Chapter 01 - A Polaroid of a Moth

Chapter 01 - A Polaroid of a Moth

March 22nd, 1989 - Friday Afternoon

Somewhere lost is an open ballroom, each wall draped in triumphant windows. Dust joins a parlor of natural guests on glass that cast away clarity years ago. Evergreen trees huddle around the relic, masking beams of sunlight that dance across the forgotten walls with the moving wind. Curious gusts paint joyous silhouettes of a memory not yet made, swaying in unison as if an antique song conducts their movements. My thoughts peer towards this existence, fumbling through years to find a key that opens such reverie. Although hope strains with fatigue to hold my attention, I still dream of sunshine. 

Ejecting from the kind thought, I focus back to the foggy air outside of my window and catch the second hand of my desk clock pierce the sky. The momentary vertical pose matches the slower but more well known position of the minute hand, signifying a miniature celebration of a new hour. I look on my desk for a spare kazoo, hoping to join in on the ceremony. Five o’clock meant much more today, for it was Friday and my lips were parched. 

Wave after wave of birthday celebrations have slowly meddled with the days I find it acceptable to twist off a plastic cap and pour myself a stiff one. Perhaps responsibility was home schooled, demanding envy and control as it slips into one’s life. I place an assortment of pencils on my desk in order of size and begin to analyze which exit this evening will be the quietest. Further envious are my thoughts that I did not employ a life of thievery, subtly sophisticated in the art of leaving unnoticed. I rally enough effort to gesture my departure to my desk mate, knowing his awareness of the anticipation growing inside of me. We’ve known each other for quite some time, yet I return to a familiar and comfortable joke. Pointing at his security card, I take part in stagnating our friendship further.

ATMOS: You know when they wrote Sails Strathmore on your ID card, they should have written ‘not an experienced sailor' below your name.

SAILS: Very funny Atmos, I forget did they add ‘not a comedian’ below yours?

ATMOS: They could have. They could have written anything they wanted, and still they left it blank. For such a creative bunch, Owl Architecture certainly falls short in the name badge department. The day rhymes with fries, anything eventful for you this weekend?

SAILS: Hard to ignore the large stack of papers to my left huh? I’ll be here Atmos. Working the night away as usual. What about you? Oh wait you’re too predictable on a Friday to even ask. Deep Pines right, searching for ghosts with blurry eyes?

ATMOS: Don’t make me sound so desperate will you? Sure I’ll head out to the Deep Pines tonight, but I’m going for me, not to try and find anyone. I know she’s not there Sails, sometimes I just like going. You know they say nostalgia is always strongest in the evening.

SAILS: Do people consider five o’clock to be the evening? Well, as always, be careful. I do not want to hear an announcement come Monday morning that I am now in charge of your projects. It’s my workload I’m concerned about Atmos, not your safety.

Sails winked, like the show off he was, delivering the closing to his sarcasm. He was right to worry, the Deep Pines were dangerous and have been for some time. Long before the economic boom that grew Forest City to its current standings, locals like myself enjoyed the uniqueness of the small town. Positioned within an evergreen forest that devours the sky, the town also resides half of its boundary along an ocean sized lake. A collection of water so expansive that the early dwellers of the city did not know what existed past the mysterious line marking the horizon. Trees begin to lose their density as water replaces land at the edge of the shoreline. To some the water provided a worthy challenge, building their homes, shops, bars, and any other oddities that were allowed out on the lake. The simple canoe found itself on a pedestal of high desire for the preferred mode of transportation, provoking companies to provide models of various quality to citizens that accepted the watery neighborhood soon comprising half of the city. Time brought wealth for many, small businesses became clad in ivory towers as the population slowly grew. 

Yet alas our spoils could not go undiscovered, it was early spring when the announcement was made that a nationally known company had set their sights on the two worlds that comprised Forest City. A company known to all by the name NightLight. Campaigns were quickly rallied to convey their view of acting ‘for the people, by the people’, but doubt grew on the established horizon. Tired were the tales told of the abandoned light house nestled deep in the forest. Each story conjures its own version of how the fabric details of the structure all wove together. Each camp of thought kept to themselves until the introduction of NightLight aligned them all. Shortly after the thievery corporation planted its flag in Forest City, they announced the renovation of the abandoned relic for their headquarters. A feeling of injustice was wrapped around the town like a warm blanket. Most nights carried the misfortune of catching a glimpse of the twirling beacon off in the distance. NightLight’s sinister grin tangled into each passing strand of illumination for how they were able to incorporate their name into actuality. A faint north star for a city that never asked for one. 

Two years later disdain for NightLight thickened, when a large freight tug boat capsized with their cargo mid voyage. Large underwater roots of the forest fought back to recapture the land that had gone spoiled. An event known to all as ‘Back to Roots Day’, seeing as NightLight placed a mound of effort to wash away the recorded incident, locals summoned an immense amount of energy, coinciding with the rare chance to dictate the naming of such misdoing. Their efforts were rewarded with the pollution of five square miles with the mysterious haul NightLight had carelessly let slip into the murky waters below. Barricades littered the landscape as local officials waged war against the public’s interest in wandering around the area forever known as the Deep Pines. Stumbling about in the impacted scenery brought upon hallucinations, mass fatigue, and a small text list of side effects spoken far too fast to comprehend. I would have followed the general consensus to stay out, but this fragment of a moment had an unexpected edge I found myself illprepared for. 

