thunder and lightning and wind slamming upon them, so many tiny pieces.
Again down a hall. Again on an elevator. Up the floor. The sun his support, the eye of the storm, however small. Down another hall. More swirling white coats, pastel scrubs, a blur...
On another bed. Another face, more eyes shut, more whirring machinery... more, more, more, more... the same.
He stared down at his father.
They sat down, a unit, two chairs by the bed. Time reduced to insignificance. Sky outside going from dark, to darker, rain ending, but dark sky remaining.
Blurs of colors and white.
The blur of different colors faded after time. The blurry mouth of the doctor, saying words he already knew.

He did not hear them. He felt the stone turn to sand, felt the rain-swelled ocean sweep him away. The sun warming the water. Her arm around him.
"We'll... give you some time alone now."
Doctor voice, so quiet. The words he'd heard before. The sights he'd seen before.
He knew what she saw too.
He looked down at his father, felt the ocean from his eyes, washing sand. His breath catching along with hers, her arms around him, her tears falling, shared saltwater, undrinkable, falling, an ocean created.
Sand built up in a castle, warmed by the sun, lifted, standing. And then his hand touched his father's face, warmth to fade soon. Oceans rising.
The moon changed the tide, but the sun warmed the waters. Her arm was around him, holding him, keeping him from falling apart.
But he had long since been the pebbles and rubble, gravel and grit, for generations.

Sunlight (Chapter 4-"First")

Many years before, and about five states away

"Damir, we need you to sit down for a second, okay?" the man shouted to his son, who continued to ignore his call to him. The five-year-old's focus was fixed only upon the geometrically-patterned ball of black and white that he wove wildly down the living room floor, narrowly avoiding paint-splattered cardboard boxes, the coffee table and the boxy television upon the worn wooden floor.

"Damir," the boy's mother called. "You can practice later, outside, okay?" she said, hurrying toward him before he could reach her easel. He hardly noticed it as he continued to weave through the small living room, until his mother caught up with him, placing her hands strategically on his small, thin shoulders, while his father scooped the ball from the floor.

"It'll only take a couple of minutes. But Mommy and Daddy have something really important to tell you about right now. Can you wait a couple of minutes?"

The boy crossed his arms, his lower lip sticking out in a childish scowl.

"Please, Damir. We promise," his father chimed in. "I'll take you out to the field if you just let us talk a minute..."

At that second, he scrambled from his mother's grasp and onto the couch, his arms uncrossed, upright and as mature as he could possibly manage to look as a five-year-old.

"Okay. What seems to be the matter?" he said, abruptly precocious. The parents shook their heads. They could tell he only had one thing on his mind--he didn't even try to meet their eyes, his gaze fixed on the prize held under his father's arm.

"Well..." his mother began, taking a seat next to him, her husband following suit. Each parent sat at either side of their young son. This was a bit difficult to explain, and they could only hope it wouldn't cause him too much trouble.

They had been here for two years. And three to five were important years, they recognized. But work was work. Service and others were always their priorities.

And here was another.

"Do you remember where we used to live, Damir?" the husband continued for his wife.

The child shook his head.

"No, not really," he said, still eyeing the soccer ball.

Mother and father met eyes, sharing in their uncertainty of how to continue.

"Damir..." she started again.

"Yes, Mommy?" he replied this time.

"Your daddy and I have jobs that require us to move to a lot of different places..."

He nodded, and for a brief moment, they believed he already understood.

"Mmhmm," he said. "Can we go to the soccer field now, Daddy?"

He turned toward his father, and his best friend in his arms.

"No, not yet, Damir... what your mommy and I are trying to say is..."

"We're going to have to move again, Damir. To a new town, and a new house..."

The husband looked to his wife, and his eyes questioned whether they should tell him so bluntly right now. The child gave his mother a puzzled stare.

"You're... you're going to need to go to a new school, and..."

"But mommy, soccer..."

"I know, I know, sweetheart, but we have..."

