Colette Nowa

In advance, sorry, some parts are supposed to be in italics for Colette's thoughts - but it didn't copy over :c

Chapter I: Decisions Must Be Made

From love to war, all things behave naturally. The gift of love secretly resembles a desire for power. Theoretical or physical, the bittersweetness of a triumph captures a desirable advancement, a similar feeling to finding true love. Virtue or vice, only time reveals the difference between these fleeting and enduring experiences. The pleasure from power becomes as temporary as its conquests, while the growth of love is eternal.

Romance does not exist, thought the student, Colette Nowa, who strolled alone in the suburban park. It was 11:55 in the afternoon. The heat distributed waves of exhaustion, and the bubbled clouds from the factory pressed onto the swollen trees. Where were the butterflies? Where was the moment of simple happiness? Did it exist?

Under the hot sun, Colette seemed at ease. Although, something had been stolen from her. She had fallen for another trick, another dead-end. With the pond's water, she searched for a satiable fulfillment, while noting the green and silver ducks afloat. The benches invited her to sit down and think. Yet, nothing came to mind. All was silent.

The sun shone onto the water with ripples of sparkling light like stars, if only stars were visible during the day. A pretty sight, indeed. Colette agreed to its beauty. A curved oval of the sun reflected onto the glistening water. Each wrinkle was brushed with the wind, smoothing the thinness of the pond.

Adding more pressure to her own focus, she attempted to understand why she was sitting there, alone on a bench, questioning her own existence. The questioning prolonged as she reached a brief moment of peace. Her eyes ached from the brightness of the light.

The reflection of the sun turned black, which Colette adored. Some have deemed the color black as evil, a diversion from life, isolated from every shade of yellow, red, and blue. Colette, however, reached a peculiar calmness within this absence of color.

Interpreting the black and white, Colette mirrored these colors as a reflection of life and death, polar opposites, an argument in the universe. No one cared for the gray, the details of the masterpiece, the in-between, only for the harsh, prominent colors, the masterpiece itself. She thought, questioning the picture.

The white had swum inside the black, together as one, two partners, in the end, a yin yang, Colette's yin yang. Fear of trust overcame Colette. All emotions of what was right and wrong were within her, a fragile point of chance. Her eyes were then burning. She did not twitch.

In her own stance, she felt tall, interpreting that nullity, the physics of creation. The white, the color of all, needed the black, the absence of all colors, for pure darkness was just a theory that dismissed the shedding of light.

Ten minutes have passed. The white and black and all the shimmering lights of the sun, the source of all, became pink, a hot neon pink. Colette was tearing up as the wind bustled around the lake, letting the ducks disappear into the abyss beyond the dark lines of the trees.

"What am I doing here? I need to go home." Colette muttered to herself.

She doubted herself, shoving her thoughts down the grave of her subconscious. The forgetful young woman continued in her thoughts.

Atypical and typical at the age of twenty, a feeling of loneliness encompassed her. Colette's former boyfriend, Peter Reed, had purged her, encouraging his and her wrongdoings with excessive passivity. Colette understood that she was a puppet, dementing what she had believed was true. Apathy had surpassed affection. She accepted her own torments and spews while forgiving those of what had become. Friends no longer became friends but familiar strangers. They weren't much different from herself.

Lifting herself from the bench, Colette dragged her body against the fine air, hoping that the day would pass faster as each step was taken. The day was not windy, but the regrets of friendships had stopped her from moving forward.

Colette inhaled a deep breath. A pesky goose merged after her two legs. Alerted, she picked up her speed and ran off to her mother's old Toyota, still a working engine.

Colette's mother, Maria Nowa, was raised in Queens, New York, bordering the entrance of Long Island. For fifteen years, Maria Nowa worked as a dental assistant in a small office on the south shore. She was a tall brown-eyed woman, a genuine people-pleaser, a hardworking mother, providing many reasons for any man to fall in love with her. Despite these qualities of benevolence, romance had always appeared and disappeared.

Mrs. Nowa banned Colette from seeing her friends, mistrusting everyone from New York City, a minor cause of Colette's crumbling friendships. Most importantly, Colette was banned from seeing Anna Owens, a girl who encouraged the party scene. Recently, Anna had been ignoring Colette's texts and calls, no response in recognition.

In grade school, Anna and Colette had often passed notes behind their teachers' backs, dismissing their systemic rule of behavior. They had been just two goofy girls, reminding themselves that life could be fun, without worrying about the preposterous rules and standards from the people of status. The rules of the monarchies, the classless, the class, and the rules of all beings for it was a distraction. A true life was composed of blissful ephemeral anarchy because innocent laughter demanded a little anarchy.

Normally with an unsettled dispute, both Anna and Colette overlooked their problems to cease any drama. Anna, however, placed herself above everyone, regardless, whether they were her family or friends.

During her past nightly outings, Colette had handled herself well. Somehow, unnecessary trouble had crept into Colette's life, the kind of trouble that a mother could sense. However, Anna was not to blame. Anna was a separate identity with a separate world other than Colette. Prior to Colette's punishment, late-night partying was cherished without a care. When partying with Anna, Colette believed that she was free and alive with a good friend, until Colette had almost died, a hush-hush situation. Anna had left Colette alone, wandering in the city with mild strength. Mrs. Nowa was rightfully furious.

Colette shook her head and unlocked the car. Her mother's voice was ringing in her ear from this morning, "Colette! Before you leave, you have to drive carefully! I don't want to see another ticket in the mail. And, they're putting up more and more speeding cameras, so you better be careful!"

"It was an accident. I was literally in a hurry. I had a quiz that day." Her mother's disappointment was a face that made one feel sympathy that perturbed her.

"You are exactly like your father, Colette. Why don't you ever follow my way?" "Colette! Colette!" She shook her name out of her head, Colette, a victorious label for the French, but she wasn't French. People didn't view her as prim and proper. They spat on her.

Colette's grandparents had moved from a deserted village in Eastern Europe. Again and again, Colette was reminded that she was an imposter. The name reminded her that she was not a Parisian aristocrat, but the exact opposite. Instead, she believed that she represented a tacky form of the forename, a try-hard. From the Western perspective, people would have regarded Colette as an exotic dancer due to her shamelessness, cakey makeup, and black box-dyed hair. Maybe, it was the energies that had influenced it, but Colette knew that she was a heroin.

Even if Colette's ancestors had worked in this old profession, the powerful would've shamed them for the act, considering it to be a common practice of the ethnicity's nature and culture. But, if the woman was one of their own, she would have been glorified as a feminist idol.

Hypothetically, their bones are no different from mine. She pondered as the topic upsetted her. Everything was environmental. Name-calling, stereotypes, and cursing spells indicated a reflection of the self.

The park had slightly eased her energy for the hour, but anger bundled inside her chest, stiffening into an unbreakable knot. She was angry at the old fragile car, upset because she didn't own a nicer car.

Colette turned the key into the ignition. The car reminded her of a simpler society, before the internet, a place with less danger or a place with more villains. She flipped the radio switch to ON, playing electro music as she cruised down the suburban street, steadily opening both of the front windows for the cold breeze to hit her choppy short hair while putting her left hand out the window. Life was good. A little anarchy was good.

Disobeying her mother's advice, Colette suddenly drove recklessly down the main road to the brick house. She squeezed the car near the sidewalk. Colette slammed the door of the parked automobile and entered the back door of the house. She took off her shoes in the corridor, placing them near the white chipped walls. From her peripheral view, Colette could see that her mother was eating dinner near the wooden kitchen table.

"What is that?" Colette shrieked, glancing at her mother's plate.

"Don't yell. It's sardines, and the doctors say it's good for you." The mother instructed.

Changing her tone, she continued. "Colette, I don't want you to use the car whenever you please. Text me where you are going next time. Do you hear me?"

"Yes." Colette left the room, breaking further discussions.

Lethargic from a lack of caffeine, Colette approached the octagonal mirror in the bathroom. The bathroom shared its wall with the kitchen. After washing her face, she stared at her own baggy brown eyes, while pinching her cheeks to add the redness of her blood to her skin.

Interrogating herself, she thought about her mother's comparisons of her father's features. I am a different person. Colette tended to argue modestly, but anger controlled her at home.

"I'm going to my room! Don't bother me for today!" Colette yelled at her mother. The mother was extinguished from work. She finished her dinner and was watching the news on the TV.

A fly sporadically buzzed against Colette's shoulder as she lumbered along the small hallway to her bedroom. Immediately, Colette lifted the dusty screen in her bedroom's window. The frivolous, mighty insect lingered around her. Her eyes followed the innocent fly, who bounced against the bright light bulb.

She shrugged and opened a display of emails on her laptop. Colette's face was as pale as the white screen itself. She found an assignment posted five minutes ago by her new professor, a day before the first class. The confused fly rummaged amidst the open space, befriending Colette, reluctantly refusing to go outside.

"Professor Miles, why?" She whispered to herself on her torn-up leather chair, talking to herself again, a bad habit. Why would he commit such a terrible crime? Colette wanted to ask him this question, but she decided to skim the Global Policy assignment in the morning.

Wishing for her college graduation day to come sooner, Colette dreaded her train rides into the city. Typically, she spent a total of four hours on two different trains, a roundtrip commute to Blairmount University, a public New York City college, known for its social mobility, so to speak. Wasting her waking hours, switching railroads, she hated the cycle. Alone, against all fears, Colette vowed to change her residences on the day of that wishfully granted ceremony.

Nowhere in sight, nowhere to be found, Colette looked around the room for Mr. Fly. Creating a story for the fly, she pictured him returning to his family, after his attempted scramble of escape. The pitched humming stopped. He flew into the unknown. As she closed the window, she understood why the fly had wanted to leave this burdened house.

The cool night crept into the air, and she fell asleep on the ball of her fist against the desk. In her final waking thought, Colette knew that she would be bothered by her stubborn mother the following day.

Her mother exclaimed, "Wake up! Good morning!" Colette groaned.

"It's the first day of school. You don't want to miss the train." Clenching her jaw, Colette pushed her gently aside and ran to the bathroom. "I'm hurrying." She brushed her teeth and applied mascara to her eyelashes, forgetting to comb her hair.

Her mother had already eaten, and she had prepared an omelet with a black coffee for Colette. Chugging the liquid fuel, she quickly assembled her items and called after her mother.

"Mom!" She yelled. "Mama!" She roared.

"Are you ready to leave?" The yawning mother said with little effort, and they drove together to the East Meadow train station, a short stop on her mother's road to work.

Asking the conductor to open the door, Colette caught the train with a minute to spare. Before the train glided forward, her mother waved goodbye. Colette shuffled her fingers on her cellphone to forget about her mother, her family, and her troubles.

Each seat was occupied. Standing near the emergency exit at the end of the wagon, Colette skimmed the chapters of her textbook and listened to instrumental music. The text was very plain. She finished the academic reading, although it didn't leave quite a large impact on her. Jargon didn't convince the heart.

Facing the window, she gazed at a construction site, and the operating train began to delay. One man moaned and another slept.

If I were to get off this train at the next stop and run away, no one would stop me. She imagined these hypotheticals often, finding it normal to ponder about the unattainable. "Humans have the ability to do anything when the first action is taken," Colette noted on her phone in her collection of thoughts.