Within my small circle of close friends, exploring the wilderness where the forest harmonized deep blue water became routine. Myself, my current deskmate Sails, our childhood friend Sev, Sev’s sister Essie, and my adolescent love Carmine, would begin and end most days journeying into the utopia before the spill. Indecision plagued our outfit whether or not to remain explorative after catastrophe had brought risk into our excursions, but not for Carmine. She cried for us to continue our outings and follow her into the darker shadows now held by the forest. A haunting request with no understanding of the draw that Carmine manifested towards the now perilous place. I did not follow on her day of departure, sharing the consensus thought that she would be back. The haste dripping off of her actions would surely run dry. Yet weeks went by without change, and just like that I decided to venture out into the unknown myself. I found the journey eerie, noting the stained landscape I once knew. As the sun circled our planet, I slowly grew comfort through the repetition in my trips out, placing the Deep Pines as a close second place to call home. Carmine’s forgotten farewell echoes as a constant now in my ear, taking each and every Friday night to go searching for her. I know not when the pile of calendars on the floor will bring change in my actions, but it has been three years now. 

Sails and I were both eager to start careers and accepted low level positions at a local architecture firm. Essie left town, removing her rear view mirror to solidify the reality of never looking back. Sev felt inspired by dramatics and continued further down a life of vices by opening up a pub at the boundary of the Deep Pines, coined with the name Sev’s Starling. He sleeps above the establishment and finds himself endlessly lost in the sauce of a good time. Out of the astrayed collection of cast members, I feel the closest still to Sev. The carousel that plays in circles the contents of my Friday evening has always begun with a stop at Sev’s Starling. A flavorful detail I have kept from the rest. 

The stroll home from the office collapses the first domino in a long succession of anticipation for the night about to consume me. A short walk that holds a slight fifteen minute detour from the daydream of this evening. I hold on to a scrap of responsibility and riffle through the common checklist of what was needed before embarking out to the Deep Pines. As a true blue friend, Sev provides the night’s mixology, with only a handful of other trinkets required for the unwelcome, but likely overnight stay. My age warrants certain unacceptable practices, such as passing out in the wilderness alone, but somehow my reasoning feels just. Upon packing my worn navy blue messenger bag, I decide to stop by my neighbor Cameron’s, knowing that secretly I would love an excuse out of the destruction that is to come. 

CAMERON: Atmos, whattup chief?

ATMOS: Friday night jitters is all, how’ve you been Cameron? Has the week treated you with the kindness all NightLight employees deserve?

CAMERON: Coming right out of the gates with a joke like that, can't I at least enjoy a sliver of the evening first? In fact, I just got back from taking the train out to the Last Stop. Some kids were on board causing a ruckus, friends of yours?

The people mover runs mostly through areas inland, with the addition of a few newer stops out on the water. An engineering accomplishment by all means, the furthest train stop is to the NightLight’s headquarters, known as ‘The Last Stop’. The two stops at the end of the line are limited to only those who have the clearance to proceed forward. Yet as hatred of the pharmaceutical company grew, a problem grew roots. Since most train conductors are employees of Forest City, they would gladly let anyone pass as a means to stick it to the company. Eventually NightLight had to implement armed security guards at both restricted stops just to keep out of the news. Cameron had always worked at Stop Two, the terminal prior to NightLight’s headquarters, dating back to the times when even I could have ridden the train to his office. His commute provided one benefit, a constant collection of stories to tell of the nuisance that occurred on his rides.

ATMOS: You know even with the bravado, I swear people can smell the NightLight stench on you.

CAMERON: I’m already at two showers a day, what more can a man do?

ATMOS: Suppose you could quit.

I shook a wink in his direction. Although to some, Cameron might be grouped with every other slimy NightLight employee, he deserves to have his name struck from the ledger and placed alongside those best in show.  An outlier demanding the comradery of being in the trenches together, while a barrage of jokes sight him in their crosshairs to be removed of such accolades. His actual role at NightLight has been a conversation tossed under a tattered rug throughout the entirety of our friendship, with the location of his office acting as the sole pin on the spiderweb wall of what he does. I am certain he rides the old steam train to and from work, and not much else.

ATMOS: Any spare fares you might have to get out to The Last Stop tonight? I could always use a break from my canoe. I swear that facility is feet from the Deep Pines.

CAMERON: No go bud, I might have a high security clearance, but that doesn’t mean that ‘bring your neighbor to work day’ exists just yet.

ATMOS: Well, just keep me posted. Maybe do me a slight favor and lobby for this new holiday to be placed on your company’s calendar. That’s all for me tonight, I suppose it's time I head out, I have a blurry destiny ahead of me.

CAMERON: Be careful Atmos, the ghosts come out when you least expect them. I’ll look for the porch light per usual, are we still that prehistoric?

Grabbing the bag of goodies off of my porch, I begin the ritual of turning my porch light on for Cameron. Although I might not be back tonight, upon my predictable return I will turn off the signal relaying my safety. 