"I don't wanna go!" he shouted, and leapt of the couch, reaching for the soccer ball. His father held it away, wincing. This was exactly what they were afraid of.

"Sit back down, Damir," his father requested, firmly.

"No! I don't wanna leave, Mommy. I don't wanna go, Daddy. I wanna stay here. I wanna play soccer with the other kids, I wanna stay at Kid-nergarten, please, I don't wanna go..."

He looked up at them desperately. One could not aptly predict the emotions of a child.

His mother drew in a deep breath. "I know, I know, sweetie... but you can play soccer and go to kindergarten at... your new... school," she began. Moving was not easy, not for anyone. Both parents had the same thought, as they considered the times they may need to have this conversation with him again. But how would he react then?

Their little boy turned away from them, sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed.

"I don't... wanna... go..." he said, through sniffling. His mother winced. She hated tears. She couldn't imagine crying for something like this, however, even as a five-year-old...

His father immediately noted her expression, and sat down on the floor next to their son. He put his arm around him, releasing the ball.

"It'll be okay, son. Your mom's right... you can join the soccer team at your new school. We'll get you new cleats and a uniform and everything. And you'll meet lots of new friends to play with..." he said, in a gentle tone.

Their current neighborhood was quiet and well-groomed, but the small family were the only ones on the block with a young child.

The little boy sniffled one more time, before glancing up at his father. And then the soccer ball.

"C'mon. We can go to the field. The big one."

His son seemed to lighten a little.

"Okay," he mumbled. He brightened when he stood, taking it upon himself to gently kick the ball toward their door. The man briefly glanced at his wife, who finally stood from the couch. She reached into one of the boxes, and pulled out her brushes.

"Thank you," she murmured to him.

"It's okay," he said, as reassuringly as he possibly could.

"Come on, Dad!" the child shouted, already halfway out the door, the excitement having returned to him. The man smiled weakly, while his wife pulled out her canvas, and the father followed after his son.

The Cord

String upon string,
twist upon twist,
'round and 'round,
'till the cord is strong.
'Till the cord is sure,
to remain tightly wound,
'till the cord is sure,
to never tear apart.
Strain upon strain,
tear upon tear,
tighter and tighter,
'till the cord is stretched thin.
'Till the cord is worn,
'till the tears are too much.
Rip upon rip.
The cord breaks in two.
'Till rip upon rip,
the cord breaks some more.
'Till what it supported,
falls to the floor.
Tape upon tape,
wound round and round,
'till pieces of cord are together again,
'till tear after tear
wears it thin again.
Rip upon rip,
and a fall to the ground.
Black and electric,
the cord starts a fire
consuming and consuming,
all it surrounds.
String upon string,
once strong and sure,
torn into pieces,
created fire on the floor.
Tear upon tear,
rip upon rip,
fall after fall...
the fall turns to fire,
the fire to a divide.
Consuming and consuming...

Sunlight (Chapter 3- "Fog")

Chapter 3

She was here. Really here, standing in his dimly lit, over-sanitary home, drenched in rain, but bright. One year without sun. And now she had returned.
"It's... been a while. How have you been?" she said.

Her voice was still quiet, but some of its former shyness had subsided. Damir was certain that this voice had now become accustomed to being raised to answer difficult questions asked by professors, to have conversations with new friends, perhaps to order coffee with them, or even more. He knew she would be silent, perhaps only in studying...

"Damir, is everything alright?"
The concern was familiar.

"Fine. Just fine," came Damir's quiet reply. Over these past few years, he'd learned not only how to obscure himself from the world, but how to deceive it. Her voice pierced through his twisting, storm-cloud thoughts. She would detect any dishonesty from him. But how could he possibly tell her the honest truth now?

"Are you sure?" Amira replied, her voice now as quiet as it once was. Gentle. Far too gentle. Outside, thunder rolled.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said.
His gaze was fixed upon her, the very sight of her threatening to blind him, burn him, threatening to shove his darkness from the inside out.