Recalling her vivid dream from last night, Colette saw herself presenting a pitch for her new business, a homemade skincare line, establishing products of honey, oranges, lavender, and coffee beans. Besides, honeybees help the environment, unlike those other pestering insects.

Rather than finishing her reading, Colette typed "honey-bees" into the Google search bar. The print on her phone presented some interesting information, "For 150 million years, the female honey-bees have been visiting flowers to make the sweet honey that we all know and love. These female bees uphold the dynasty's teamwork. On the other hand, the drones, male honey-bees, do not gather nectar or pollen like the female worker bee."

Colette rushed through the rest of the article, a counterfeit to her understanding. Questioning herself, what was stopping her from developing a new company? Always starting a new project but never finishing one, Colette doubted herself, thinking that her dreams were irrational.

Convincing herself, she leaned towards the familiarity, Anna. She texted Anna a simple, "Hey what's up? How are you?"

During their previous three years of college, Colette and Anna usually hung around after class by the university's lounge area. They also walked around Midtown by Good Karma, a Greek style joint, serving the best gyros for lunch.

Anna replied to her after a few minutes, "Sitting through a lecture is so boring. Want to go to Good Karma? I want to skip class." They had planned their school schedules accordingly before the rupture of their friendship. A good omen, thought Colette. Or is it an excuse to have company near her for a minute or two?

The first day of class was known as an uninteresting day filled with curricula reviews. Colette attended the Global Policy class and responded to Anna with, "I can't let's do something after."

For the class activity, the students introduced themselves and provided a fun fact to break the ice, a ritual. Colette stood up, said her name, and proclaimed that she enjoyed listening to music.

"Fine, ok." The message from Anna blinked on her phone as she sat down. Colette ignored her comment.

Focusing on the professor's giant head, Colette jotted some notes down. She didn't like her handwriting that day. Exceeding the duration of the class, Professor Miles cited his methods of contact in vain. Half of the students had already walked out of the classroom by the time he was finished speaking. Already disliking him, Colette was the first person to disperse from the crowd.

By the revolving doors of the Richmond Library Building, Colette saw Anna's golden blonde hair swaying freely. Anna was bold, and Colette wanted to become bolder.

Colette grinned at Anna, but Anna chose to distract herself on her phone. Then, she lifted her head up, pretending to look at the thin air between the fixated skyscrapers.

Anna doesn't seem like herself.

Colette read Anna like an open notebook, aware of her attitude and emotions. She assumed that the drama from the summer would have already been dispersed. Colette approached Anna. Anna provided a reciprocated forced smile to Colette's subtle smile. Walking closer to Anna, Colette dismissed the problem and said, "Hey! I've missed you. I haven't seen you in so long," awkwardly hugging Anna. Something was wrong with Anna. Her golden-brown eyes were straying away, somehow unkind.

"Listen, I don't want you to be mad." Anna paused. "But, I've been hanging out with Peter. We're not dating, but I just wanted to tell you. I don't want you to be mad."

Colette never intended rudeness.

"It's ok. Why didn't we hang out over the summer?" Colette's heart beated loudly, abruptly, pounding out of her chest from the nervousness as if she were a toddler who stood her ground.

Instantly noticing the hesitation in Colette's voice and the dropping in her eyes, Anna studied her disappointment.

"I've just been busy," Anna answered uncomfortably.

Colette detected that Anna didn't want to stick around. She regretted asking Anna the question for the answer was obvious.

Anna was using me. I always thought of her as my sister. But, convenience is much more important to her. What happened to all those years of friendship? Why did she call me her own sister before this mess? Why did she want me to be her future maid of honor, her godmother? It's all fake.

Throughout this encounter, they were both aware of this, conscious of all insecurities and humility. Every action that had occurred resulted in an equal and opposite reaction.

Her antics with Anna, the foolishness, the laughter and what the world had to offer to two young best friends was ruined.

After discussing their first lectures, Anna quitted the small talk, "I have to go home." Colette understood her plain English, the robotic world. In return, Anna offered that same half smile for the day.

"I've got to go. Don't take this the wrong way."

"Ok, text me if you're free." Colette said softly, and Anna turned her back. Colette raised her hand, letting it fall down, swinging back and forth by her leg.

All enduring friendships of love and laughter shattered to a point of uncertainty. It was time for Colette to grow, to let go, and to recognize which people were unfair.

Finding herself on the train to East Meadow, Colette listened to a sad song. Her eyes were dry, but she forced herself to cry to feel the tears run down her cheeks. She liked the feeling of crying, a destressor, another release of pain from her body.

Weary, Colette believed that she was the root of the problem. Her friends from high school departed. Peter left her. Anna left her. Her father died. They all left.

Everything was close to nothing.

Maybe, I just copied Anna.

Colette closed her eyes and leaned against the blue stubborn seats of the train. Sinking like a ship, she reversed deeply into the sea of her own failures. She did not know what was right or what was wrong. And, it bothered her severely. The good and the bad were washed up into a pile of indecisive clues.

She lost herself. It was an attacking misery. She had the urge to yell, but everyone would believe her to be mad for they themselves didn't change routine. Colette once thought of herself as an adult. She wished to be six years old again, without any responsibility and to love the ones that she had hated.

If everyone had expressed their pains, maybe, the whole world would have solved each other's problems.

Colette cried with no humiliation. It was unrecognizable. The conductor announced the name of the train stop, "Westbury, Westbury. Westbury."

Walking off onto the pavement, she wiped a tear with her finger. She looked at the face of her mother and resisted crying.

Thus, in the eyes of themselves, family will support you forever. Familial, empathetic love never abandoned Colette. Choose your friends wisely.

Chapter II: The Vanishing Memories

The leaves turned into dust, crumbling one by one from the footsteps of the neighbors passing by the open road. No snow had fallen in the month of November. In December, the days had been calm and misty.

It was a Sunday, which the ordinary folk embodied as a restful day. Colette was stuck in a parallel realm. Not even a scavenger could foretell her fate. Her scrubby palms were a result of fraught and distraught. Cinderella would have thought, "Trust me. I've been there before." Sundays were not only filled with laundry sorting and cleaning but also mandatory Church attendances.

On the wooden table, the crimson roses were faintly resting in a sparkling glass vase. Colette's mother was cleaning the brittle petals that had fallen on the table, withering throughout the night and the day. Her mother was a true mysophobe. In a gentle society, people would simply say, she liked it when things were clean. Her mother excessively, compulsively wiped each speck of dirt. She stood upright and took a deep breath. Wall planning the conjoined kitchen-living room, she attached five stockings along with the living room mirror, a stocking for herself, Aunt Fiona, Uncle Stephen, Teresa, and lastly, Colette.

For the final touch, she decorated the front corridor with a green reef, bolstering the Christmas atmosphere for the holiday season.

"Why are you putting that old thing up? It's a waste of time." Colette waited impatiently as she tried to squeeze her leather boots.

"It adds more positivity." Her mother said carefully, adjusting the nail on the wall.

"Yeah, I can already feel your enthusiasm." Sarcasm was her best tool.

"Don't whine, Colette." Her mother grimaced with her kind eyes, tired from the working days. "Your cousin, Teresa will visit us on Christmas, and the house must be nice and clean for your aunt's family."

"Three weeks in advance?"

"Three weeks in advance. Open the door, and wait outside. I don't want us to be late to Church."

"You! You don't want to be late for church!" Colette stammered. They both had abstained from breakfast before the communal service. Colette's mother didn't possess enough caffeine to bicker with the girl in resolution. In turn, Colette apologized without remorse.

"When I move out, I'm not going to go to Church. So, there's no point in you forcing me to go now. And, if I had children,..." Her mother's eyes returned to her daughter's face.

"...I would've given my kids the chance to uphold their own decisions. Don't you think that should be the right style of parenting, permitting some sort of freedom for your own child who is an adult?" Colette conferred with her mother.

Disregarding her child's concerns, her mother let out a simple, yet commanding: "Let's go." In quarrels like these, Colette's mother held a serious cold stare, tacitly communicating her annoyance.

I didn't expect her to support my decision. She could have responded with more than two words. It's the least she could do.

Both of the women stepped outside of the kitchen as the shabby back door sprung open against the wind.

On the driveway, Linda Pink, the owner of the brick house, aggressively scrubbed her new red SUV, parked secluded from her mother's wreck of a wagon. Colette pitied the botchy school-room sponge. Living beneath Linda under her mother's rule forfeited Colette from expressing her thoughts and feelings.

The retiree, Linda, restlessly carried a medieval attitude of conservatism. When Linda's husband had passed away, she offered her basement as a rental to Colette's mother through a mutual hairdresser. As the inheritor of the house, Linda's power went to her head, implicating limitations in remodeling, parking, and noise control.

No one else holds more hatred towards me than that woman. Glaring at her darted eyes, Colette deemed Mrs. Pink as a fake, robotic listener, and a treacherous woman.

Last year, Colette had eavesdropped on Linda's phone call with her lawyer over a settlement of one hundred dollars from a former coworker, her sister. They were associates at their father's funeral service company in which he had sold his stake. His frugality tarnished the familial relations, setting the inheritors on a collision course upon his passing. Claiming rights to the throne, Linda remarked that her capability of paying for the funeral service with her inheritance promoted a gain from her contribution. The case was postponed. Lawsuits were for greed.

It was hypocritical for Colette to label the neighbor as an evildoer of the sort, a misconception. And, Colette recognized this mistake, but she continued to compare herself to Linda's idiocratic acrimony, a remedy to justify Colette's own morality.

On every social occurrence, Colette's gregarious mother had greeted Linda with empathy. Stepping forward to the vehicle, Colette's mother addressed the elder, "Good morning, Linda. Isn't it getting colder outside?" Her mother's tone fluctuated smoothly. Colette understood that her mother favored Linda's conversation as far more intelligent than her daughter's nuisance.

"Good Morning. It is chilly, Maria." She said sternly like a witch whose capabilities fomented havoc. Like falling dominos, negativity surrounded the three women at the slight tick of a clock.

The two golden handles displayed the hour to the second on the tall embellished steeple. The church was as white as paint. Colette read the time, 10:01:27.

Yes, Mom should have given me the freedom to stay at home. She reassured herself.

For Colette, certain numbers resonated with different meanings. A silly superstition, Colette's indecisiveness tested her decision-making. It was easier to rely on something like numbers to answer her questions even if it was random.

"I hope to see you at Church, Linda!" Mrs. Nowa raised her voice while crossing the street. Her daughter directed the pathway.

St. Matthew's Church was located across the street from their building, patronizing the community since 1952. The overlapping wood was painted white, sanctifying every inch of what was already given. Colette ran up the concrete stairs of the church like a fool, skipping a step in between each jump. With an uplifting rush of energy, she made a funny face at the top of the stairway. Colette's mother prevented herself from uttering a passive comment of criticism.

Growing up with a religious mother, Colette often experienced many difficulties in avoiding the fat priests who blabbered for hours on the altar, where all was believably seen and unseen, demonstrating a history of Christianity that contributed to Colette's contempt towards the God-fearing culture, using judgment to punish human behavior.

Translucently, Colette neither agreed nor denied her beliefs towards a supreme being. She considered herself as an agnostic for nothing was proven or disproven. It bothered her. Judging everyone around her, she considered herself more as an atheist, not the cruel kind but the kind that justified selfishness.