I want to believe that blame chooses not to fall on those who look for a way out. The temporary halt of a destructive pattern that brings about a foreign feeling, until time proves the attempt unsuccessful. 

I check my overnight backpack for munchies, a flashlight, and a tattered map and take out my steel toed boots for the night ahead. I rent a house only a half a mile from the shoreline, a perk I willingly throw an entire paycheck at just to keep. Grabbing the umbrella tucked away by the front door, I sling the strap of the companion around my shoulder and prepare for another departure. 

The walk to my canoe, Caroline, is short lived, the shoreline is ground zero for the commercial district of the city. Bars, clubs, and retail stores that are open far too late plead their case for you to indulge in their commerce. Sticking to the script I ignore all seductions as I salivate over my first stop, Sev’s. Amazement strikes my face like a match each time I am within sight of Caroline. The vessel is worn, neglected, and loosely guarded by a cheap lock, yet somehow she still remains, glowing like a beacon for the journey to come. One by one my fingers slide a series of sixes forward by one digit, revealing 7-7-7 and setting Caroline free from the frail handcuffs imprisoning her. I cultivate a moment of hesitation before grabbing my oar, focusing on the belief that tonight could be different. This endless game of search and rescue might actually prove useful after all.

Anyone savvy to my weekly outing would draw an acceptable assumption that I held gold medals, plural, in rowing. The frequency for which I traveled far distances would place hidden scouters sprinkled throughout my daily routine. Unfortunately the collective disappointment in the matter would be unanimous. I would arrive tonight to the Deep Pines, but it would not be in style. Moreso, I would be expelled from any lecture on how to properly row a canoe, a skill I would bet my reputation on that Cameron secretly lived a life cast in infomercials on the matter. The man struck me as an expert.

I passed the limits of the vast dock system at the shoreline, charting the familiar course towards darkness. On queue my thoughts began bidding a fond farewell to the commonality I grew accustomed to over the last week on land, I would need to prepare for the testing of reality that was to come. A soft mist lay comfortably in the air, devouring the gentle waves that masked the threshold of no return. Dying strips of light abandon the sun, drowning slowly into the watery blanket as the obedience of night awakens.

An offering of temporary reprise calls out in the distance as the born again lighthouse twirls phosphorus across the landscape. The darkness of twilight begins to paint the sky with color and the faint twinkle of tiny wings. The moths of the forest patter about as they begin their evening commutes towards any existence of natural light. I welcome the guests and reach for the matchbox concealed underneath the kerosene candle hanging from my canoe’s bow. Gathered like a campfire, the slow dancing insects circle around the low lit flame, continuing their blind ballet into the night until they can no longer see. The intolerable flash of light beckoning NightLight’s presence has one benefit, the silhouette of Sev’s Starling is visible, but for a moment, in the hazy distance. 

It is a noble establishment, built upon an acidic foundation of sweat, each drop squeezed out of tattered shirts that comprise Sev and I’s Sunday worst. The memory remains uncreased in my mind, allowing the collection of dull details to feel as fresh as the morning he asked me to help fix the place up with him. “I’ll put all the money I have into it Atmos. All but one lonely hundred dollar bill. That my friend is to buy a nice bottle of gin to celebrate with.” I admit, I don't actually recall if he winked while giving the remark, but I always imagined him do so. 

I locate the small dock crafted for nightly travelers in search of a high proof elixir and prepared Caroline for an overnight stay. I tie what I know is not a boat knot, consisting of loop after loop of assurance for knowledge I have never gained and place my feet on the bowed cedar dock. The natural wooden building stands tall at one story. Adorned by a cedar shake gable roof that conceals a half converted attic, doubling as a bedroom for Sev. A bright maroon door with a candle sconce light sits above a short flight of creaky steps. Moths have already begun their siege of the freshly lit wax, their presence greeting my anticipation of what is to come like a comfortable rain. Apart from each side window providing strained views of the low lit debauchery taking place inside, the structure does not resemble a bar. “I want people to feel comfortable Atmos, allow every patron to be their true self.” His success in the matter acting as a chain to the lovable vices I should outgrow. I walk up the short collection of stairs and pull open the brass knob as Sev’s jukebox plays a long lost tune. 

SEV: Atmos! You had me concerned that I had the days wrong my friend, but alas it is certainly Friday!

ATMOS: Sev, a pleasure as always, I’d love to hear how the week’s been for you. If those idle hands of yours are looking for a task while you ponder, I’ll take three house specials.

I could have chosen a less desperate introduction, but Sev said it best, this is a place to be yourself. I did not order just any kind of cocktail, the house special was a combination of high end liquors that needed to be purged from the top shelf of a bar. Proud drops of luxury, sometimes even less than an ounce of substance, were emptied into a cocktail shaker, mixed, and garnished with a twist of lemon. Few knew of such a high order. Within minutes, three smoky blue martini glasses were poured in front of me. 

SEV: Three house specials for you my friend.

ATMOS: Sev, may I ask….does tonight feel different to you, perhaps there is something in the air? Aside from all of these Deep Pine side effects?

SEV: Different. Well my friend I’d frame it instead as feeling special. In case you hadn’t noticed, the night sky is graced with a full moon tonight.

ATMOS: Special, I like that. Scratch my original word, I would like to use yours instead. Good thing we both know that special is my specialty.