Another pair of headlights from outside the window interrupted. A car door opened and shut. A woman approached the door, and Damir met her there.

“Hello, Damir,” the woman said, her smile never betraying an ounce of the weariness that he knew was in her heart. She politely nodded at his company. He never wanted to let Amira into this world, the one where he, his father, and this woman, a former friend of his parents, and now caregiver, were left to an empty, clean house to forget what life once was before.
Privacy was something his father rarely had. And the triadic family of sorts ached with the grave knowledge they all held, the loss they shared, and the one they were facing now. The pervasive melancholy that consumed them, their grim anticipation, their desperate attempts at preparation. Death loomed in this house. This was why the woman came, for comfort, for care, but the end would come.

“He’s in his room. Sleeping. He shouldn’t need anything until he wakes up,” Damir said. The woman nodded, and entered the hallway to his father’s room, as if she were merely visiting her friend to have a chat. As if this was not a place where grief rose every morning like a thick fog.
He glanced at Amira briefly, and then the hallway. They stood in silence, without the need for explanation.

"You don't have to stay," Damir said, his voice being only slightly louder than a whisper. He found his gaze meeting hers, gauging her focus, wondering if he could perceive her thoughts as he once could. If she could perceive his.

"It's alright," she replied, her volume reflecting his. Her eyes meeting his.

"Okay. Well... you could... come with me, if you want."

"Sure. Besides, I haven't seen your father in a long time," she said.

"Alright. Would you mind taking off your coat and shoes, then?"

Amira complied, and Damir began the familiar trek down the hall, different now with the even, youthful, yet cautious, steps of the young woman behind him.

Amira and his father had only met once. But that time, just under a year ago, had been significant in her life, as Damir recalled. And it was later significant for his family, as well. It was nearly directly after this event that his father's health began to decline once again.

And not even three months afterward, he had been forced to face her absence.

Damir opened the door as he had many times before, to the sight he had seen many times before. The frequency of hurricanes hitting a particular location, however, would likely never make a community entirely prepared for the next devastating storm. Within it, a hospital bed, among all the mechanisms necessary for his father's current care, surrounded the frail man himself. Passing through that door from the hall was like entering an eternal, dreary, dusk. Not even the subdued, sunset-shades of light reflecting through the room could fool one into believing that it was anything other than what it was. His father remained asleep, caregiver by his side. She had already prepared for his waking, the sliver of irrational hope never leaving her weary eyes.

There were clear differences from this room and an actual hospital room, however, to Damir and his father's relief. The lighting was not nearly as sharp, and the chairs near his bed had been moderately used at one point or another in one of their homes an indefinite amount of years ago, before being rudely and suddenly displaced from the comfortable garage, into this forlorn chamber.

Damir did not dare to allow himself a glimpse of Amira's expression at this time. His father was paler than light itself, fragile and desolate, it was not difficult to imagine her thoughts at this time. He could only hope that he was not harming her by bringing her here. By letting her into this world once again. He stood at the side of his father, trying his hardest not to recall the last time he appeared to desire the breaths that sustained his life.

Trying his hardest not to recall the reason behind it. Prior loss. The direct cause of this illness, the reason he now represented breathing mortality. She who had once sustained them.

Tissue of all sorts, muscle and nerves, bones, coordinated themselves to reach another construction of nerves, bones and muscle, of tissue, voluntary movement coordinated by the secret knowledge and fear of the affections. One of the young man's hands reached her whose whose light was more than . The other hand met his father's. The caregiver took the man's other hand.

A long while they stood this way, before being seated. Until every breath was heard, the man's and the three around him. Until they knew, in great certainty, that this was not an ordinary sleep. The caregiver stood only to reach for her cellphone, whispering words of distress to paramedics. Her eyes matched the clouds outside. Amira had her gaze fixed on the farthest wall. Distant like he'd once seen her before. And his father breathed strangely, as he didn't wake to whatever the caregiver tried while remaining on the phone...

