What can we see in the sky

During daytime, the sky is bright and clear because the sun shines bright. We can see clouds, the sun and sometimes there is a rainbow. The sun is the nearest and brightest star on earth, the reason why we don’t see stars during daytime because the sun overpowers the weak lights of the stars. Do you know that the sun changes its position at different time of the day? Yes, early in the morning we can see the sun rising at the East. At this time of the day our surroundings is bright but not very hot, this is the reason why many children especially new born are placed under the sun because the light coming from the sun is good for them. At noontime the sun is overhead. It is very hot at this time of the day. This is the reason why it is not advisable for us to go outside. In the afternoon, we can see the sun setting at the West part of the sky. It is said that this the best time for the children to play outside because the sky s less bright and the temperature is cooler. SCIENCE 2 – MODULE 10 SEIBO COLLEGE 5 It is during daytime we do our chores, like cleaning the house, washing clothes, going to school or office and play. What do you think the reason why we do all these things during daytime? Now, close your eyes then imagine it is nighttime already. What can you see in the sky? Open your eyes then observe the picture below. Can you see these? Very good! You can see the moon and the stars. Sometimes you can see shooting stars or falling stars. At nighttime, we can not see the sun because it is already dark, we can only see the moon and the stars twinkling in the sky. Since there is no sun at night, the temperature is cooler. This is also the best time for us to rest and sleep. Do you know that the moon doesn’t have its own light? Yes, the moon only reflects the light from the sun. Do you now understand the difference of daytime from nighttime? Very good! But the question is how and why do we experience day and night? We experience day and night because the earth is moving around its axis. This movement is called rotation. SCIENCE 2 – MODULE 10 SEIBO COLLEGE 6 When the earth continuously rotates on its axis, part of it faces the sun and the other part is dark. The part of the earth that faces the sun experience daytime and the other part that is dark experience nighttime.

Alright, Isti — here’s a longer and more detailed English version of the Isaac Newton text, still written at a level that’s accessible for Grade 4 students, but rich enough in information to meet PISA literacy expectations and EF A2-level vocabulary. I’ve kept sentences short, clear, and with explanations for new concepts so it’s easier for young learners to follow, while still including both famous facts and lesser-known stories. ⸻ Isaac Newton: The Man Who Changed the Way We See the World A Boy from a Small Village Isaac Newton was born on January 4, 1643, in Woolsthorpe, a small village in England. His life was not easy. His father died before he was born. When he was just a few months old, his mother remarried and left him to live with his grandmother. Isaac missed his parents, but he kept himself busy by making things and exploring the world around him. As a child, Isaac liked to build models and machines. He made a small windmill that could turn with the wind. He built a water clock that told the time by dripping water into a container. He even made a sundial — a clock that tells the time by using the shadow of the sun. 💡 Did you know? The sundial marks that Isaac carved as a boy can still be seen today on the wall of his old house. ⸻ School and Curiosity When Newton first went to school, he was not the top student. At first, he did not pay much attention in class. But one day, another boy teased him for not being smart. Newton decided to study hard to prove him wrong. Soon, he became the best in his class. Isaac loved asking questions. He wanted to know how and why things happened. He enjoyed watching the stars at night and thinking about how the world worked. ⸻ The Falling Apple and Gravity One of the most famous stories about Newton is the falling apple. One afternoon, Isaac sat in his mother’s garden and saw an apple drop from a tree. This made him think: “Why does the apple fall straight down? Why doesn’t it fly up into the sky?” From this question, Newton began to think about gravity — an invisible force that pulls objects toward each other. Gravity is what keeps our feet on the ground. It’s also what keeps the Moon moving around the Earth and the planets moving around the Sun. 💡 Fun fact: The apple did not hit Newton’s head. That’s just a story people made up later to make the tale more exciting. ⸻ Newton’s Three Laws of Motion Newton studied movement and wrote three important rules: 1. Objects stay still or keep moving unless something makes them change. • Example: A ball will not roll unless you push it. 2. The bigger the push, the bigger the movement. • Example: If you kick a ball harder, it will go faster and farther. 3. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. • Example: When you jump off a boat, the boat moves backward as you move forward. These three laws are still used today to understand how cars, rockets, and even roller coasters work. ⸻ Discoveries in Light and Color Newton also studied light. He found that white light is not just one color — it is made of many colors. He used a glass prism to split sunlight into a rainbow. This helped scientists understand how colors work. ⸻ Inventions and New Ideas Newton made a special telescope that used mirrors instead of lenses. This type of telescope made images of planets and stars much clearer. It is still called the Newtonian telescope today. He also worked in mathematics and helped create a new type of math called calculus, which is used to study changes and movement. ⸻ Strange Experiments Newton was so curious that he sometimes tested ideas on himself. Once, he put a thin needle, called a bodkin, beside his eye to see how it would change his vision. It was very dangerous, but luckily he did not go blind. 💡 Did you know? Newton also studied alchemy — an old kind of science where people tried to turn metal into gold. He never succeeded, but it showed how wide his interests were. ⸻ Later Life and Work At the age of 27, Newton became a professor at Cambridge University. He later worked for the Royal Mint, making sure coins were made safely and stopping people from making fake money. He was very strict, and some criminals were sent to prison because of his work. Newton never married. He spent most of his life reading, writing, and doing experiments. ⸻ The End of His Life Isaac Newton died in 1727 at the age of 84. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, a famous place in London where great people of Britain are honored. His work changed the world forever. Even today, scientists, engineers, and students still use Newton’s laws and ideas. 💬 Newton once said: “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” This means we can make new discoveries by learning from the work of others who came before us. give 10 questions to each passage with PISA literacy standard for kid 10 years, 1. Nikola Tesla: The Man Who Dreamed of Lightning Born: July 10, 1856 Died: January 7, 1943 When Nikola Tesla was a boy in Croatia, he saw a flash of lightning and asked his mother, “Can we catch the light?” That question never left him. As he grew older, Tesla became a brilliant inventor, especially fascinated by electricity. He believed in a future where energy could be sent wirelessly through the air—like music through the radio! Tesla invented the alternating current (AC) system, which became the foundation of modern electricity. At the time, Thomas Edison promoted direct current (DC), and the two men had a fierce competition. Many laughed at Tesla's bold ideas, but he never gave up. He dreamed of wireless communication, flying machines, and even free energy for everyone. Though he died alone and poor, today the world honors his vision. Think About It: Why do you think people didn’t believe Tesla at first? What can we learn from Tesla’s courage to dream big? 2. Charles Darwin: The Man Who Studied the World’s Weirdest Creatures Born: February 12, 1809 Died: April 19, 1882 When young Charles Darwin got on a ship called HMS Beagle, he didn’t know he would change science forever. He sailed around the world for five years, collecting plants, animals, and fossils. On the Galápagos Islands, he noticed something curious: finches had different beaks depending on their island. Why? Darwin’s observations led him to write the theory of evolution by natural selection. It explained how animals adapt and survive. But his ideas shocked many people because they seemed to challenge religious beliefs. Despite the controversy, Darwin continued his work. His book On the Origin of Species changed how we see life on Earth. Think About It: Should scientists share their ideas even if they go against what others believe? How did traveling help Darwin make new discoveries? 3. Marie Curie: The Woman Who Glowed in the Dark Born: November 7, 1867 Died: July 4, 1934 Marie Curie was born in Poland at a time when girls were not allowed to study science. But that didn’t stop her. She moved to France, worked day and night, and discovered radioactivity, a powerful energy hidden inside atoms. She and her husband, Pierre Curie, found two new elements: polonium and radium. She became the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, and the only person to win in two different sciences: physics and chemistry. Even when Pierre died in an accident, Marie continued their work. Her discoveries helped doctors treat cancer—but working with radioactive materials also harmed her health. She died from radiation exposure, but her legacy lives on. Think About It: What challenges did Marie Curie face as a woman in science? Why is it important to balance discovery with safety? 