The mysterious crowd of strangers gathered upon stools and tight tables must have plans to wander about the restricted zone similar to mine. The journey out to Sev’s would only be made with purpose. The hypothetical situation of each partaker acting as a New Year’s countdown, demanding me to hurry up and be on my way. Although it would be polite to sit and chat with Sev about any outliers brought about from the last seven days, he was busy tonight. Who knew that a tattered shack would be given a second chance and be designated as the local watering hole. I watched Sev serve eight or so other patrons as I proceeded to empty all three glasses laid in front of me and motion for my departure. Sev kindly grabbed a bottle of Val’s gin for my explorations tonight and placed the companion on the bar counter. 

ATMOS: I keep telling myself that I believe, whole heartedly, that one day I’ll find her. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I believe in.

SEV: Sounds tough, Can’t say I know what it feels like to believe in something.

ATMOS: Even during childhood? You never believed in something, a higher power or a man dressed in red on a sled?

SEV: Can’t say I have. I couldn’t take the idea of god seriously. The thought of worshipping quickly gravitated towards women, some form of obedient intimacy that replaced any thought of something bigger than me.

ATMOS: So you’ve pledged yourself to some powerful woman in the sky, is that it?

SEV: It wasn’t like it was voluntary, we’re all wired with what we got.

ATMOS: I want to think that love sits atop my hierarchy, but there are times I am unsure.

SEV: You’ll find her one day Atmos, it’s inevitable my friend.

I concluded our discussion on belief by extending my eager hand out and grabbing the unopened bottle of trouble.

ATMOS: I swear I’ll return the bottle in one piece Sev. Please put the bottle and the drinks on my tab buddy. I am scared one of these nights to check how high it has gotten. 

Sev chuckled, concealing his knowledge of the debt he is aware of.

SEV: Take care of yourself Atmos, don't go chasing ghosts all night, come back for a few drinks later will you?

I gave a deceitful nod in acknowledgement, leaving Sev’s Starling and bidding farewell to the crowded portion of the evening. At some point Sev understood that it would be good for business to build a pathway to the Deep Pines from his bar. Buoyant planks adorned with faulty ropes, acting as railing, create a sinister pathway for roughly one mile into the Deep Pines. I find the end of any manmade influence and notice that the accomplice in my left hand is now open with a considerable amount already consumed. 

Time has stolen the serrated edge from my outlook of the Deep Pines. I joined in on the initial reaction from the public, having any mention of its name evoking fear and a desire to never test the dangerous description crafted by city officials. It is infrequent but the moment I enter the Deep Pines, my thoughts drift towards how much that outlook has changed.

I had ventured out into the damaged landscape three weeks after the tanker capsized, a scene I would bet most locals still imagine holds true. Slowly the wound healed, allowing dark stained foliage to wither, die, and be replaced with lush new leaves. An odd tint glimmered with the born again plants, the moonlight bringing out the color that landed between a cobalt blue and antique brown. My assumption in the matter noting that a different species of plant simply took its place. The full silver eye in the sky reflected off of the slivers of color within the trees around me. They were joined by towering evergreens and the low laying mist that is always present here.

I halt my movements, fumbling for an outdated flashlight and tattered map stashed away in my backpack. Scanning for an area to evoke purpose in the moment, I locate a spot on the map unchecked and chart my course. Perhaps the only other soul that I may cross paths with tonight is the one referred to as Lee.

In the thick of night, when darkness has blinded even the nocturnal, one can hear the whistling of exhausted lips, proclaiming a presence of comfort for the inhabitants of Forest City. A phoenix risen night after night, silently protecting those lost in the Deep Pines. 

Although it is common practice for everyone in Forest City to know the full legend of Lee, simple details regarding the story assimilate with each story teller. Beginning a salty conversation with a shop keeper on the subject will lend the fable to describe Lee as a tradesman. Take to a street corner and ask a gutter punk who the famed Lee is and they will tell you that Lee started off as a pan handler from the murkiest streets that Forest City offers. Regardless of the lips that sew the story, Lee is in essence a well regarded legend. Belonging as a statue one day in the city square, Lee is still the single greatest search and rescue operator for the Deep Pines. Those that are saved by Lee do not know much about their savior. They find themselves lost and in trouble, at times unconscious, and awake back on the shoreline with Lee’s signature moniker placed nearby with a hand scribed note. At some point an abandoned gas station was selected as the breeding ground to place such relics; it currently boasts 67 letters of hope. Each is simple in nature, but compelling enough to place conviction within its receiver. 

I continue further into the Deep Pines, noticing the accumulating air carrying with it a dense mist. A fleeting feeling of uncertainty carousels around me once more in the playground of my thoughts. Throughout the years I’ve been able to know this ruined landscape, but one area in particular has always been avoided, the Cliffs. Journeying in a group brought confidence in traversing the 50 foot rock face, but being here alone reduces one’s willingness to search its uninviting crevices. The Cliffs are noticeable from most angles of the forest, playing big brother to the trees that compete for the skyline. I pause for a moment and scan the monument for anything unique from my last trip out. Small trees with exposed roots litter the face of The Cliffs and proclaim their misfortune in living. My eyes focus on a small glow coming from a dark patch ten feet above the ground, something I have yet to notice. Curiosity dictates my movements as I note the reduction in nimbleness I currently have. A side effect of the seductive mist around me always includes regret, I fail time and time again to bring sobriety out with me to the Deep Pines. 