It was familiar. All of it familiar. The hurricane winds twisted within and wiped out all the homes and all the lives that once existed. And back at the beginning he stood.

Broken Doll

Inner child,
twisted adolescent,
in-between
should be too
old
for this.
uses up their resources,
makes a fool
of them
something outside
normal.
something
A-B
normal.
tears off the limb.
stares at him.
tapes it back on,
bands it together.
the feeling changes,
but the doll is better.
He has a story.
a reason to look grim.
too old,
for pretend,
but imagination
has simply
contorted itself,
into new shapes,
new stories,
new meanings.
new reasons,
new.
but old.
but young.
far behind,
posing
as
ahead.
covered in jeans,
jacket, sunglasses,
mini-motorcycle,
Rapunzel in
contemporary clothing,
right behind him.
you wouldn't be able
to tell
the difference.

Observer

Too many words to say
And not enough space.
Too many words to say,
and to say them would be
too much.
See from this perspective,
as we're told in class,
examine our own,
look at the world,
try on new eyes.
No one way to see,
the damage and tragedy,
the compassion and beauty.
Through the camera's lens,
through the automated voice,
through the voices lost,
through the silence,
and through the noise.
Natural settings
and laboratories.
Experiments and
anonymous questionaires.
Infinite questions.
Desperate to see,
to see,
to know,
to understand.
Investigating,
for answers
that may not come
on this Earth.

Sunlight-Chapter 2- "Sunrise"

Acknowledgement: Credit goes to my dear friend Leah for letting me steal borrow her character, and for influencing many of the events in this story.

Chapter 2: Sunrise

Three years earlier…

It had been months since he'd seen any of his friends. The beings themselves and everything they stood for seemed quite foreign to him now.

"A graduation party?" he had said, doubtfully over his long-neglected cellphone. He was so lost to the world that texting simply wasn't enough, even as a part of his communication-starved, technologically-dependent generation.

"Yeah. I mean, it's only a couple of hours. And we haven't seen you in ages," the other young man replied. That person was so distant to Damir, someone from another life. A life where appearances and actions and strategies on fields and courts and people's crowded, dark, parentless, beer-slathered houses mattered. Damir could hear the sound of movement, of a cracked window in a car, letting in late May air. He glanced outside, saw the tree leaves moving slightly, as clouds blocked the sun.

"I'll think about it," Damir replied.

"Well... it starts at 6, ends at 8:30. You don't have to stay the whole time..."

The sound of a car passing the young man came through quite clearly on Damir’s line. He was driving, for God’s sake.

"Just... call me back when you get home, okay?" he said, too quickly.

"Alright, alright. Talk to you then."

He hit the end button quickly, hoping that he wouldn't keep driving on the phone.

If his friend had done so, he'd still made it home alright because he managed to call back at Damir's request.

Damir accepted the invitation. The stifling emptiness of the house drove him out of it. He'd spent so much time there since the accident, and he needed to get out. No matter what the occasion, he just had to leave.

The boxes in the basement had only begun to turn into endless stacks of an abandoned life.

Now the young man stood by the window as long as he could, leaning heavily on the cane that had been the sign of his most recent advancement in recovery. But every grasp of that handle, the memories of all the work it took to get there, was another reminder of how far his parents would never be again.

After what felt like hours, his friend pulled up, phone still attached to his ear. The vehicle his friend drove was unfamiliar. As Damir approached the passenger's side, he advised to the open window: "You really shouldn't be on the phone while you drive."

"Yeah, it's him. Aw, alright. I'll see you soon," his friend said, as he finished his conversation with the female voice on the other line.

"Yeah, it's nice seeing you too, Damir," his friend replied, trying to smile.

"No problem, Dan," he said, entering the car. Damir's friend focused on the road again, but he couldn't keep from observing him. His friend now looked so young, yet he was older now than he'd seen him before. He had a look about him, after graduation earlier that day... Nervous, but hopeful. Excited. Already in transition.