However, the old church provided plenty of peaceful moments to contemplate each heartbeat and breath of air. There weren't many people inside. The bare wooden walls warmed the hollow ovular room.

Settling themselves in the fourth pew on the left side, Colette and her mother kneeled to say a quick prayer like the other four people in the room. There were two elderly couples. Colette didn't know their names, but she knew their faces. Colette and her mother kneeled. They became the same height. On their feet, Colette was four and a half inches taller than her mother.

The empty rows of pews calmed her. It calmed everyone. There was less pressure in the room, but it was lonely. Colette philosophized various situations and conclusions to herself.

I don't believe that I have fully grown up. I don't have a strong niche, and I don't find anything as exciting as it used to be. As the cantor blew into the harmonica, Colette's mother warbled a whiny tone from the back of her throat with the choir. Colette hated the noise, wishing that the church could be quiet at the beginning of prayer.

But, I do know that I am an adult who deserves freedom. Why do I have to attend mass? For all I know, some undiscovered tribe is capable of knowing the answers to creation and damnation. These kinds of people have stripped away their rights into a system that shames people who act naturally, who eat, dance, and sleep naturally. People have also claimed evidence pertaining to an afterlife by seeing a light after death. It's possible that it was just a chemical change in the brain, not a glimpse of heaven. Sure, Christianity promotes forgiveness, mercy, and kindness. But, the people who preach to be kind to others by praising God, sometimes, behave in the worst way possible. All roads are open. How can some people be so utterly certain of a paradise and a hell? It's a scare, and it works. The thought of hell and eternal damnation frightens me constantly, and the world is already so awful. How could there be a God if these atrocities occur more so than all of the good combined? It seems like more people are ill-willed than not. Oh God, I hope I don't go to hell. I already have ink on my body and ex-boyfriends. Plus, I'm superstitious. I play with the cards, read the horoscopes, and follow the stars. Does this make me a bad person? Who is to judge on this Earth? If I were to change would I be worthier or holier? Besides, we're born into sin, especially in this day and age. I don't know.

Somehow, rebellion against conformity offered a sense of comfort for Colette, which she interpreted as a branch of "hope."

No, Colette did not entirely believe in the wicked, the trends of what people referred to as a ground-breaking "spirituality." With Anna gone, the candle had been burnt. The witch scene was no longer interesting nor practical for Colette; yet, temptation did have a peculiar way of seeping into people's hands.

Colette positioned her eyes downwards, and her vision became blurry. She ceased her reminiscing, envisioning her future self, her favorite pastime during church, to imagine a spontaneous vacation or a new adventure elsewhere.

Most of the parishioners surrounding Colette were reaching their final years. The choir director was the oldest person to attend mass, Mrs. Wegrzyn. Approaching her seat, she caroled the high notes of "Joy to the World," waking up the crowd while rattling their eardrums. The choir directress amplified the tune.

Mrs. Wegrzyn celebrated her eighty-seventh birthday last week. She presented herself as a frail little old lady until she embarked on singing. Her range of pitch was easy for everyone to follow. When necessary, Mrs. Wegrzyn had the capability of encouraging the whole Church to sing. Colette cringed at the possibility of joining the choir. Thankfully, her mother understood that.

The gathering's harmonious singing did not match the interior of the church. It was dry compared to many other historic churches that had established a regal stature with beautiful paintings, iconography, and architecture.

It's so bare here. Some churches look so magnificent compared to this one. I wonder where the art went. Colette disliked the empty walls as much as she disliked looking at them.

On her birthday last week, Mrs. Wegrzyn had told Colette that the church held the most beautiful icons and paintings on the walls during the late 1960s. The pieces were taken down by the church committee. They argued that the art pieces distracted the church from true prayer, leaning closer to the physical than the nonphysical, considered idolatry.

Colette dove into the theory.

The whole clash of idolatry could be argued in anyone's favor. It was a division between the East and the West based on bad deeds. Centuries later, people are still debating the Great Schism. I guess that fights don't die down so easily. How can art and tradition divide Christianity? Why do differences cause more contempt than good? You could even say that the Great Schism led to world wars due to the encouragement of persecution.

Colette paused. No one considered that argument. If she were to speak out her thoughts, no one listened or cared. She was a young adult, even worse, a woman. There was no real place for her in society, neither did she inherit millions nor did she have thousands. A woman can be heard as soon as she exposed her body or as soon as she gained a billion followers, which strangely worked hand in hand. If you can't beat them, join them was a means of survival, while the women who have studied, worked, and invented were diverted into a black hole of truth.

Did I only look up to promiscuity because lust prospered over love? Or, should we blame these women due to our desire to be above another?

It was another reason for Colette to be bitter at the world. All ethics were in question at this point. Colette eyed the overbearing cross that had taunted her. These small differences among people have induced larger impacts that have created greater consequences.

The iconoclasts reasoned that an icon is an object, an act of idolatry, that ideology confronted the destruction of icons. But, somehow, staring at a wooden cross is considered acceptable. Everything is so sensitive, so political, so God-willing. There can be an argument for anything. Nothing is a fact. The whole dilemma was over a matter of control. They didn't care about the icons hanging up in the church. They just wanted more and more humans as followers. And, it still doesn't stop.

Colette was angered by the church's religious hypocrisy of how a man can preach to love thy neighbor, then stone another town. Like history, hypocrisy was inevitable. The Eastern religious iconography had been shown as a forbidden art by the Western Christians, a brutal reaction. Those who had magnified the persuasive iconoclasts to the authorities and monarchies had wrathed a new civil crusade, a hatred of diversity in Christianity. Fire fought with fire, while no one shared the holy water.

She captured Mrs. Wegrzyn's words to her heart, "To know an art piece, one must know the history and stories behind that piece, and those stories are the person's stories." This was what made humanity. Colette was intrigued by the expansions of visuals and fallen opinions, the thoughts, and fears that no one had ever discovered from an artist. Monetarily, it was impossible to study the arts. Electives were her best option.

To make a decent living, Colette's mother had pushed Colette towards a "safe" profession. She justified her mother's persuasion with her own theorizing: how most artists, musicians, and writers were endorsed by feeding the socialites' cravings of demands, a popularity contest.

It's all politics.

Personal standpoints have declined into morphed interpretations of repeated trends. Receiving an audience also required an investment, causing most original concepts of work to terminate into that same black hole.

With minimal funds in her savings account, Colette opted out from art to participate in the hypotheticals and economics of money, the distribution of wealth. She chose to study finance after convincing her mother that the business field offered better prospects than a preferred major in the medical field. For Colette, every minor issue could be fixed with money.

Naïve, she had watched plenty of movies displaying the beauties and altruism of New York City. Each film enabled a New York syndrome, where the urban streets provided livelihood and happiness without showing people begging for a dollar. The average workers convinced themselves that it's worth working like a dog to enjoy a beer after hours, complaining about their boss' ex-wife for divorcing the boss because the boss lost a few million dollars, causing a lack of bonuses. But that's life, right?

Is it right?

Colette rarely spent her money on prodigal expenses. Her mother replicated this manner. Colette abided by her example. It was their secret to keeping their rooms so utterly clean. No junk or nonessentials lingered on the floor like in Linda's garage. They were minimalists without sponsors.

Colette saw herself in a higher standard of living, living in a nice house with a quiet space and freedom. To want something so simple was so precarious. She promised to help her mother, wishing for her to be happy in a brighter apartment, light shining across the room with colorful, variety of flowers blooming, imitating her mother's meekness.

Maybe, I will eventually move out of New York to a new city with beautifully decorated houses, strolling through the parks in a new breeze. I would probably appreciate the changing of the seasons, more of the little things. Or, I could move to the countryside, looking for gold. There are so many places in the world to see. I worry that I will never leave my mundane life. Maybe, I should move to a different country, too. Moving to a different country could build my composure. Maybe, I could manage to make my life better alone. Besides my mother, there is nobody here for me in New York.

She was repulsing her reality, missing half of the puzzle pieces of her picture.

Previously, she had worked in clothing stores, bakeries, nursing homes, and a lifeless corporate office. Hopping from job to job, work was work, and money was money. Each task was done, but it was not an accomplishment for Colette. Teaching someone to labor like an animal did not teach a master to craft.

Her spending and her appetite were in a tug-of-war. Richer than she, her peers and neighbors were accustomed participants of society, contributing to the rules of work and enjoying its fruits, while she was given the sour apples. Colette often cried alone, without discussing her concerns like notes in a broken bottle, lost underneath the weight of the ocean water's sand. She knew that it was not normal to talk about her feelings. There was no such thing as a community in New York. Giving trust relinquished rivalry. She didn't want to lose.

Colette's mother glanced over her right shoulder as new people arrived at the Church. Her eyes followed the family that shuffled behind her, bringing more attention to the insignificant rumbling of the late visitors.

"Stop looking," Colette whispered into her mother's burgundy hair.

"Colette." Her mother objected to her daughter's remark, fighting off her microaggression, and she shook her drooping hair from her eyes.

Apprehensive to the weekly rendez-vous, Colette felt anxious about standing near devout men and women. Anyone who willingly attended Church had made her feel uncomfortable. She was afraid to be wrong.

During the reading of the scripture, the scratched heels of Colette's Chelsea boots were wobbling as her legs weakened. Yawning, she covered her mouth. The parishioners sat down around her as the fat jolly old priest approached the sturdy microphone attached to the podium. Colette sat down.

Father Adrian was a character. He defined himself through his role, living and breathing with the congregation.

Letting her feet rest on the pew's kneeler, Colette positioned herself comfortably, preparing for a nap as the priest introduced the homily.

"Children." He paused, inhaling the incense of the censer that swung like a pendulum on the stand.

"Children are the pureness of God's perfect image. A child can overcome pain with bliss, fear with guidance through gratitude and clarity. If they stumble to the ground, they will cry, and, shortly, pick themselves up to keep running to their destination. They'll keep running, maybe to a ball, to their friends, or their parents. This is what we must do with our faith. If we experience doubt, we must pick ourselves up and keep running like a child, away from what keeps our spirits low, away from sin. Children understand the gifts of the Holy Spirit given to them. These gifts are through Christ in the oneness of God. Then children eventually become adults. And, that same child can fall again, harder onto the cement. Except now, they are not viewed as children but as adults."

Awakened by the controversy, Colette cracked her neck, angling her neck bones towards the right then to the left, while solemnity resurrected in Mrs. Nowa.

The priest looked around the room. "I once knew a boy. Let's call him... I don't know, Bob. Bob loved to go outside and play soccer with his friends. Sometimes, he liked to play video games in his room too, but soccer took up most of his time. He played soccer throughout elementary and middle school until high school try-outs." He nodded his head. "Bob didn't make the cut. Now, he started questioning himself. Am I good enough? Why did Dan make the team? Why did Alex make the team? What do they have that I didn't have? Why didn't I make the team? He resorted to video games. Bob continued to play his video games. So much so, he played all night without much sleep. When his parents told him to sleep, he didn't listen, thinking it was no big deal. Playing video games of robberies, destructions, and acts of violence, alterations of Christ's teachings gave him more satisfaction than looking inward of thyself."

Don't forget about the defamation of women, while you're at it.