4. Galileo Galilei: The Star Watcher Who Defied the Church Born: February 15, 1564 Died: January 8, 1642 Galileo loved looking at the stars. He built one of the first powerful telescopes and made stunning discoveries: mountains on the Moon, moons around Jupiter, and that the Earth orbits the Sun—not the other way around. This idea, called heliocentrism, went against the teachings of the Church. He was put on trial and forced to say he was wrong. But he wasn’t. He spent his last years under house arrest, quietly writing. Today, Galileo is called the father of modern science for daring to question what others blindly believed. Think About It: Why do you think Galileo was punished for telling the truth? Should science always follow evidence, even if it goes against powerful beliefs? 5. Isaac Newton: The Man Who Asked “Why?” When an Apple Fell Born: January 4, 1643 Died: March 31, 1727 One day, an apple fell from a tree, and Isaac Newton began to wonder: Why did it fall down, not sideways or up? This simple question led to his theory of gravity. Newton also invented calculus, described the laws of motion, and changed physics forever. But Newton wasn’t just a genius—he was curious, quiet, and often worked alone. He believed everything in nature followed rules, and it was our job to discover them. Thanks to him, we understand how planets move, how rockets launch, and why you fall when you trip. Think About It: How did Newton’s curiosity lead to great discoveries? Do you think working alone helped or hurt Newton? 6. Ada Lovelace: The First Computer Programmer Before Computers Existed Born: December 10, 1815 Died: November 27, 1852 Ada Lovelace was the daughter of the famous poet Lord Byron, but she didn’t love poetry—she loved numbers! At a time when girls were expected to sew, Ada studied mathematics. She met Charles Babbage, who designed an early computer called the Analytical Engine. Ada imagined the machine could do more than just math—it could create music, art, and even write! She wrote what is now considered the first computer program, long before real computers were built. Think About It: How did Ada imagine something that didn’t exist yet? Why do we call her a pioneer in technology? 7. Albert Einstein: The Man Who Brought Time and Space Together Born: March 14, 1879 Died: April 18, 1955 Albert Einstein wasn’t always a good student. In fact, his teachers thought he was slow. But Einstein thought deeply. He asked big questions like, “What if you could ride a beam of light?” His theories of relativity changed how we see space, time, and gravity. He also warned the world about the dangers of nuclear weapons, even though his ideas helped create them. Einstein believed science should help people, not harm them. With his messy hair, kind smile, and brilliant mind, he remains a symbol of genius. Think About It: Can someone be bad in school but still be brilliant? Should scientists be responsible for how their inventions are used? 8. Pythagoras: The Musician Who Loved Math Born: Around 570 BC Died: Around 495 BC Long ago in ancient Greece, Pythagoras believed the universe followed numbers. He discovered the Pythagorean Theorem, a rule about triangles that helps us build houses, design computers, and navigate space. He also believed that music had math inside it—that certain notes made perfect harmony because of mathematical ratios. Pythagoras started a secret school and taught his students to search for truth through numbers, shapes, and sound. Think About It: Why do you think Pythagoras saw math in everything? How does music relate to math? 9. Rosalind Franklin: The Woman Behind the DNA Discovery Born: July 25, 1920 Died: April 16, 1958 Rosalind Franklin loved looking closely at things. She used a special machine called X-ray crystallography to photograph molecules. One of her greatest photos, called Photo 51, showed the shape of DNA, the molecule that carries life’s instructions. But her work was taken without credit. Two men, Watson and Crick, used her photo to build their famous model of DNA and won the Nobel Prize. Rosalind died young and never knew how important her work became. Think About It: Why is it important to give credit in science? What can we learn from Rosalind’s quiet strength? 10. Carl Linnaeus: The Man Who Gave Names to Everything Born: May 23, 1707 Died: January 10, 1778 Have you ever wondered why a tiger is called Panthera tigris? That’s thanks to Carl Linnaeus, a Swedish scientist who created a way to name and organize every living thing. His system is still used today in biology. Linnaeus loved nature and spent his life collecting plants, animals, and even rocks. He believed that by organizing life, we could better understand it. Thanks to him, we now have a global “dictionary of nature.” Think About It: Why is it important to name and organize living things? How does order help us understand the world?