"So... How was graduation?" Damir asked, turning his gaze to the Windex-clear window.

"Ah, you know. Like graduation. Really sappy, sentimental band and choir music. Our fellow students of significance gave some vaguely inspiring speeches, all of us walked up and received our glorified pieces of paper. People threw their caps in the air. It was just like the end of a cheesy high school movie."

"Wow. Sounds pretty awesome," Damir replied, hoping he had conveyed the socially appropriate amount of sarcasm. The truth was, he would have much rather been at graduation today than anywhere else he'd usually gone. And his absence from this supposedly important event also represented something quite obvious.

"Hey... I'm sorry, man."

"It's fine."

But it wasn't fine, and the two of them knew it. The circumstances which drove those words out of Damir's friend's mouth had made un-fine. For the past several months, his entire life had taken place either in the hospital, therapy, home, and on a few rare occasions, school, and mostly to pick up homework that he hadn't already received. On rare nights, he would fall asleep, and escape it all, when he wasn't remembering in his nightmares. And then he would wake up, and realize that his life had been permanently altered. Every morning, he would realize that his parents weren't home. That he likely wouldn't run again, let alone participate in the majority of team athletics. Every morning, he would come to these and a few other less pleasant conclusions, and either felt like breaking everything in the house, or never getting out of bed.

And then he'd force himself out and get on with another day he wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of. He was likely to spend his entire summer catching up so he could "graduate".

Damir could tell Dan was uncomfortable, as the driver switched through radio stations nervously.

"So... um, whose party is this again?" he asked his friend, hoping he'd put his hand back on the wheel.

"Liv's. You remember her right?"

"Oh yeah... she was on..."

"Volleyball captain?"

"Right, yeah, I remember her."

How many times had Dan dragged Damir and their friends out to the girls' volleyball games, for less-than-noble reasons?

"Yeah. We've been dating for about a half a year now."

Six months. It would have been a couple of months after the accident then.

"Congratulations."

Damir glanced out the windshield. They'd entered someone's neighborhood now. A sign with an address and "Livvie's Grad Party!" was stuck in the ground at the end of a block.

"We're actually going to the same school, on athletic scholarships. We're both pretty happy about it, I think."

"That's great."

"Yeah, it is."

He took a deep breath. Life just kept on moving, outside of those thick new walls that had grown out over the past eight months. Just speeding on. Passing him by.

"We're here," Dan announced as they arrived at his girlfriend's house. Cars lined the block, and balloons were attached to the idyllic mailbox out front. The door seemed obnoxiously far away from their parking spot. But it didn't make a difference. Dan had practically bolted to the door, and basically straight into Liv's arms, their tight embrace holding back any other displays of affection in the presence of her family.

When Damir arrived, Dan's girlfriend, tanned and toned as ever, released one arm from her boyfriend, offering Damir a far-too-gentle, halfway embrace, and pulling away with Those Words, directly in his ear.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"It's fine," he repeated again. He couldn't prevent his voice from rising, just slightly, when he continued. "I mean, It's not like we're dead, right?"

Liv swallowed. "Yeah... Yeah, that's good."

An attractive family of four stepped up and the Liv/Dan contraption took this as an opportunity to walk away. Stranded. By himself. Now this was something Damir could handle. He wandered inside, eventually, occasionally being greeted by vaguely familiar faces, and silent, suffocating sympathy. He wanted to leave, but Dan had driven him there, he was not walking home, and he most definitely could not ask any of these people for a ride. Damir had never been one to snoop through people's houses at parties. But this, to him, was a rather desperate situation. Thus began his search for a place to hide. Somewhere, anywhere, just to be away from all these people. He'd learned that if he isolated himself, others would also dispense such "courtesy".