"His mother and his father saw that he was addicted to these games. They kept pushing him to go outside to kick a ball again. He didn't. He began to fail his classes. His parents were disappointed. They told him that video games were not helping him get to where he needed to be. Yelling at his parents, he points out his parents' flaws. 'Stop yelling at me! Dad, you're just as bad as I am. You act like you're working, but really you're just watching TV, or you're on the computer, checking out your favorite websites when Mom's not around. You don't love her! You're a fraud!' His mother walks into the room, hysterically crying, reacting to what she had just heard from her son. 'And you!' He yells." The priest pointed a finger at the people. "Bob was cursing at her louder, losing his voice, disrespecting his own mother."

"Then, Bob graduates high school but hasn't been accepted into college. What does he do next? He packs his bags, his video games, and his clothes. Bob leaves his family and runs out of money. He's homeless. Bob considers stealing a car, but he doesn't have a gun. He considers going through a different route to make money. He starts selling drugs. All he wants is the same joy that he had from his childhood, and no one is there to give it to him. Bob starts taking drugs. Finally, he is in a false statehood of grace. Where he is... how do you young folks say it, 'comfortably numb?'" The priest glanced at Colette. "Are you too young for that?"

Startled, Colette almost flinched from the acknowledgment.

"Bob never went back to his family. He never contacted his friends or parents. He was alone. And, his parents didn't call him. He was a bother to the family. Why would they need him? They were too late. Bob had overdosed. Pride had gotten in the way of what could have saved a family." Father Adrian was seriously upset by the story.

"Avoid those things. Go to confession. Repent your sins. Honor God, believe in the Bible and your parents to live a healthy life. Honoring your parents is not just honoring your mother and father, but honoring the value of family, all family, and the value of respect. Live a life of Christ. Imitate Christ's actions instead of a video game."

Father Adrian lifted the bulletin, fluttering the paper in the air.

"Next week, the Church will be offering breakfast after the mass. You can find the announcements for the rest of the month on the bulletin board."

Mrs. Wegrzyn's call and response prolonged as the pastor walked behind the wooden table to prepare the bread and wine for the communion procession. Empty-handed, Colette looked at the page of the gospel book in her mother's hands. All were following the liturgy except Colette.

She was anticipating her departure, eager to go home. The church was mustier as the mass extended its duration. Colette realized that she could be doing something more useful.

Why didn't the Church do something for Bob if that story was true? Then, she realized that the family may have not been truly religious. Colette had a deep hatred for the people who claimed to be Catholic while committing bad acts. It was disgusting, and she was no different. So, it was easier to call herself an atheist. She chanted some words with her mother and the other conditioned worshipers.

I have amassed into a group of people who cluelessly revolve around a hypocritical religion. They don't even care for the other alternatives or suggestions of what could be accurate. No one wants to change their beliefs or hear the other argument which is pretty unintelligent. These people would definitely place me below the limbo level for the sort of things that people do every single day. But, I guess, occasionally, I change my opinions too whenever it's convenient. Maybe, I am a hypocrite. Who knows? I guess that we're all hypocrites at the end of the day.

Colette was the first person to receive communion. The old Christian members lifted their sullen bodies to the forming line, trampling behind Colette as she put her hands up for a piece of bread. Her mother observed how others inspected Colette, an intellectual in the proper dress.

Shortly, the concert reached a finale with an easier sing-along remix of "Carol of the Bells." People were exiting one by one as Colette diffused through the group. Intemperate like a hare, she dropped down the cascading never-ending steps just to follow her mother.

By the stairs, Mrs. Nowa huddled next to her friends to gossip. Colette viewed the mature women like her mother's acquaintances more so than her pals. Their typical chit-chat included the comparisons of their children, along with their personal work-life balances, all of which Colette perceived as a shallow exaggeration. Linda arrogantly interrupted her mother, stealing the thunder of the conversation to overcompensate for her insecurities through what she thought were witty remarks, bashing opinions like a child throwing rocks against an ocean.

Colette's adrenaline activated an unhealthy amount of stress that had clogged her throat. Most judgmental people planted this effect on Colette, which caused her to become mute (and the devil called it mutism). She waited for her mother to give her a signal, a nod that indicated an end to her gossiping shenanigans.

Aback from the chatter, Mrs. Wegrzyn was shuffling closer to the busy street. "Oh, it's tough being old. But, I'll get through it. I'll get through it, alright." Mrs. Wegrzyn grumbled, wobbling with her walker from the elevator.

Her face eased as she pinned her wise cheeks to the pale sky which was whiter than her hair. And, Colette smiled at her from afar.

"Colette!" She quivered, "Oh, look who it is! It's Colette! It's been so long!" Mrs. Wegrzyn opened one of her arms towards her body, holding the other onto the handle.

Colette approached Mrs. Wegrzyn with a bright face, bringing curiosity to Colette's mother.

"Yes, it has been. How have you been?" Delighted to speak to one another, Colette embraced her good-humored spark. Mrs. Wegrzyn brought warmth to Colette with her hellos and goodbyes.

"I'm doing well. I can't remember the last time that I saw you. Why don't you stop by for some tea and biscuits?"

"I brought a lemon tart with my mom last Sunday for your birthday party. Do you remember?"

"Your mother!" Mrs. Wegrzyn exclaimed. "Who is her mother?" She wondered to herself.

These mishaps were expected. Colette understood the grandmother's disorientation. She had an excuse. Colette did not.

"When you get to my age, you move slower as time moves faster."

"How come?"

"It just happens to be that way. Life, it can be tough, but enjoyable. I'm feeling good! I can pray, walk, go to church, and I'm not sitting in that rut of a retirement home." Mrs. Wegrzyn pointed with her thumb towards the left, indicating the Angel's Retirement Home.

"I get it." Colette indicated.

Her mother crept into the conversation, fitting in with the two.

"Hello, Mrs. Wegrzyn, that birthday party was a killer, huh." She joked, elbowing her arm.

"Hey, watch it." Mrs. Wegrzyn jerked. She glimpsed at Colette's mother. "Oh, it's you, my friend." In disbelief, she gasped, "It's really you, Maria, no kidding."

"Mom, nice to see you again," Colette said in a monotone, rolling her eyes.

"Did you enjoy the lemon tart, Mrs. Wegrzyn?"

"The lemon tart was delicious." The lady chuckled. "But, my favorite is chocolate. Boy, I love chocolate. I can eat it every day."

"We'll bring chocolate next time," Colette promised.

"Next time... I better invite you right now for some tea, before I forget." She winked.

Colette, Mrs. Wegrzyn, and her mother continued talking as the other parishioners scattered to their stagnant schedules. Above them, a flock of blackbirds migrated to the southern sun, and the three scavengers were looking for theirs by making promises for another day.

Chapter III: The Figure

Tapping, grunting, and fiddling, a student behind Colette averted her direction of the questions on her final exam, the Financial Instruments exam.

She snapped her head backward, as the male student caught her belligerent grimace. With no consideration, the incessant of his thudding heightened her irritation. He moped in his seat as he drummed a rhythm with a chewed-up orange pencil.

Strenuously focusing on the printed text, Colette's headache bothered her to a degree where she desired to break the student's pencil in half.

Writing, erasing, rewriting the same equations, Colette dismantled the methods of financial categorization. She had practiced the problems, but she blamed the student for her failing memory.

Circling numbers and jumping from one page to another, a few of her solutions answered the problem, but most were oblivious guesses, especially for the difficult questions.

Hundreds of students are seated around the room, the intelligent, negligent, and the in-between. "Five minutes to twelve. Thirty minutes are left in the session." The professor announced, drawing the time from the countdown on the projector to the final millisecond. Colette's heart sank into her stomach. The flickering of the pen irritated her last nerve.

Those who had completed the test early were allowed to leave. Bubbling in the empty spaces on her scribbled scantron, Colette placed the pencil inside of the pocket of her zippered coat, furiously bundling her belongings with her other hand.

"Oh my God! Colette!" The brown-haired girl shrieked from the classroom door. She was so loud that all the students turned around.

"Hey, Carla. How was the test?" Colette was leaning on the wall, waiting for the people to leave.

Carla Jenson was a sweet perfectionist and the snottiest princess of Long Island, the amalgamation of what people appreciated. She talked to anyone about anything for as long as it made her look cool. Carla, however, could not undermine Colette.

"It was super easy, of course. By the way, what was your answer to question twenty?" She asked Colette profusely in the hopes of receiving security and accuracy.

"Choice B." Colette said in a sly formality.

"No, B is incorrect. Choice C is the right answer. The presence of the overstated net income caused by the low cost of goods sold represents that the ending balance is $25,400." She spoke so quickly that Colette took a second to think.

What caused her to ask me this question?

Colette argued, "Yeah, but, the overall understated stockholder's equity makes the total balance $25,000."

"Hm. Either way, it's fraud." Carla accepted the answer.

"I don't know. You could be right." Colette told Carla, mediating the rigidness between them.

"I guess we should switch into advertising." She said with a polite grin. Colette remained silent. Continuing the conversation, Carla asked "Anyways, do you want to get a cup of coffee with me?"

Colette agreed to the excursion, a rewind from studying.

Conferring with their plans for the winter break, the upcoming spring, and graduation, Carla announced her new position at a prestigious accounting firm. Lacking a job, Colette was envious, but she didn't want to reveal her ill-will.

"Congratulations! The company is really lucky to have you. It's scary how soon we will be working forever becoming like every other adult-like working from nine to five, Monday through Friday. No?" Colette replied.

"I guess. But, I'd rather work forever than study forever." Carla said with exasperation, and Colette remembered why she did not like Carla; her sincerity was a common plague.

Colette purchased a small regular coffee, and Carla, a medium caramel latte with extra sugar.

"I absolutely love the coffee at Fir Coffee. Do you want to try my drink?" Carla blinked as she swallowed a giant gulp of the sweet coffee in delight.

"I prefer straight coffee to your undrinkable sugar-infested liquid," Colette answered.

"Well, I'm not a psychopath like some people here."

Colette giggled and poked fun at herself, a gentle reaction, which Carla didn't expect.

They sat at a round marble table surrounded by the aurora of casual strollers outside the window, absorbing the heat that illuminated from the massive sun through the frosty glass.

Carla strived to enlighten Colette, interpreting her dilemmas and solutions for her student lifestyle. She did not know when to stop talking about her own stature, a pity for mankind.

Colette stared outside of the window. She batted an eye towards Carla once in a while to feign an interest in her unimportant drama. Her talk about minuscule choices and decisions enfurioriated Colette. Carla's father was the Global Bank's former executive. Carla was responsible for upholding her family's name, such a chore, almost as fatal as hunger.

Carla was clueless about what was concrete and what was abstract. There was no substance in the conversation, just a minor contribution to her vapid life.

Working without a cause is so dreadful. And for some reason, it's necessary for sustainability. The average person won't even reach their own potential capacity. If this was actually encouraged, most issues would slowly dissolve. People are like Scrooges, living in crude. Because if this weren't true, we would all be painters, scientists, politicians, astronomers, and inventors like Renaissance men. Sadly, students are expected to pick one field of study and work at a job that has nothing to do with the subject of matter.

Colette did not tell this to Carla.

"Are you even listening? Colette!"

In the famous coffee shop, Colette's body remained, but her mind wandered elsewhere into a more important discussion at least for herself.

She straightened her back. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about something. What happened?" Colette inquired with the same tone as Carla.

"God Colette, you're so delusional sometimes. You just stare at a blank wall as if you were brain-dead. Do you ever pay attention?"