Flying Kites The Hoppers pressed their noses against the window. They watched the March wind blow outside. "Remember, do not leave the house while we are gone," said Mother Hopper. She and Papa Hopper were going shopping. Snubby Nose cried, "Can we sit on the doorstep?" "Do not set one paw outside," Mother Hopper said. She and Papa Hopper left for town. The Hoppers swept the floor, made their beds, and made lunch. All the while, Snubby Nose said, "I want to fly my kite. Let's fly our kites!" After lunch, the Hoppers took out their kites, just to look at them. They sat by the window. The March wind blew around the house. "Let's just fly our kites in the yard," said Snubby Nose. "Mother said we must not leave the house," said Fluffy Tail. The March wind blew some leaves against the window. Snubby Nose couldn't stand it anymore. Hе stepped outside with his kite, and the other Hoppers followed. Fluffy Tail was the last one out. They ran around the house with their kites. But soon they got tired of their yard. "We can go down the path," said Snubby Nose. The Hoppers flew their kites down the path into the woods. Floppy Ears cried, “Oh, no! I let go of my string!" Her kite sailed away. Then Speedy Legs cried, "A branch tore my kite!" "We should have listened to Mother," said Fluffy Tail. Just then, Snubby Nose howled, "My kite is caught in a tree!" Just then, Grandpa Grizzly walked by. "What's all this crying?" he asked. "We are in trouble," said Snubby Nose. "My kite is caught in a tree!" Grandpa Grizzly winked. He climbed the tall tree and pulled the string from the branches. He brought it down and gave it to Snubby Nose. "Be careful, now," he said. "That kite might do strange things. You should always be good when you play by yourselves." Snubby Nose took hold of his kite string, and the kite sailed up and up. Then Snubby Nose went up and up with it. Soon he flew out of sight. Speedy Legs, Fluffy Tail, and Floppy Ears nearly burst into tears. But Grandpa Grizzly led them home. "I have a feeling you'll see Snubby Nose soon," he said. When they got home, Floppy Ears looked into the sky. "I see a speck!" she cried. "Is it Snubby Nose?" cried Speedy Legs. It was Snubby Nose, still holding the kite string. He came down and landed right on the doorstep. "Have you learned to listen to your mother?" Grandpa Grizzly asked. "Yes, we have," said the Hoppers. Just then, Mother and Papa Hopper came around the corner. Before Grandpa Grizzly went home, he gave each little Hopper a brand new kite!

Starry Night Josie and Ling were good friends. Ling was happy Josie was her neighbor. Josie was happy Ling lived nearby, too. Josie and Ling couldn't wait for the school day to end. They planned a sleepover at Josie's house. They were going to sleep in a tent in Josie's backyard. As the class was leaving, Mr. Cortes said, "Your weekend homework is to look at the nighttime sky and explain what you saw on Monday." The class grumbled. "Why the unhappy sounds?" Mr. Cortes asked. "It will be fun looking at the sky at night." The girls arrived at Josie's house and were delighted to be sleeping outdoors. Josie said, "I'm so happy that we get to sleep in the tent. It will be lots of fun." Then Ling said, "I'll get the sleeping bags and flashlights. I brought flashlights so we can play games in the tent." Josie's dad poked his head inside the tent. "Girls, it is a good time to do your homework now because it is getting dark," he said. "Awww," they both complained. "Dad," said Josie, "Do we have to, now?" "Yes, I already set up the telescope." Ling said, "I hope this won't take too long." Josie looked up and spotted a crescent moon. "Did you know the moon's light comes from the sun?" said Josie. "It's funny that it's called moonlight." "Yes," said Ling, who was still thinking about playing in the tent. Josie's dad smiled at the girls and said, "See the stars in the sky? Those points of bright light can form shapes." "You can see the Big Dipper," he said. "It's a group of stars that look like a giant spoon in the sky." Josie's dad showed her how to look through the telescope. "Wow, that's more stars than I ever dreamed of. I never imagined there could be so many." It was Ling's turn to look. Ling cried out, "I see a bright light moving in the sky!" "That's a shooting star!" said Josie's dad. "This is fun," said Ling. "I really enjoy looking at the stars." "I think we've seen enough of the nighttime sky," said Josie's dad. "You girls can go play now." "Aw, Dad, can't we keep looking?" asked Josie. "This is really fun." "Yes," said Ling. "We have had an adventure already, and we haven't even played in the tent yet!" "You're right, Ling," said Josie. "This has been one exciting night."