An accumulation of small water droplets welcomes my journey to this new mystery and adds a molasses lens to my vision. Not enough effort for an umbrella, but just enough magic in the air to polish the landscape in an oil-esk sheen. I take out my map to understand exactly where I am in the Deep Pines, mainly how far I am away from the Red Zone. Most modern maps will show in bold a large X surrounded with a hatched circle, known as the Red Zone, stating the approximate location where the tanker boat capsized. I don't care to own such new propaganda sticking with an original map of Forest City before the spill, I saw the boat belly up with my own eyes. I also don’t dare to venture out to that area, stories have circulated of people not coming back. My current location has been marked by some ancient cartographer as a small creek running along the Cliffs. 

During the mornings that follow these Friday masquerades, I am at odds to decipher what was real and what was a hallucination. The oven timer alluding to when the walls would begin to cave in on me tonight screams in exhaustion from constantly beeping, I will need to concentrate on reality soon. I approach the mysterious glow and notice what appears to be an anatomical heart, placed carefully alongside the roots of a small tree. Fellow small winged companions circle the relic within the two foot radius of warmth it provides. One moth in particular spins rapidly towards my approach, dizzy on the drunkenness of its discovery. There is a cleanness to the anatomic hallucination, no cold blood or revolting urge to look away exist. A beautiful symbol, crafted by my victim mind clearly signifying what is to come. Whispers begin to enter my ear and I fear, yet welcome their seamstress. A visitor, the flame behind the glass that I feverishly flap beyond ashes to try and reignite. The illusion I cannot seem to let go. I close my eyes and concentrate on the voice that is cluttered within the noise as her grip strengthens. An external dialogue appears and I look around for where the new actress will enter on stage.

UNKNOWN: Are you familiar with the saying, Dearheart?

Only a silhouette could be seen in the distance, little streaks of light from the moon glow above illuminating the backdrop of a ghost. I focused on the question, and searched to grasp the hidden shelf that held such information. Grabbing the nearest foot stool I reached out for a once tucked away volume off my mind’s library. The moon glowed a tint of red as I began to walk towards the shadow, a shimmering outline followed. Carmine was wearing all black with not a hint of color found on any cloth draping her body. She had been facing the cliffside initially and turned to face me, her silky blonde hair rippling with the gesture. Her green eyes proceed to gaze down for a moment, before darting back up at me. Caught in the trance, I begun to speak.

ATMOS: Dearheart. I remember when a young girl once told me that it meant love eternal. It wasn't a definition she gave, she simply called me it. I somehow knew, without question, what she meant.

An excitement bloomed in her eyes, my response drew the blinds to some sheltered room where she kept her lesser known pleasures as her actions became further animated.

CARMINE: I want to go on an adventure tonight with you Atmos, somewhere special, somewhere new. How about I be your tour guide and you, well you be my first customer. We’ll act out every painful detail, ticket fares, a long line, and of course my charm prompting a tip.

ATMOS: Perhaps I’ll want to speak with your manager first?

CARMINE: Wouldn’t you just want to speak with me instead?

She made use of the little effort placed by both of us and stole the spotlight. Trained from conception, a thief in the act of role playing, portraying nothing short of a soon to be fantasy. A reassuring smile delivered her next remark. 

CARMINE: I’d love to catch up tonight, I really would but the train is departing. I’m afraid it’s a one way ticket, no return fare for us, count you in?

Her needle pointed eyes glowed as she awaited my submission to her request, a piercing gleam. I tend to lose control of the hallucination quite early, each time holding on to the hope that it is actually her that I am talking to. I never make it back out with her, but I explore the landscape by her side as if I never had left. Carmine walked out of the small covered spot we had just sparred in and out into the rain, stopping in her tracks the moment water started showering her. The small rain storm had picked up during our moment of introductions, reminding me how much she loved the rain. A forgotten fragmented thought that only appeared when cast.

For an instant she seemed to be converted into a liquid state, an ice cube minutes before it was about to expire, yearning to return back to its original form. Her back was turned to me, but I had the faint idea she was smiling, marveling at her own unnecessary nature. Clearly this was her form of an invitation, seeing if I had it in me to follow her lead. Without any hesitation I moved out of the cover and towards her, we were now both under the full cover of water. A drizzling barrier surrounded us, allowing the collection of spoken words to dissolve as they left our five or six foot circle of pattering noise. This curtain of water, unwelcome by most, brought us both closer. She was beginning to turn around when I continued our dialogue.

ATMOS: I’d ask if you forgot your umbrella tonight, but I’d wager that you don’t own one.

To elude she had been smiling was an understatement, her face could barely contain the smile shooting out of her face, a voluntary explosion. After twirling her dripping body around twice more, eyes peered shut, she continued on with the exchange.

CARMINE: If I did own one, it would be envious of the times I didn’t spend dry. Enough small talk, the tour has begun and our first stop is by the overgrown edge of the Cliffs, somewhere unexplored. I’d be quite impressed if you’ve seen anything like it.