It's better to keep quiet. In my defense, no one will.

"Well, anywho, I do not know whether to write my paper today or next week before it's due," Carla whined.

"Just do it today." Colette held the urge to roll her eyes.

Playing with the strands of her hair, Carla said, "No, I can't. I have to work and study for another final tomorrow." Carla worked under her uncle, assessing his real estate properties.

Detached from the conversation, Colette consumed the last of the lukewarm drink.

"I'll just study next week. It's no big deal." Carla said like a faux queen.

"Try to time manage everything like writing a list or something." Colette hesitated.

Carla looked away at the ceiling. "You're right. I should really get myself together. It was so good to see you, Colette. I got to head out and study intermediate finance all night. Good luck on finals."

Not doing anything but thinking to herself, Colette murmured a "You, too."

Carla's skinny body migrated in an outward motion. Dallying with Carla could never be equivalent to the days spent with Anna, where the time went unwasted.

I hope that I do not come across as rude to Carla. I am just so tired, tired of it all. Sleeping is the only medicine, and coffee does not help. Frankly, my dreams are much better than my waking existence. I could sleep for a year without waking up. When I am asleep, I can travel the globe, sail the sea, drive long roads, dance at concerts. I can introduce myself as a different person, a pilot or a singer. Any road in my sleep takes me there, to the interesting factors of creation. If my dreams were real, no one could bother me, and no one would leave.

The nightmares shall not rave. Colette reminded herself that Anna's busyness was not an excuse for her betrayal.

Anna is a former relation of mine. For, whatever happens, I'm not sorry. I shouldn't be feeling guilty over anything.

Colette was a sporadic thinker, a messy person. This messiness had created an organization in the mind of the thinker.

Colette's life was a weird game, a compelling joke, waiting for the next possible level of difficulty. With too many seemingly plausible rules, this big game of life secluded her from the present.

The game was fun here and there. The player engaged with other players to build alliances and bonds or foes and enemies. Until the final level, the entire game unfolded itself as one big joke. All those years of senseless work caused a person to laugh in desperation from the nothingness of life, how nothing became everything, a resolution.

Colette spent the next few moments wishing, wishing to study a new theory, wishing to uncover the elements of the universe, wishing to live freely without a new apocalypse of automation and redundancy.

As the cafe bursts with energy, Colette rose from the metal chair with fatigue. Gripping the rim of the table, she was losing her balance. Her stomach growled. Colette debated whether to spend her ten-dollar bill on a sandwich or to head home to avoid losing earned money.

"Hi, what is your favorite sandwich here?" Colette asked the cashier.

He smiled.

"The roast beef sandwich with extra spicy mayo is the best sandwich in the world."

"I think I might try that." Her eyes fluttered.

"You're going to love it. It'll be $14.90."

Colette suppressed herself from gasping, knowing how far a dollar stretched. For that price, six different sandwiches could have been made.

"Here's ten and a two. Just a second."

She poured the coins in her wallet onto her hand as she shook from hunger. The cashier drooled over a long-haired woman. She was in a powerful posture, wearing elegant luxury in a way that it was meant to be worn with subtle charisma.

"Here it is." Colette placed the coins on the counter, carrying the weight of her backpack on her shoulders.

The cashier did not flinch. He side-eyed the woman, attempting to capture her attention.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry." Colette vocalized.

"Thanks."

And, that was that.

The blonde woman stole his heart. Since high school, Colette imagined herself in the shoes of that woman. That woman who had everything lined up for her since birth. That woman who had been showered with Disneyworld trips each year as a child. That woman who never believed that she was inadequate. She had a prosperous father as proof. That woman who was loved by everyone, boy or girl. For if it wasn't love, it was worship. Colette had decided that every woman was valued as greater than she.

She snatched the sandwich at the end of the counter and left the drooling boy to his wonders.

The cloudy sky dimmed a dull shade of gray above the sunset. Since there was no snow on the ground, Colette decided to have the lunch break at the nearby park, Mercer Park, east of Fir Coffee, and Blairmount University. She didn't care for the cold.

A middle-aged woman was ringing a bell from a red kettle by the subway station. She yelled, "Donations for the Salvation Army! Donations!" Up ahead, a businessman in his garb picked up his pace and shook his head.

Colette felt a pain in her stomach.

Turning on the next block, a song played from the street vendor's radio. An unshaven man was singing. He pointed towards Colette. "She's a single woman too!" He hollered. "It's raining men!"

Without concern, the public allowed the old vendor to shout in dismay, dancing to the rhythm. Cheering, he exclaimed, "Have a wonderful day, miss!"

With a crooked nose and no teeth, he intended good thoughts, so Colette smiled at the old happy man. Corresponding with beauty, happiness was certainly in the eye of the beholder. Emotions concurrently manifested a terrifyingly magnificent abstract pattern of natural behavior, unlike the obtuse studies in the predetermined sciences.

The vast difference among people was not wealth but attitude. It was the perception of what was eventful or distracting. Some had soul. Some sold.

In the park, Colette did not take her time. She gobbled the sandwich, hoping for it to reach her stomach faster, an automatic response.

She looked upon the world as a movie. People's lives had switched from one scene to the next in the film, thinking about what her mother had once told her, "You get on one train. Then hop onto another. That's life."

I guess that's why my mother had so many problems in her relationship. She had spent all her time taking care of me. She had no time to spend it with someone else. I've never realized it before.

Colette stared at the pavement. She finally had the opportunity to think. At one point, she paused. A faint laugh reached her ears.

"Yes, yes, I'll talk to you soon." He said under his breath softly without urgency.

Another guy who is taken. Shocker.

She rolled her eyes.

A handsome young man sat on a bench across from Colette.

He could be nice though. He seems happier, happier than most people.

Colette neatly fixed her hair before he considered settling his distant eyes in her direction. She told herself not to look, but he had an electrifying mystique. He seemed simple. He was dressed in a beige peacoat and navy slacks.

When he caught her eyes, her heart skipped a beat for the first time in her life. She never understood what love, at first sight, was until now. She could not blink. Her eyes were glued to his twilight turquoise irises. The man indicated a retrieval of her sharp-witted side-eye of affection.

She noticed a unique mark on his profile, his identification.

Maybe, this time will be different.

She prepared herself for the initiation of an encounter. Visualizing her greeting, she practiced the words in her head, "Hello sir, how do you do?"

The thought was so ridiculous that she smirked to herself in awe, misinterpreting his appeal.

The tall dusky-haired man glanced at Colette and vacated his position. He was gone. For Colette, it was better to feel a similar nothingness in the abyss than the halfheartedness of meaningless talk.

The present will not seize this day.

What I would do for him to covet me, he doesn't want me. I'm not the type of girl where a guy would drop down to his knees. Men like to chase the cafe and city girls, not me.

She was upset. She reasoned with her own dysphoria.

But, who knows, maybe he treats all girls the same. Marriages show more battles than treaties until the divorce. People fight too often.

Sighing, Colette threw the breadcrumbs of the sandwich onto the floor. The grey squirrels climbed down from the oak trees in a frenzy, scaring off the pecking birds, another separation for Colette. The park had also missed the man's presence.

The game of the universe had arbitrated a lonely solitude upon mankind, cradling the girl like a strangler. It was her turn to play the deceptive game.

Chapter IV: Holidays for the Folly

When the fall semester had passed, Colette binged into the phenomenon of perfection. Waxing every unwanted hair, pinning the top of her head, painting her nails a bright color red, the list unraveled itself. She ran into the center of the trap. Excessive beauty standards had falsely offered her a vision of value and confidence, and her desire for love obeyed. What was false became true.

But, Colette did not know the answer to beauty. Nothing had ever reached perfection. All of her attempts resulted in confusion. If she was skinny, people had called her "boney." If she was athletic, people had commented on her "masculinity." If she had bigger cheeks, people considered her "chubby." Any state of the human body received backlash. It was best not to care about her looks, but she lived in a physical world.

Whenever Colette posted a picture of herself on social media, many people reappeared into her life, asking her to catch up, to spend a weekend together. Those people were fake. The physical body was morally unavoidable, which made Colette feel like a victim, especially with her cousin, Teresa.

Teresa Burns was a doll. Her life was organized by talents, books, and mutual friends. She absorbed social media to retract attention and sufficiency in herself. Colette assumed that Teresa's biggest difficulty in life was picking a pretty color at the nail salon. Today, she was visiting Colette for Christmas Eve.

In the hallway of the bedrooms, Colette saw her mother speaking on the phone with Aunt Fiona. They reiterated their plans of cooking recipes and the family's road trip from the land of hippies and mole rats to the land of rats.

"It was difficult to identify the difference between the two." Aunt Fiona mentioned to Colette's mother, complaining about the two pies that she had bought.

"Don't worry. I made enough space in the living room for you and Tom... Not the usual, but you two can accommodate." Her mother reaffirmed the routine.

Each Christmas celebration switched back and forth from host to host. This year, the Nowa family was obligated to prepare the holiday for themselves and the Burns.

"See you then. Ok, bye, bye now." Her mother lowered the cell phone onto the wooden dining table. She returned to her own tastings and flavorings, judging whether the soup needed an additional spice or a pinch of salt as Colette stood behind her unseen.

"How come we don't celebrate Christmas alone?" Colette inquired from her mother, wearing her pajamas with slippers.

Startled, her mother shook from her entrance.

"Colette! Don't scare me. How about you go do something useful? Prepare the mashed potatoes." Her agitated mother handed Colette a plastic cutting board and a knife to peel the rinsed potatoes.

Colette hated chores when enforced. Alone, she did not mind doing the casual housework. Whenever commanded, Colette disobeyed a request, but today was a special day, and her mother was in need. It happened to be easy to persuade Colette.

The man popped into her daydreams. Bizarre, Colette had no reason to think of him. She forgot the names and faces of people often. Though nameless, she could not forget the man's face. By the very second, she was intoxicated by her attachment to the unknown man as if he had executed a magic trick, causing her to fall for his being.

His laughter had struck her hard, a secret enchantment. This was new for her. She had never fallen into the faith of love into security. The feeling was unsettling.

"Soon, Aunt Fiona will be here. Go set up the table with five plates."

For formal dinners, the linen and silverware were taken out of the drawers for the table. Her mother peered at the arrangement.

"You forgot napkins, Colette." Turning off the fire-lit stove, she folded each napkin into a triangle, tucking the soft paper under the plate and the utensils.

The doorbell rang a classic ding-dong. "Go open the door." Her mother rushed to rinse off the excess dishes.

Already overwhelmed, Colette crept to the door. She checked the time on her lock screen, 12:50.

Why are they here so early?

Colette opened the door with caution. Of course, the first person Colette saw was Aunt Fiona.

"Hello, Colette." Her aunt refused to give a smile. She didn't know how to greet Colette, whether to lift up her hands or to wave, so she stood there until Colette made room for her to enter the doorway. Uncle Joe grinned briefly and proceeded after his wife. Teresa was eager to see her cousin, and she was beautiful, flaunting the face of an angel.

"Ahhhh, Colette!" Teresa illuminated Colette's mood like a sparkling firework, ready to take initiative. She was liked by everyone, her friends, family, boys, girls, adults, anyone. She initiated the conversation in the same guise with every person for it brought her a great benefit, the advantage of genuine admiration.