Down the hall from the first sitting room, which was filled with people, and three doors from the bathroom, he discovered a library. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just fairly average shelves stuffed with books one often sees on readings lists, a table with more books upon them, and a desk with a dusty laptop and open standardized test-prep books upon it, a couple of wheeled office chairs, and one lounge chair facing a window at the back of the room. Damir sunk into the office chair by the desk, caring more about privacy than comfort at this point. He was about to lay his head down on the rather comfortable looking and very thick literary anthology, when he heard a sudden gasp.

Startled, he straightened up in the chair, glancing toward the source.

"Uh... Um... I... I'm sorry," he said, to the breathing being on the armchair by the window.

The person peered around the back, revealing herself, before standing up quickly.

"No, I... I'm sorry," she said, swiftly shifting her gaze to the floor.

He didn't get a good look at the girl until she began to walk toward the door. He hadn't seen her around very often in school; she had to be younger. She had dark, honey-tinged, blonde hair, and light blue eyes. At a distance, she was not someone that one would look at twice, but seeing her up close, there was just something oddly exceptional about her.

"You... You don't have to leave," Damir started, as the girl paused by the door.

"N-No, I_" she replied, as Damir spoke simultaneously.

"No really, I can leave."

"You don't have to..."

"I'll go, it's no problem..."

"Really, it's alright..."

"No, you were here first."

"It's okay, I..."

"Really, it's fine, I can go..."

The two paused, trying to let the other start.

"You don't have... you don't have to go..."

"Alright... Well... you can stay too."

"Okay."

Damir swallowed as he looked at the girl, her gaze fixing upon something else in the room.

"So... I guess hiding out in libraries isn't exactly original, huh?" he said.

The girl smiled slightly. Damir felt all tension leave the room with that expression on her face. 

"Yeah... it's in all the books," she replied.

He felt his own lips curl into a similar expression.

"I'm Damir," he said, offering his hand. She took a step closer to reach it, a gentle, swift shake, but her hand was warm in his for the brief moment.

"I'm Amira."

"Nice to meet you, Amira."

"You too."

She was still standing by the door.

"So... um... How do you know Liv?"

"Actually... I don't really know her. A friend brought me..."

"A friend brought me here as well."

Damir glanced at the window in the back of the room. It was clearing up outside. Less clouds. More sun.

Another pause.

"What... brings you to the library?" Damir asked.

"I... I was reading a book," Amira replied, quietly.

"Ah. I... I'm not a huge fan of... big social gatherings," he replied.

Amira nodded.

"Yeah... neither am I."

Her voice was still just as quiet. She tentatively took a seat by the table across from him, still reserved, observant.

"So... were you at graduation today?" he carefully inquired.

"No... I just finished my sophomore year," she explained.

"Oh... How come I haven't seen you much before?" he continued.

"I... I um, I got sick a lot," she said, her voice quieter than ever. He could tell she wasn't telling the entire truth. And he knew why he hadn't seen her much this year. 

Damir could easily hear the sounds of laughing, story-passing, pleasantly conversing, social beings just down the hall.

"Did you... maybe... want to go somewhere else?" Damir requested, with a certain caution. He didn't think he could stay here for too much longer.

"Sure. I... I'd just have to tell my ride first," she replied, standing again.

"Yeah. Me too," he said, grabbing his cane and standing as well. The pair walked out into the small crowd, parting to find their respective rides.

The buzz of graduation words, of the next parties, of goodbyes, and latecomers greeting and being greeted, went over Damir's head as he approached Dan.

He was still attached arm-to-waist attached to Liv.

"Hey, Damir. You kind of just disappeared there."

"Yeah... Um... I'm going to head out," he replied.

"Are you sure?" Dan asked, looking mildly concerned.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I'll, um, see you around."

Damir scanned the room for Amira, before spotting her walking away from one of the girls from the volleyball team, and shuffling toward the door. He caught up to her after a moment, and they stepped out of the house into the daylight. It was much clearer than earlier.

For a short while, they were silent as they trekked away from the party.