Doubts began to seep in, quickly crushed by intoxication. This couldn’t be her, could it? Was I remembering her independence, conjuring an accurate duplicate of what was lost? Even the best hallucinations that I’ve brought out in the Deep Pines have solidified the fact that I can’t control her, regardless of her creator.

She wasn’t walking, nor was she skipping either. She had created her own version of an in between, mimicking the landscape around her as she explored the entire spectrum of capable motions. This presented me with an ongoing distraction, prying my eyes away from the scenery I was supposed to be touring. Minutes went by while I followed closely from behind, maintaining the ability not to stray. By now my entire body had become drenched, the two of us absent from possessing anything dry. A silence overcame me and I noticed the simplicity of the moment. 

The red lit horizon began to disappear from view as an overgrown pasture soon stole our view. The openness made the rain come off quite strong. This is where it flourished, behaving primal as it reclaimed ownership of what was below. Carmine halted, her hand raised to chest level, extending each finger towards the sky. A muffled noise could be heard ahead, bouncing off the atmosphere the rain drops created. It had a repetitive nature, low on the decibel scale, and sounding similar to that of a snap. 

CARMINE: Not too many people know of this small ravine, but the excess water this rain creates does something oh so lovely.

My eyes followed her finger pointing in the distance. 

ATMOS: And just what is that? 

I asked with a dash of intrigue. 

CARMINE: Let go of knowing tonight, embrace what is unfamiliar.

Although I would not know the point in time where the lack of sobriety would become a problem, it seemed as though patience was the second most valuable asset. We had begun heading downhill when my mind chased several scenarios of what awaited us at the bottom. One last outcropping of foliage stood between us and the mystery Carmine had so elegantly been hiding. 

I arrived at an unobstructed view, water pouring into the landscape from every direction. A mini gathering of water stood before me, the current of which was swirling clockwise, losing its composure by flat boulders that stood sporadically in its way. Each ripple containing a fair amount of bubbles as well as mist amongst the air. Towards the center of the mass, the water seemed to end its journey, dropping into an unknown shallow ravine. Although none of this seemed out of the ordinary, I began to notice an unusual presence about the center drop where the rain was accommodating the water to its demise. Without warning, a large eruption occurred from the center ravine, piloting water towards the sky. The liquid continued to eject outward, filling the entire area with a constant stream of upward flowing water. Little pops could be heard throughout the air, creating a symphony of noise. The collisions occurring between the two streams of water traveling in opposite directions made a noise similar to that of a snare drum. The newly airborne water must have mixed with something in the cavernous area below to create such a reaction. Each pop beginning and ending as a new one took its place. We had been standing there for only seconds when she offered a short narrative.

CARMINE: They are disagreeing with each other, each raindrop. The ones just arriving collide with the ones aged, retreating from the eruption below. The irony is….those drops, the ones that never reach the ground, are destroyed by the ones that already have. A desire stolen by another, it’s all quite seducing.

She didn’t seem to show interest in waiting for a response to her scornful observation, but fled the scene instead. My role as a passenger tonight in my own adventure becoming clear. My name tag read ‘Catalyst’, an excuse for her to travel to this abandoned cove. Putting all motives aside, I found myself ill prepared in the choice to sightsee or to track her gentle movements. She began using each flat rock as a stepping stone, balancing between motions as her body pivoted towards the center. The mist that collected above the water level gave an illusion that she was floating, sandwiched between the parallel water streams. The eruption was beginning to subside, allowing the rain to take back its territory. I took this opportunity to follow her lead, trying to memorize the succession of stones recently acquainted by her soles. I felt a small slip as my boots adapted from damp foliage to wet stone. I moved slowly with the strong belief that should I fall in, this rendezvous would undoubtedly end. She never was the compassionate type, but she had dealt me in before I had even asked how to play. I was trailing behind, applying too much care with each step I took in pursuit. Carmine had been leading us closer, the rapid sound filling any void left between us. A faint vibration could be felt below us, it seemed as though this phenomena occurred more than once. I decided to brave one last step, resulting in the bracing of my lower body. She didn't share my cautious reasoning skills as she was continuing her path to the carnivorous ravine. It wasn't the swirling water or rain that presented any indication of the actions to come, but Carmine, she was unraveling. Not bothered by the cold dense air, she began removing her soaked attire. Starting with her less essential items, her leather jacket and boots were tossed first. Her hands motioned towards her jeans, which were soon discarded into the newly made pile as well. The cardigan was next, although at this stage of water damage it was hard to tell its origin. She became almost bare as she willingly accepted the bitter edge of the situation. As one foot followed the other, she dipped herself down into the running water. Remembering that she had her tour accounted for two ticket holders, she glanced back with a smile. I dared myself to get closer, disregarding the new level of wetness my body might become as I debated stepping into the apparent shallow water. My gestures earned me another response as she used her arms like paddles to acquaint herself in the stream.

CARMINE: You’d think I’d be cold in this night swim of mine, but maybe you’re the one looking cold, standing there all by yourself.

With the water level now at her chest, she continued to stare in my direction.

CARMINE: You’re probably having mini conversations in your head at this very moment about how right I am. Just give in Atmos, to all of it. Get a little cozy getting cold with me.