Long ago, people from different cultures had stories about how the world began and how humans came to be. These stories are called creation stories. Even though these cultures were different, their creation stories often had similar ideas. Two creation stories that we will explore are one from Native Americans in North America and one from ancient Greece. Both stories talk about bringing light and fire to people. They also have something called archetypes, which are important in creation stories. Archetypes are things that show up a lot in different stories from different times and places. They can be symbols, patterns, or types of characters. Archetypes help us understand that even though cultures are different, they have some things in common. In these creation stories, there are two archetypal figures - the Raven and Prometheus. They represent things like wanting to learn, make progress, and find enlightenment. Both stories show how these figures go against higher powers to give people something good. The Raven and Prometheus are smart, resourceful, and want to make life better for humans. Understanding archetypes helps us see that cultures have things in common. The Raven and Prometheus are symbols that show what it means to be human. By studying and comparing these symbols, we can learn more about what people believe and want, no matter where they come from. The Raven and Prometheus remind us that people always want to learn, make progress, and find enlightenment. In the Native American creation story, the Raven brings light to the world. Long ago, the world was very dark and people had a hard time finding their way. But then, a clever bird called the Raven decided to help. The Raven stole a box that held the sun, moon, and stars from a powerful being. As the Raven flew across the sky, the box opened and filled the world with light. This light helped guide and teach humans. The Raven is seen as smart, resourceful, and a symbol of light. In the ancient Greek story, Prometheus steals fire from the gods on Mount Olympus. Prometheus cared a lot about humans and wanted to help them. Fire was something special that only the gods had, and it represented knowledge, creativity, and civilization. Prometheus brought fire down to Earth secretly because he knew it would make life better for humans. With fire, they could stay warm, cook food, and protect themselves. Prometheus was brave and kind, and he wanted to help humanity. Both the Raven and Prometheus stories have similarities. They are both about giving humans something important that helps them learn and progress. The Raven gave light, while Prometheus gave fire. The Raven and Prometheus are both very smart and clever. They wanted to make life better for people. These stories show us that no matter where people come from, they all have a desire to learn, make progress, and find enlightenment.

Name: Marco Ramirez - “I Am Not Batman” TW: language It’s the middle of the night. And the sky is glowing like mad radioactive red. And if you squint, you could maybe see the moon through a thick layer of cigarette smoke and airplane exhaust that covers the entire city like mosquito net that won’t let the angels in. And if you look up high enough you could see me-standing on the edge of a eighty seven story building. And up there-a place for gargoyles and broken clock towers that have stayed still and dead for maybe like a hundred years-up there is me. And I’m freakin Batman. And I gots Bat-mobiles and Bat-a-rangs and freakin Bat-caves like for real, and all it takes is a broom closet or a back room or a fire escape and Danny’s hand-me-down jeans are gone. And my navy blue polo shirt? – The one that looks kinda good on me but has a hole on it near the butt from when it got snagged on the chain linked fence behind Arturo’s but it isn’t even a big deal cause I tuck that part in and its like all good? –that blue polo shirt? – It’s gone too. And I get like, like transformational. And nobody pulls out a belt and whips Batman for talking back –-Or for not talking back –And nobody calls Batman simple –- Or stupid –- Or skinny –- And nobody fires Batman’s brother from the Eastern Taxi Company ‘cause they was making cutbacks, neither, ‘cause they got nothing but respect, and not like afraid-respect. Just like respect-respect. ‘Cause nobody’s afraid of you. Cause Batman doesn’t mean nobody harm. Ever. Cause all Batman really wants to do is save people and maybe pay Abuela’s bills one day and die happy and maybe get like mad famous. For real.…And kill the Joker. Tonight, like most nights, I’m all alone. And I’m watching…And I’m waiting… Like a eagle. Or like a –no, yea, like a eagle. And my cape is flappin’ in the wind (‘cause it’s freakin’ long), and my pointy ears are on, and that mask that covers like half my face is on too, and I got like bulletproof stuff all in my chest so no one could hurt me and nobody – nobody – is gonna come between Batman, And Justice. From where I am I could hear everything. Somewhere in the city there’s a old lady picking Styrofoam leftovers up outta a trash can and she’s putting a piece of sesame chicken someone spit out into her own mouth. And somewhere there’s a doctor with a whack haircut in a black lab coat trying to find a cure for the diseases that are gonna make us all extinct for real one day. And somewhere there’s a man, a man in a janitor’s uniform, stumbling home drunk and dizzy after