"Are you on the volleyball team?" he questioned.

"No, I'm not," Amira replied.

"Oh... you didn't seem like it," he replied.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no, it's good..."

"Okay..."

"I'm really sorry. I should... I should've... I... I just shouldn't talk."

"It's fine. So... how do you know Liv?"

"She's my friend's girlfriend," Damir replied, quietly.

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

Damir fixed his gaze ahead, wondering exactly where their destination would turn out to be. They had already exited Liv's neighborhood, gone past the sign with her name on it. When they arrived at the end of another block, he spotted a small grassy park, with a couple of benches, some trees of varying heights, a small swingset and slide, and flowers planted around the trees, and lining the walkways through it. It was fairly unoccupied, for a nice day like this.

"Do you... um... maybe want to go over there?" he asked.

"S-Sure."

They crossed the street, and Damir wandered off to one of the benches. Amira tentatively sat next to him, at the other end of the bench. He sighed.

"Ah. So... there are some nice... flowers... here," he said. The majority of them where brightly colored, and of varying heights like the trees they surrounded.

One in particular stood out, however. A sunflower, leaning against the tree, straight and tall, its bright yellow leaves contrasting against the brown bark which supported it.

"Yeah, there are. I love flowers. All sorts of plants, actually," Amira replied. Damir spotted another faint smile upon her lips.

"Really? That's pretty cool. Do you, uh, have a garden or something?"

"Yes," she replied.

"What do you plant?"

"Just... different flowers, vegetables," she said, shrugging slightly.

Glancing down at his phone, Damir realized he needed to be getting home soon. But for some strange reason, he didn't exactly want to leave yet...

"I have to be going now," he replied, quietly.

"Oh..."

He glanced over at Amira one last time.

"It was nice meeting you... see you around again, sometime."

"Yeah. It was nice meeting you too."

Damir left to find himself sitting on yet another bench, but on his own. It would be an hour before the next bus arrived. Liv's graduation party would have been entirely unendurable had he not stumbled upon that library. And the person in it. As awkward as the conversation had been. She was the first person he'd tried to meet and get to know since the accident.

Meeting Amira was simultaneously an insignificant event and an infinitely significant event. As he boarded the bus, he looked out, and watched the sun set over the buildings in town. And when he was home, and finally climbed into bed that night, for the first time in eight months, without any sleeping aid, Damir had a dreamless, peaceful eight hours of rest.

(758) Days /poem/

Reality vs. Expectations
When they meet,
it won't be in Ikea,
or at work.
What they wanted,
was something else.
Their conflicts,
honesty,
trying to be faithful,
but she's cheatin', cheatin', cheatin'.
At least in her heart, mind...
Deserve, deserve, deserve,
don't deserve, don't deserve, don't deserve,
Watch it all go down,
everything everyone else expected.
Living with the rose-colored glasses on.
Ha, laughing at those written words,
First sign of trouble.
First signs, no laughs when the sinks don't work.
Conversations,
Interrupted.
Let him in,
see the world.
Understand.
But it's not enough,
not for this.
Too messed up to handle it.
There's no hero to this story,
both watch each other suffer,
at different times.
But she wasn't suffering,
she was just a source.
Switch around philosophies,
drive the other to liquor and Twinkies and bathrobes.
What they wanted won't happen,
Not the way they wanted.
Not the way they'll see
each other.
It will be painful and awkward,
laying sights on each other,
It will be fun,
to pretend like they're good friends,
dance at a wedding, invite to a party,
climb the stairs and face reality.
One gets married, the other follows dreams.
And they've left that impression on each other.
Don't assign the ordinary with something cosmic and extraordinary.
Even if it is.
Even if it's not.
Her stupid knobby knees, crooked teeth, licked lips, laugh, and songs in your head.
His incredible potential, ability to be driven, places to go...
Can't lie, they can't lie now.
Every day a reminder.
Climb the stairs, face reality.
Start all over.