With the punchline delivered, the cavernous hole erupted for its second time. My increased proximity to the phenomena allowed for each collision to be accurately judged. Everything appeared to slow down around me, catching each crackle as it gave off a faint glow of light. She had been right, it was intoxicating, tilting my head in every direction to be greeted with the same scene. I waded through the stream to reach her level. All around us each mini sacrifice cried out in desperation for something, anything to happen between us. I joined in the desire for her to scream aloud how she had brought me here to seduce me, telling me that she had been safe all along, waiting for my return. This demonstration with water had been planned by her, the stage set for our reunion in the middle. Yet she remained to herself, continued to twirl around in the water's current while stealing my lulled eyes with each movement. With a disobedient turn, I focused my attention back to the pandemic dying down, shorter lived than its predecessor. I had been far more wrapped up with her during its performance to truly enjoy it. As the rain muffled the sound, Carmine brought attention back to herself.

CARMINE: Now be a gentlemen and hand me the rest of my clothes.

Although absurd, my hands put forth effort in gathering each article of clothing she had carelessly removed prior. Carmine inched forward, grabbing each sobby soaked fabric from my hands and forgoing to redress, maybe there was logic in her bones after all. Our perceived exit from the landscape offended a foreign entity watching over us, casting the rain to intensify. The newly invited falling water reduced our vision. Fear tickled my neck as I worried that these hallucinations were growing out of control, the idea of leaving the Deep Pines sprouted in my mind. My thoughts were interrupted by a soothing voice.

CARMINE: I think that’s our cue to exit.

She motioned her hand due north. Getting out of the pond proved easier than I had imagined, but once out Carmine began to sprint. 

ATMOS: Hey! Wait! 

I could not help producing a desperate tone in the request. My clothes sloshed together as I ran after my assailant, running to some apparent freedom. She was quick, and her familiarity with the terrain aided in her sudden flee. In the midst of the rain, I made out what appeared to be an abandoned shack in the distance. Its depleted features became clear with my increase in proximity. Carmine ran up the stairs to the entrance and poured into the front door without hesitation. Seconds later, I followed her into the shelter noticing that someone had been here prior. 

CARMINE: I hoped you kept up! This place is so dull for just one person.

ATMOS: Carmine. My head is spinning, I don’t know how much more I can be out here following you. I had half a mind to turn around after your little sprint

CARMINE: No one told you to chase after me, but I’m glad you did.

She was doing a superb job of not apologizing, but somehow expressing joy in the situation. I was having a hard time distinguishing the sincere nature of the subtle gleam in her eyes. We were out of the rain at this point, but that didn't necessarily bring any new comfort. She began to speak as she lit a candle in the center of the large room. Various drinking glasses litter the countertop in front of her, with a defaced wall backlighting her. A collection of spray painted words scatter the weathered wall, illegible to my current state of sobriety. She turned to me with liquid eyes and started to smirk.

CARMINE: You’ll have to pardon if I skip all the boring details, those seem to be reserved for me in full attire. I’d guess that this evening's late night conversations will make an exception to those habits. You know I've been here before, this dirty shack. I've been to a lot of places that resemble these walls, hidden away from the world. I’ve come to enjoy them, appreciating their shortcomings. It’s believing that these illusions are the true marvels of our world, the pyramids, monuments, all residing here. They provide an escape, and become your favorite. Not just when it rains, but always. For a while it wasn’t just me inhabiting these walls, two shadows used to dance to the chorus of the rain here. The man I came to adore, he grew tired, grew weak, but he couldn’t stay away forever, it was unavoidable. I knew he’d come around, back to where he belongs with me.

I lost the sense of knowing what she was saying and felt an unconscious slumber gaining momentum as it chased after me. She made her way closer to me and was at a whisper's distance, when I drew the line. 

ATMOS: I want this to stop Carmine. Right now.

My back was against an old wooden dresser which didn't seem to show any recent use when both of her hands went into motion. Each hand gripped the sides of the furniture, trapping my body between them. 

CARMINE: These last few years have been hard, they really have, but I've craved your pitted intentions, your thoughts scribbled all over these walls like old times. I wasn't sold on the idea that I hadn't become enough for you, that you'd leave me alone.

Her hips pressed hard into mine as her lips grazed my face. Not choosing her marks just yet, her eyes appeared to stare through me, seeing the molecular bonds that I was composed of. 

CARMINE: I'm so happy you followed me darling.

Her lips showed a sign of impatience as they surged onto mine. I had no choice but to match her movements, and almost instantaneously our bodies became in sync. Predicting each other's motions as we lowered to the floor. There was no need to remove the clothes Carmine had already done herself. She had no intention of being gentle, as each continuing action exuded a fair amount of force. I was starting to find it hard to keep up as she knew exactly what she wanted. The dirty floor provided us with a blank canvas, painting the portrait of unbalanced desire. Her hand made it around the back of my neck and dug deep into my inner scalp. Two hard pulls were used to mimic the conversation our evasive bodies were having down below. Not much time had passed before my body decided to end the confrontation for me. Her movements began to halt and in one swift motion she managed to remove herself from the entanglement. 