"Ahhhh, Teresa." Colette mimicked her, giving her an embrace.

"You look good. You're so tall." Teresa said, letting go of Colette.

Colette doubted her. She was not exactly healthy in terms of her fitness and her reputation like Teresa. She convinced herself that Teresa's arrival should not be a competition of success.

However, it was difficult. Teresa was a student at the best university in New Jersey, Pinnacle University. Her boyfriend attended the university, a student-athlete. Teresa was involved in a Pre-Med sorority, established for the young women who were planning to apply to medical school.

"Thanks. How was your drive? You guys showed up right on time." Colette closed the door to the wooden-floored apartment.

"We woke up at six A.M. for this trip. I couldn't fall asleep or wake myself up. It was bad." She exhaled from the memory of the morning.

"Hey, look who it is!" Colette's mother said with excitement. She kissed Teresa on the cheek and squeezed her hand. Teresa beamed with warmth.

"Ok, ladies and Stephen. It's great that you're all here because now we're going to make something out of nothing. So, chop, slice, and mix. Come on. Get your aprons on." Colette's mother proclaimed, acting like a true master chef on reality TV, a silent dream.

Onions, carrots, tomatoes, and cucumbers were given to Aunt Fiona, Colette, Teresa, and Uncle Stephen respectively. Aunt Fiona could cut the vegetable into fine pieces as the others were going around the chore.

"Nevermind, you three don't know anything about cooking. Colette, Teresa, Stephen, drop your weapons." Colette's mother jeered at them.

"Aunt Fiona and I will have to finish the rest of the dinner. You can leave." She finished with a more qualified remark.

Uncle Stephen got up first, wobbling to the couch, the poor man, enervated from all of the driving and working. An adept electrical engineer, Uncle Stephen had been curious about the nature of electricity at an early age, holding pliers in his hands with Teresa's grandfather, a good man like Uncle Stephen. The family men stood for simplicity. The uncle fell sound asleep as if it were his first night of rest for the week.

Colette and Teresa slipped into her bedroom with a snatched bottle of red wine, an earlier plan established by both of the girls through the exchanges of texts.

"Colette, come here." Teresa hugged her tightly on the cool wooden floor of Colette's bedroom. A hug that was given in scarce to people who had lived very far away, Colette let go of Teresa.

Eyeing the half-empty bottle of drunk-up wine, Colette announced a trifling toast, "Teresa, before we drink this wine that we stole from our parents like we do every year, let's say something special. I'll go first. Teresa, I want you to be happy with your life, your college life rather, especially with your boyfriend, Sam." She gulped the poisonous medicine and placed the bottle onto her nightstand.

Colette wanted to elicit a response from Teresa, a recognition, a certification. All she got was a small reassurance.

"Yes... my boyfriend."

Eh, she probably thinks I'm so weird for just trying to be a bit funny, making humor out of this annual thing. She didn't have to even come over.

"Sam and I are going on vacation next week with most of my sorority and frat friends, maybe Cancun or Punta Cana." She bragged unintentionally.

Well, I'm definitely not invited. She wouldn't even ask me to do something on my own birthday.

That same week was Colette's birthday, December 27th - her 21st birthday.

After her acceptance to Pinnacle University, Aunt Fiona and Uncle Stephan had been paying for Teresa's annual vacations to the Caribbean with the money left over from her scholarships. Colette had never left the United States; except for Canada for a school trip, this was not very adventurous in her books.

"Oh cool," Colette said under her breath, discontinuing the conversation. Teresa just didn't consider Colette's emotions.

"Yeah, it's an all-inclusive resort, and we want to rent a whole restaurant out for the whole trip." She anticipated Colette's reciprocation.

"Yeah, it sounds really amazing."

"It's just we don't have enough people. You know?" She stated firmly.

I don't want to invite myself like I always do. But who cares? She's the one who is mentioning that there are not enough spots.

"I mean if you need an extra person. I can go and try to figure it out." Colette remarked in confidence.

"Oh no, it's not that there are enough people to go. It's just we don't have enough people for this particular vacation rental like... We don't have enough people to choose from. There are so many sororities and frats at Pinnacle. And, people really want to go. It's just we don't know who to pick."

"Oh ok," Colette said.

"Sorry." Teresa stretched out the two syllables.

"No, it's fine."

"Yeah, I don't know because Nicole and Lisa wanted to go, you know my best friends. And, Brian and Jonathan have to go if they go..." She chatted about her affairs. "So, we have to figure out the arrangements. It's already so many people." Ending on that note, Teresa took the bottle of wine off the floor and drank its remnants.

They heard the impending shift of the bedroom door. Teresa rolled the bottle under Colette's bed, concealing the prop from any further investigation.

"Hello girls, dinner is ready." Colette's mother said without suspecting a clue.

They followed her through the hallway into the dining room/kitchen. The ornamental silverware was intact, waiting for its use. The 1990s store-bought Christmas tree twinkled its flickering rainbow lights. Her mother had placed one last item on the table, a single candle.

"Let's pray." She stood up. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." She repeated the words three times, crossing herself with her three fingers graciously as Colette's father had prayed.

Perplexed, Uncle Stephen had only crossed himself once; he forgot about that old tradition. Everyone had gestured to the sign of the cross to please Colette's mother.

This is so embarrassing. Teresa's family doesn't over-attend mass or exaggerate their prayers. They actually live in real life.

After the mumblings of the holy prayers. Colette's mother commenced a graceful speech.

"My God, thank you for all that you have done today and every day for the blessed food on this table, for our health and good lives, for the education of these two young women. Thank you for this Holy Day. Amen. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." She blessed herself three times once more.

Grumpy from the drive, Uncle Stephen moaned, "You know in the Catholic tradition, you're supposed to do the sign of the cross once." Everyone was quiet. The women did not have a chance to sit down yet. Aunt Fiona gave him a look of discomfort.

"Colette! How are you? How is the university going?" Aunt Fiona exclaimed with an inflated grin to ease the tension of the surface.

"Going. It's going." Colette took a bite of the mashed potatoes soaked in the cream of mushrooms and dill.

"How's Peter?"

"I'm actually not dating him anymore."

"Oh, I'm so sorry.

Why is she sorry that another toxic person is gone in my life? If anything, she should be sorry for dating such a snarky guy.

Teresa lifted her head, "Such great food, Mrs. Nowa."

Colette's mother mouthed the words, "Thank you."

Colette continued the conversation, trying to stand up for herself, but somehow failing once more.

"No, it's fine. I'm really just trying to graduate from college. That's all." Colette grabbed the peas from the pot.

People had always considered her as too complacent.

"Teresa loved working in the hospital. She helped so many people with physical disabilities. It's a shame. She was always there for them every weekend. And, it's tough to get this position at Pinnacle. It's not easy, Colette." Aunt Fiona sipped her tea.

I never said it was. I wonder why my Mom isn't exaggerating a small achievement of mine for the sake of competition or suburban-mom parenting.

"It is sad as to what is happening there in the clinic, especially for surgeries. It's just sad, but there are also some ridiculous people, like the anti-vaxxers. They never compromise with the staff. For example, the medical team lays out the basic facts of the necessary effects of a vaccine, but the patient chooses to disagree. They should not be allowed to do this." Teresa stated with an itch for justice. Colette made the itch bleed.

"Then, you can argue we should just incarcerate everyone because that's kind of what you're saying, taking away that person's freedom."

"No, Colette." Uncle Stephen smiled as he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"No one's being incarcerated. Vaccines are necessary to live. It's not a matter of choice in this situation." Uncle Stephen looked at Colette in the eye as he stared her down.

Not intimidated by him, Colette finally said, "Yeah, but thousands of years ago people lived without vaccines. Why can't we just do that? And, if you catch the disease, you're bound to have it either way. There's no escape from germs spreading."

"Colette, um, no offense, that's the whole point - to stop the spread of germs from spreading. With a vaccine, it gets rid of the problem. Why did you have to bring incarceration into this? It's not related." Teresa argued with condensation.

Oh right, I forgot about that. Teresa does that whole I'm becoming a doctor thing, so I know more than you about everything in life.

"Yeah, but you haven't answered my question." Colette was raising her voice. "I asked: how did those people live throughout all those years without a vaccine? And, do vaccines actually stop the spread of a disease, or did the disease just pass? How do we actually know? Statistics can be skewed."

Maybe, they can listen to me for once. I did take statistics after all.

Her mother stayed quiet in her seat. She never participated in arguments, only with Colette, regarding her chores.

"Yeah, but vaccines are normal. Come on, Colette. I trust Teresa's judgment. Teresa has more experience, and she's becoming a doctor. Maybe if you were studying the sciences, you would know the right answer." Aunt Fiona supported her daughter without considering the opponent's argument.

"Listen, I agree with you on the vaccines. Like, people can take them, fine, as long as everyone is certain with it themselves. That there is enough evidence. It's self-explanatory. But, I don't think that people should be absolutely forced to take something without the proof present. I am just bringing the other side of the argument to the table." Colette's heart beated faster. They were never going to change their outlook. Colette had always hopped on the bandwagon of debate, but no one actually took her side. People just wanted to be right. She was the goof in the family, the child. She didn't have any experience in this field. How could she have an opinion about medical freedoms?

"But, incarceration really Colette? How can you make such a bad comparison?" Teresa pitched in to have the final draw by teasing Colette. She snickered at the situation with her two parents.

In moments like these, one would find major embarrassment. However, Colette did not take the problem to heart, and problems left holes.

Her mother asked Uncle Stephen about his profession, where he said a few words as if he were speaking to himself. Promptly, Aunt Fiona told Mrs. Nowa about the scandals in the hospital, reiterating the nursing department's laws and conduct. Her mother listened. Uncle Stephen interrupted with a word or two, with corrections, while protecting his wife.

Colette excused herself, escorting her cousin to her room. Irritated from the discussion at the table, Colette sat on her bed, looking at videos on her cell phone, not willing to speak.

Glossing over the problem, Teresa sat next to her on Colette's bed.

"What are you watching?"

Really? She's going to pretend that nothing happened, that every word she says is high and mighty because she goes to some fancy university? Even if I attended that university, nobody would listen to me.

Teresa and Colette competed with each other from conception, where Aunt Fiona had compared bumps with her sister, Maria Nowa. Aunt Fiona had decided to conceive a child with her husband after she had received the news of Mrs. Nowa's pregnancy, after the news release of the bombing in Yugoslavia.

"I don't really know. It's a recommended video. I just clicked on it." The loading button slowly traced the path of a circle on the phone screen.

"Hey guys, welcome back to my channel. I just wanted to give you a quick little update before we get started on this video, of what makes a good boyfriend or what makes a bad boyfriend. But, let's manifest positive thoughts. Please check out my link in the description to receive five dollars off on..." Colette closed the video of the lucrative girl.

"You don't want to keep watching?" Teresa poked at Colette.

"Not really."

"How is your love life, anyway Colette? And, how's Anna?" Teresa blindly ridiculed her. Colette kept her issues to herself without explaining the mysterious man nor her loss of friends, left and right.

The handsome guy deserted me in the park. I should forget about him. I am happy to be single. I don't need anyone.

"No, no new boys. Anna is normal. Everything's normal." She answered in a nonchalant act, repeating patterns of loneliness, and there was no red wine to drink.