spending half his paycheck on forty-ounce bottles of twist-off beer and the other half on a four hour visit to some lady’s house on a street where the lights have all been shot out by people who’d rather do what they do, in this city, in the dark. And half a block away from JanitorMan there’s a group of good-for-nothings who don’t know no better waiting to beat JanitorMan with rusted bicycle chains and imitation Lousiville Sluggers, and if they don’t find a cent on him – which they won’t – they’ll just pound at him till the muscles in their arms start burning, till there’s no more teeth to crack out. But they don’t count on me. They don’t count on no dark night (with a stomach full of grocery store brand macaroni-and-cheese and cut up Vienna sausages), Cause they’d rather believe I don’t exist, And from eighty-seven stories up I could hear one of the good-for-nothings say “Gimmethecash” real fast (like that) just “Gimmethefuckingcash” and I see JAnitorMan mumble something in drunk language and turn pale and from eighty-seven stories up I could hear his stomach trying to hurl its way out of his Dickies. So I swoop down like and fast and I’m like darkness. I’m like SWOOSH –- And I throw a Bat-a-rang at the one naked lightbulb –- And they’re all like “whoa-motherfucker-who-just-turned-out-the-lights?” –“What’s that over there?” –-“What?” –- “Gimme whatchou got old man” –- “Did anybody hear that?!” –- “No, really” –- “There ain’t. No. Bat.” – But then –- One out of three good-for-nothings gets it to the head! And number Two swings blindly into the dark cape before him but before his fist hits anything I grab a trash can lid and –-- Right into the gut, and number One comes back with a jump-kick but I know judo-karate too so I’m like –-- Twice –-- but before I can do any more damage suddenly we all hear a CLIC – CLIC –And suddenly everything gets quiet And the one good-for-nothing left standing grips a handgun and aims straight up, like he’s holding Jesus hostage, like he’s threatening maybe to blow a hole in the moon. And the good-for-nothing who got it to the head who tried to jump-kick me and the other good-for-nothing who got it in the gut is both scrambling back away from the dark figure before him. And the drunk man the JanitorMan is huddled in a corner, praying to Saint Anthony ‘cause that’s the only one he could remember. And there’s me, Eyes glowing white, cape blowing softly in the wind. Bulletporoof chest heaving. My heart beating right through it in a Morse code for “fuck with me, just once, come on, just try.” And the one good-for-nothing left standing, the one with the handgun, he laughs he lowers his arm, and he points it at me and gives the moon a break, and he aims it right between my pointy ears, like goalposts and he’s special teams. And JanitorMan is still calling Saint Anthony but he ain’t pickin’ up, And for a second it seems like…maybe I’m gonna lose. Naw. SHOO – SHOO! FUACATA! --“Don’t kill me man!” –“SNAP! – Wrist CRACK – Neck – SLASH! – Skin – meets – acid – “AHH!!” –And he’s on the floor. And I’m standing over him. And I got the gun in MY hands now. And I hate guns, I hate holding ‘em cause I’m Batman, and –Batman don’t like guns ‘cause his parents got iced by guns a long time ago – but for just a second, my eyes glow white, and I hold this thing, for I could speak to the good-for-nothing in a language he maybe understands…CLIC – CLIC…And the good-for-nothings become good-for-disappearing into whatever toxic-waste-chemical-sludge-shit-hole they crawled out of. And it’s just me and JanitorMan. And I pick him up. And I wipe sweat and cheap perfume off his forehead. And he begs me not to hurt him and I grab him tight by his JanitorMan shirt collar and I pull him to my face, and he’s taller than me, but the cape helps so he listens when I look him straight in the eyes and I say two words to him: “Go home.” And he does, checking behind his shoulder every ten feet. And I SWOOSH from building to building on his way there, ‘cause I know where he lives. And I watch his hands where he lives. And I watch his hands tremble as he pulls out his keychain and opens the door to his building. And I’m back in bed before he even walks in through the front door. And I hear him turn on the faucet and pour himself a glass of warm tap water And he puts the glass back in the sink. And I hear his footsteps, And they get slower as they get to my room. And he creaks my door open like mad slow. And he takes a step in, which he never does. And he’s staring off into nowhere, his face the color of sidewalks in summer, and I act like I’m just waking up, and I say, “What’s up, Pop?” And JanitorMan says nothing to me. But I see, in the dark, I see his arms go limp and his head turns back, like towards me, and he lifts it for I could see his face, For I could see his eyes, And his cheeks is dripping but not with sweat. And he just stands there, breathing, like he remembers my eyes glowing white. Like he remembers my bulletproof chest. Like he remembers he’s my pop. And for a long time I don’t say nothing. And he turns around, hand on the doorknob, and he ain’t looking up my way but I hear him mumble two words to me. “I’m sorry.” And I lean over and open my window just a crack.… If you look up high enough you could see me. And from where I am? I could hear everything.

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

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