It had started and ended in mere seconds. What seemed as an overload of primal movements had been stripped of all virtues. Still catching my breath, Carmine stood straight up in my amazement. As if familiar with the carnage, she moved on to her next task. Rifling through an old dusty cash register that lay dirty on the counter she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, it would appear she did know this place after all. With no hesitation in her eyes, she lit the cigarette between her lips and gently introduced the commodity to where a fire had just blazed. After one large inhale she let out a great sigh, her pleasure from the action felt through the air. I must say I didn't share her forethought, I still lay on the ground battling with my desire to leave this place. I focused my gaze on her, hoping to gain a dose of sobriety and watched  her peer out the window with a cigarette in her left hand. I grabbed my pants and was met with a sudden chill that ran through my body. It had gotten cold in this shack. No longer relying on the body heat of my fleeting partner, I stood up and pointed myself in her direction. Maybe in a past life our bones had been acquainted. Somewhere warm, they grew accustomed to the trail maps of one another.

ATMOS: Is there any way to light a fire in this shack of yours?

A disjointed slew of words and convictions joined my question.

CARMINE: No fire has ever burned here Atmos.

She walked back to the counter and scratched another cigarette out of the pack. Without asking, she lit another and placed it in my hand. She paused for an instance and studied my left hand, her fingers wrapping around my wrist and slowly turning clockwise.

CARMINE: I see you’re scratch free tonight. Shame, I thought you would want to impress me.

Confusion fell over me, I didn’t recall expressing my desire to join her in this after hours dessert. She gravitated back towards the spray painted wall and glanced over as if to add to her foreign statement. I reluctantly took a drag from the cigarette newly presented in my palm and kept my eyes on Carmine. 

CARMINE: Have you forgotten what’s behind door number two?

She announced as if her next action were that of a game snow. I shrugged my bare shoulders and made my way closer to her. All of a sudden she filled my mind, as if something had taken place. My waterways were all colliding in her direction, I had no choice but to follow the current. Her hair, still wet from the outside endeavours clung to her body as she turned away from me. Resuming her rather upbeat epilogue nature, she floated towards the rear of the cabin to what appeared to be another door. After a slow turn of the handle, the tattered door reintroduced the rain to the rather dormant room. It’s pattern echoing throughout the area, meeting our ears with comfort. 

Carmine continued outside, cigarette still in hand and stalled her actions. My hallucinations projected the smoke steaming from the cigarette to remain lit within in the roar of the rain. Her head tilted towards the sky, acknowledging some sort of omen for her sudden actions. 

ATMOS: Carmine if this is really you, we need to leave this place immediately.

Spinning around to the prompt, the cold water newly introduced to her hair became airborne. Droplets praised my presence as I stood against the entrance of the back door. As if contemplating a second question to ask in its place, I remained motionless.

CARMINE: I’ve always felt as if the rain is like a collection of mini conversations happening around me, all containing my endless thoughts. Come, dance with me.

As if ignoring my request, she began to sway side to side, awaiting my body heat next to hers. I looked over my shoulder at the front door to the shack, placing thought on the twists and turns we had taken to get here. I felt as if I was losing tonight and wanted the comfort of getting back to the entrance of the Deep Pines. Her head turned as she continued what she was doing. 

CARMINE: Offer has expired. There is no room for doubt tonight deerheart.

I stared down as the moment passed by and took a final drag from my cigarette. Almost on cue, she came back inside, grazing my skin, and pulled new clothes from out of the dresser next to me. Not seeming to piece together what we had just accomplished on the floor, she shouted in my direction.

CARMINE: Be a gentleman and turn around, no peeking Atmos.

In a state of appeasement, I stumbled to face the wall. How I had neglected to notice the imperfections it had to offer. There was a familiarity to this place, perhaps I had stumbled upon it long ago. Carmine beckoned my attention as she grabbed a polaroid camera that had been carelessly placed on the counter.

CARMINE: One for the scrapbook.

Any assumption that the picture would include the two of us or any detail resembling the memory potentially marking the night proved wrong. Carmine instead drew interest in a stray moth that had ventured into the room. She drew the obscura close, capturing the motionless wings for an instance before tossing the dated camera back on to the dust it had been awakened from. She winked in reverence, walking towards the front door in a clear act to exit.

ATMOS: You’re leaving? Now? And wait, you’re leaving?

Her actions halted momentarily, and with a gleaming smile she faced my direction.

CARMINE: But of course darling, I have to keep you on your toes.

Exiting the shack, I began to sprint after her when finally my limit had been reached. All of my senses began closing their doors, ejecting me off a spinning carousel. I was able to summon the courage to continue on, but slowly I noticed the horizon beginning to glow brighter, the sinister shade of red took over my entire view. The new found brightness blinded me. I fell to my knees searching for some sort of comfort on the earth’s surface as noises scattered about the plane of my ears. With my sobriety leaving the affair, the stage began to grow dark. I call out one last time and hear footsteps, these sounding different, bearing confidence. The glow pulls the closing string as the curtain drops and a crimson storm lulls me into a slumber.

For one final second I open my eyes and see a dark figure, outlined in a different hue that contrasts the horizon. This new warmth acts as a thick blanket as my lips echo a departure to the Deep Pines once again.

ATMOS: Who are you….?

UNKNOWN: ..........