Emails still had to be checked, and homework was left undone. The nocturnal hour blinked on Colette's phone, eleven o'clock. Teresa shifted herself away from Colette's bed onto the edge of the chair in her room. Texting her boyfriend, Teresa had been on her phone for the past two hours. Neither of the girls had spoken to each other.

Teresa is lucky to have met such a nice boy in her biology class. No one in my school knows how to socialize except for the bratty girls, who have nothing better to do. Modern dating makes me want to vomit. How can a guy pick a girl based on an online profile? Soon there will probably be an app based on intricate surveys or intrusive mind-reading as if the controllers that we already have weren't enough.

In Colette's depiction, true love was only given to the lucky. Ironically, Colette believed in love at first sight. She couldn't get the man out of her mind. She imagined herself in his arms, chatting herself away with him at the park, listening to his words like songs. It was her mission to find him for she was mesmerized by his intake, his profundity. Perfectly, she was sure that he was good. Then, she realized that she was no different from the online daters. Colette had also judged him on his exterior, his appearance.

Teresa yawned, laying on the bed, browsing through her phone, while Colette downloaded one of the top dating apps, Enigma. She selected a radius within the range of New York City, an adventure of competition, pure capitalism like the app itself. Picking a blurry photo of herself, she did not intend to entice the strangers onto her profile. She was searching for the gentleman, the man who retained strengths and weaknesses as an embodiment of his all, the man who had reminded her of love, a faint intrusion of retrieval in the soul, a free love with no remorse. And, that man reflected his intrusions as love, simplicity, and freedom. A man who had made all other men jealous of him because every woman on this Earth had either once loved him or loved him in conscience for he reflected the scripture of good.

Swiping through hundreds of pictures, the boys presented captions or deliberate jokes, trendy job descriptions, and basic pick-up lines.

Is that it? Where is the other guy?

Colette rejected any requests from the boys on the app. No one seemed to be certain in current relationships, a perversity in technology. She didn't feel much different from the manipulatively conceited men and women, but it was a reminder for her to ignore the fluff. Colette wasn't anyone special or different. She was lurking on those profiles in desperate need to find the admirable man.

More and more apps were downloaded. She smirked at one of the profiles, a fake profile dedicated to "bread puns." The caption stated, "You may think I'm corny, but I promise to get you flours."

Teresa wrinkled her forehead. "What have you been laughing at?" She demanded, annoyed that Colette wasn't tired.

"Oh, nothing, just a funny picture." Colette defended herself.

Her cousin moved to the bare floor. They were attached to their phones as if it were a sickening disease, corrupting their flesh with the discrete fears of morbidity.

On the other dating applications, more people reappeared with the same stale captions. Only a select few carried some physical attributes that of Colette's crush.

One man's face had the slim cheekbone structure, another the dark hair and charismatic eyes, and the other the sun marks and freckles. However, no one had them all. No one had that same genuine look that she once saw, that she once believed to be.

Colette almost cried at the thought of what will become of her, a girl without a proper career, a burden with no accomplishments. If only she were to follow in Teresa's footsteps, Colette's life would have been guarded by the perspective of society, respecting those who were chosen as worthy.

Though, walls built by the sweat and the tears of the unpaid men were made to be shattered like fallen snow.

If Colette had copied Teresa, all would then be useless. She was not Teresa, nor was Teresa Colette. She knew to only focus on herself on her own path, her own studies. Everyone was selfish. It was logical, but it was severely illogical. It was the worst possible nightmare to live a life of selfishness. She needed that safety net of protection, a youthful glory, that protection received at the beginning of relationships, the protection of humility. She felt like an imbecile, focusing on her emotions to the point of exhaustion.

She sighed. Imagining moments with this man, she falsified all logic. Perhaps, he was kind, not only frank in his words and appearance but devotedly kind. He had seized her mind, bringing a new course of chaos. Yet, her mind did advocate for other reasonings.

Maybe, I am giving him too much credit. What if he's a murderer? Or worse, a ring leader of the sort? Maybe, I shouldn't think this way. I don't want to bring up these images of him in my head.

Teresa fell asleep on the bare floor next to the chair, wrapped in Colette's red floral blanket.

"Hey, you should get up. It's one A.M." Colette nudged Teresa.

"Huh, oh right." Teresa climbed onto the bed, sleeping heavily like her father.

Everyone in the house slept in peace, while Colette had a fear of nature, where life could nullify the flicker of the flame, letting the cold triumph the warmth when love attempted to overtake her life. She deleted all of the applications on her phone, cleaning the data from the world.

Unusual noise from the town's streets was crying out for help. Colette struggled to rest. Living on a busy street came with its consequences. The partygoers and the drunks stumbled on the roads each weekend, searching for something provocative, whether in themselves or in others.

The audible yelling increased in various eerie sounds. Colette peered through the blinds of her window. Nobody was in sight.

It's probably on the next block, someone's having a party.

Fed up, Colette whispered the word, "Stop," as if the people had heard her. One of the voices answered, fading and growing in anticipation.

These people really need to get a job or something.

The night ended with the feast of the holiday. Checking the windows again, Colette saw a handful of young people stray from the area. Teresa woke up, "What?" She uttered. "Nothing, go to sleep." Colette intervened. Underneath the piled blankets, Colette finally reached a state of dreaming.

An apparition confronted Colette in her sleep. Looking onto the face of the man from Marsfield Park, Colette saw two puzzle pieces separating, splitting unevenly, fitting together as one. Though, these pieces were broken, depicting a demented nose, an uncanny smile, and two unique eyes.

Facing Colette, the left side of his face was beautiful, disguising the man as innocent and trustworthy, her safekeeping. The right side deformed the man's attributes, unveiling a truth of inevitable sinistry and fear, the terror of the past. The image confused Colette, a fickle of principle where humans demented morality to their own liking. Colette practiced her discernment in awe, incapable of understanding, yearning for more answers through his face.

When the face was gone, Colette's dream went black.

Chapter V: Resolutions

Monday, January 25, 2021, Colette scribbled the slanted words onto her notebook. The advent of the new year invigorated her. After celebrating her birthday with her mother and a baked cake, Colette had a program to maintain by finding a new internship, working out more, learning new computer skills for her career, etc. She thought of these tasks during the first day of the Spring Semester, a day full of surprises.

Around the foyer, senior students held up signs, encouraging others to join academic clubs, societies, or social sports teams. Colette scurried away from the ruckus to avoid an early morning headache.

Shuffling past the game room, she remembered a funny memory of Anna spilling juice into her nose by the billiards during their sophomore year of college.

I miss that. I miss being a part of something more. I was more confident in myself. I thought that I could take on the world or somehow be a part of it, than having to watch it now.

A group of professors mingled by the elevators on the main floor. Avoiding the teachers, Colette decided to turn around to run up the stairs, an eight-floor flight. Each step was an acquired difficulty from the weight of her notebooks, laptop, and chargers. She felt the hunch on her back growing, and her hunger was insatiable from the fast-paced lifestyle.

On the eighth floor, Colette saw one of the professors from the group directly in front of her.

She's probably my professor.

Colette was right. She usually recognized most people immediately, but most people did not recognize her. Sitting in the last row of the classroom, Colette checked her cellphone. There were no current messages.

"Ok, just got to get my stuff ready." The woman with glasses barely moved her lips. Colette guessed that her teacher was around the age of forty-five, becoming more mature as the years passed. Colette was intimidated by her. She knew that the professor had a much greater understanding of the universe than the average professor, better, the average person.

Colette wrote Physics II on the top of her marble notebook. Needing the extra class to graduate from college, she welcomed the class with open arms or so she had thought.

"Hello everyone, my name is Professor Jenson. Let's see. I'll say a little bit about myself. I work at Columbia University, researching subatomic particles on behalf of the Department of Physics. I taught in the lecture halls at Columbia for ten years. However, I wanted to expand my knowledge to other students, who may be less privileged at more local universities. Let's begin with the syllabus." The professor grabbed the packages of paper on her desk, giving each student a bulk.

Quickly skimming and outlining the syllabus, the professor announced, "Overall, you will have a midterm and a final examination in addition to the homework and quizzes, no cheating, no cell phones, no plagiarizing only two absences. For tomorrow, please sign the last page of the syllabus, stating that you understand and thoroughly read the contents of the syllabus. We don't want any mistakes. Do you have any questions?" She spit out the words.

Colette signed the paper and placed it into the sleeve of her notebook.

Professor Jenson reviewed the basic formulas, the laws of force, motion, and energy, the classic concepts that ninth-graders studied. Each year the material was the same with a new fabric added, meaning a new item to support the basic theories.

The teacher added her own quirks to the studies. Colette pulled out her laptop, disguising her note-taking with the economic news. She had this habit of studying different subjects in different classes. She knew that she wasn't supposed to disobey the unwritten rules, but Colette hated following the rules, the rules of unknown purpose. Then, Colette felt guilt. The professor loved the physics of creation, but she needed more guidance, more revolutions, more passion for the world.

There were news columns of which stocks were the best for the day, claiming one knew more than the other from speculation. Sure, the two men have made previous profits through the guidance of others, the passing of knowledge.

Disoriented, Colette brought herself back into the class, pondering about the works of time and energy, the physics that is not covered in the curriculum unless you are one of the gifted students. Somehow, theories that were more difficult to understand interested her more than the building blocks. No, she did not portray that particular ability of innate knowledge from the looks of others. She ought to tell the professor that some of her peers have a yearning to learn about modern-day physics and its applications, instead of a nonessential review.

Further contemplating on the subject, Colette thought about the class and the way the university was made for the students.

We're being scammed sitting here, listening to the same formulas from high school without any new applications. And, the professors don't even teach the discrepancies. That's our responsibility, but as children, we were taught all discrepancies. It alludes to selfishness. People treat kids better. It seems as if once you have a degree or a basic knowledge of swooning people, then you can join the researchers.

To be clear, Colette's thoughts have occurred in every system of academia, regardless of nations.

And, on top of that, you need letters of recommendations, no slip-ups, hosting and organizing events for committees like a personal assistant. What does that even prove? That you know more physics than the average person? Probably not. It's only the first day. Don't overreact. It will definitely get more intense towards the end of the semester. Don't regret it.

Colette didn't realize that these attributes weren't against her, instead, they were respected. On the occasion, respect and abuse introduced a fine line of love and hatred.

The university's system brought nothingness to Colette. She was a soldier for the workforce, and the elders in academia were her marshals. The world did not demand any more poets and peaceful physicists or free thinkers because the marshals and sergeants expected aids and assistants for their own services. Though politicians for war were interfering with religious teachings, and religious teachings were interfering with no one except for those with hatred.

Doubts and fears tormented her, including her comfort to familiarity. The world was dangerous, a scary floating rock in a dark space, where serendipity was a rare resource, whenever there was no overlying gold in the mine.

I am being unreasonable. I don't know what's going on in class. Why am I acting like I know everything about physics? I have to start writing something down.

It was useless, useless to play a facade, a dedication to the subject for an undergraduate diploma. And, after the memorization of notes and the solving of renowned numerical formulas, a ten or twenty-page review must be submitted to express the student's candidacy and recommendation for a more favorable topic of study in research. Upon completion, the student may not receive the credit that was earned, depending on the superior of the department. Favorites played an important role in the game.

Patience diluted the accomplished from the unwilling, whereas the unwilling sometimes answered the world's problems with love.

Real knowledge was something so personal. The world's problems were complex in demise and certain in clarity. To solve climate change or to build a bridge required a license, a lawyer, and a personal accountant. That required money. Builders and engineers had a slight chance of impact on the duties of individuals who claim to be uptiered. Colette viewed finance as the best method of practice.

To work like a horse in exchange for a salary convinced the heart that she could receive her purpose, drilling her mind and body for freedom. Freedom was considered financial freedom in this realm. How could freedom be bought? She wondered. Men had been so brutal from the warfares of freedom, but guilt had never subsided or guilt had never been touched until the aftermath. War was simply a horrendous shame from the first offense, putting dreams to shame and daughters to victims. To jump those hurdles, Colette abided by the feigned diplomacy of men's brutality. Though, she tried to undergo those struggles of others in herself to remember that if she were a man, the world could have been heavier to carry. This was a traditional approach that did not deny her.

The numbers were just fabricated numbers, and her life was just a fabricated life. Nothing was absolute. It was disintegrating. The only thing Colette desired was to build an empire.

Colette lifted her eyes. The teacher wrote, "5 seconds," expanding the formula of Newton's Second Law of Motion.

Perplexed by the mystery of time, Colette wondered how the years existed in the past, present, and future, or perhaps, as one simultaneous property, where time was a full circle with no beginning or end.

Yesterday may not have been reverted into today, but what if there was no real timeline. A timeline was just a measurement for humans to organize their own sleep and work patterns. But in the grand scheme of things, time was just a pattern created for structure.

Professor Jenson brushed over the significance of the quantities of what F=MA had truly represented. She said, "Tomorrow, we'll extrapolate the formula in further detail," an implied notice. One by one, students were leaving the auditorium.

Those who have arrived late formed a line, making excuses for their absences. Lowering her brows, Colette squinted at the blackboard of equations, looking at the formulated law and its connections to time.

"Yes?" The professor articulated, tilting her dark head towards the door.

"Hi, I have a question about the existence of time," Colette mumbled without introducing her name. Professor Jenson nodded, pursing her lips and closing her eyes behind the round eyewear.

Colette expressed her curiosity in blatant freedom.

"Do the events of time happen all at once?" She paused, waiting for the professor to focus on the matter of the subject. "Or at the scale of the past, present, and future, being separate entities of itse...?"

The professor blocked her. "We will cover this study later this year, just know that time is continuous." She intensified her exigency, pulling her tote bag up to her shoulder.

"Yes, I know that time is continuous, but that's not what I am asking." Colette softened her temper as the professor walked towards the door. "Everything that I have experienced until now could have possibly intertwined with the past, present, and future at the snap of a finger, almost like the speed of light. Or is that not true, is time just a conventional phenomenon, where the past is the past and the future is yet to come?" Colette threw her into disarray, surmounting to the concept of infinity.

"I don't know." Professor Jenkins stopped at the door.

"Then, what's your opinion at least?"

"We'll discuss this another day. You don't have to know this for the course. I must go now." She grumbled, waiting for clearance as she began to scuffle through the hallway.

Nearly apologizing for her stupid question, Colette echoed a "Thank you," as the professor moved on with her life.

A shame, the professor neglected Colette's thoughts, grave danger of arrogance on her part. Her apathetic words resonated with the institution. The student's thoughts were before the professor's ideologies, the chain of command, where each predicament was under the name of the institution.

A cynic, Colette judged the professor like an advocate, without realizing the discrepancies in herself. She chose not to open that story.

Wow. This professor is the adult-teacher-version of Teresa. I bet that Professor Jenson was fired from her previous job, covering it up with some bogus exaggeration for her remorse as if attending an average university was a charity case.

If 'time was continuous,' wouldn't the events of the world stay in various scales of dimensions? Yet, we all live in one dimension the fourth dimension. And, if we are in the same dimension of continuity, that would make the theory of continuity a counter to the Theory of Relativity, defeating the speed or movement of time. But, no one wants to argue the meaning of time because we just accept it into the mathematical equation to get the answers. There's no meaning.

The metaphysics of time was a mystery, a discussion that terrified people. For if time was manipulated, was the manipulator an abuser or a healer?

Perhaps, there was an answer to the movement of time, but a simple student such as Colette would never receive the honor or the acceptance into the theory. Her mother was not a fancy teacher or a recognizable scientist, and Colette needed to make a living from scratch.

Shaking her head, Colette's hair fell against her shoulders in the cool dry air outside the lobby of the university. A trace of snow descended from the sky, and the wind ate it thoroughly, appeasing its appetite from the routined death of winter.

The rush of life did not subside. There were inches of Colette that reeked for a year in childhood because the pain was subtracted from a fall. She remembered the priest's sermon. Chasing butterflies, rolling down hills, gathering insects, life could have been a fairytale, ever-lasting if humans decided to measure the light more so than the darkness.

Whenever she had fallen on the cement, a hand was there. No one was gone. All was well placed for her and others. All connected into a pattern of refraction of what was destined for civility and peace.

However, what was bitter was easier to obtain than what was sweet. When all failed, people fell. People fell.

I can never wrap my mind around how history proceeded to repeat itself. It's terrifying. Yet, somehow, the strongest willed is not the ruler, but the enemy. Maybe, the enemy was only searching for a love that was never known.

Colette stopped staring at the forester in the village. She recalled the image of her father.

Captivated for a brief moment, she opened her eyes in hopes for the man to be standing right in front of her. Left with the skin on her back and the grip of her two hands, she utilized more than the average woman, but there was nowhere to climb.

As a child, Colette forgave the foreign bedridden man over his abandonment, but the repulsion of him endorsed Colette to hide her feelings. Everyone was forgiven as a child until the child understood the premise of the cause, shaping her into an adult for work or life. And if denied from the role, she was the problem, not the effects of the fallen angels but the angels themselves. They were the easiest to blame because they allowed the abuse of the critique. The vulnerable were exposed more easily than the culprits.

Some of these situations were unknown, and it was easier to go get a drink than to forget about it for an hour or two like the people who were enjoying a glass of beer in the corner of a dark-lit restaurant. Those were the intellectuals who sometimes forbade people of intelligence through the raising of children.

Colette was a shadow against those shiny buildings that lured the representatives and consumers.

She was stuck in the middle of the line, one step off the shore and another into the ballpark, where she would be pinched, rattled, and thrown into a corporate mess, to introduce more worries and straddles.

These thoughts did not exactly fret Colette. It overwhelmed her.

She scrolled through many websites of job listings, applying to positions out of her range. Colette sat still on the park bench.

The snow defaulted, and Colette was hungry. She was searching for food like a little ant. Her favorite food truck was selling hot burritos on the corner. Seeking to go out of her mundane routine, she left the cold seat to buy one from the smell of the meat.

She stood behind two teenagers on the line of the food stand. Colette unintentionally eavesdropped on the two boys' provocative conversation. The younger generations diminished and twisted the thoughts of a woman. Every person had bad intentions of every sin but change existed, where people sought to better themselves without vindication. Instead of labeling a person a prostitute or a killer, label the person as a human. Though, justice is different for every individual. But through the mind, one can decipher how to carry the world. If someone has seen you, you exist. But, this argument is just my personal belief just like everything if you choose it to be.

The teens were jeering at the photos of a female on their phone. They took their burritos like an entity, feeling like kings on a planet of almost 8 billion people. Then, they met their friends on the corner of the busy avenue. A boy placed his head on top of a girl's soft hair. The young couple held onto each other tightly as the jokesters greeted them. They were laughing together. Real people were doing real things.

The four of them jumped aback by the hissing sound of the motor vehicle. An accident emerged across the edge of the road. A gray minivan had bombarded into a subcompact car that pinned the sidewalk for shelter. People gathered from the park to the open area of the walkway. Colette was behind the crowd, staring at the two drivers. She felt as though someone was looking at her.

Colette looked over her shoulder, and the fervorous figure intruded her conscience. He was paler than Colette's memory of him. The marks on his face distinguished him from the rest.

I could never lose him, huh.

She stared at his flushed crimson cheeks, and her heart skipped a beat, a fluttering autonomic response, a capture in films.

He was dressed casually for a Monday afternoon, jeans and a button-down shirt with the same black peacoat, contradictable yet suitable.

I imagined this moment for so long. I don't know what to do.

People were conversing around her. The teenagers were making jokes about the whole incident. Others intervened in the dispute between the two drivers, prohibiting any violence as the authorities strolled around the scene.

And, the loveable man demystified himself among the entropy, stepping closer towards Colette's portrait.

Both of the wrecked cars were towed onto a large truck, and the episode ended with the two dangerous drivers bickering. The crowd settled down. Surprisingly, the efficient transformation of the loading swept the area clean.

I wonder if he remembers me or if I am just another face that unknowingly passes in his wakeless dreams.

Then, she thought about what it was like to be like him, happy like him. As soon as she caught his eye, she turned joyful. He was looking at her, analyzing her power. Colette held onto the control.

He spoke in a low voice, paradoxically gentle and strenuous like the strings of a piano. Colette absorbed the sound. The retrieving source was unbeknown. She tilted her head to the right and let out a, "Huh?"

"I'm sorry. We haven't met. My name is Vigil. Mr. Vigil. What I said before was that the 'whole accident cleared up very rapidly.'"

"Oh, yes, yes it did." It was difficult for Colette to find the right words.

"What's your first name, Mr. Vigil?" Colette asked dumbfounded.

"Raphael."

His skin was ghastly compared to his dark hair. The veins of his arms resembled the branches in the trees if they were translucent and blue.

Maybe, he has a genetic problem. But, he seems healthy. He's always smiling as he had just won the lottery.

"My name's Colette," She said more comfortably, easing her shoulders.

His mood had awakened.
"Colette, Colette... Colette the brunette, what else do you like to do, Colette, other than buying burritos and causing car accidents?"

"My hair's black, and I didn't cause the car accident."

She contracted his contagious smile, laughing with her mouth open from this bliss. "Wow, you even saw me getting a burrito, too." She added solely to impress him without thinking much of the accident.

A father holding her daughter's arm scowled at Colette, and Colette did not care. She was free. Every breath with Raphael felt like the first breath of air above the water, the first laugh of the year, the first repetition of elation.

"I don't know. I like to watch people, how they behave with one another, imagining a genre of series for each person's life. Too many cliches though. I see the same kind of person passing."

"And, what is that?"

She wanted to kiss him, but she blocked the thought out of her mind.

"Well, for starters, the typical businessman or woman, the man is tired. He lives in the suburbs and studied finance to work on Wall Street, but he didn't make it. So now, he has to pay the bills and feed his family. But, he probably has a beautiful wife. But, little does she know about his other daydreams."

"Hm... now, why do you say that?"

Colette was silent.

"Huh?" She was confused.

"The man may not have other daydreams except his own misery."

"Does that actually happen to men? Let's be honest now."

"Why do men drink so much?"

"That's not just a man problem. Believe me. I know." Colette raised her eyebrows.

"It's a problem for most."

It shouldn't be associated with one gender more than the other.

Raphael understood what Colette had thought of his statement. There was no need to communicate it.

"Anyway, that woman in the fur hat, she finds success in materials. She doesn't know what she is going after. She just knows that she needs more and more things." He said joining Colette's venture.

"Gee, that's judgemental." She said with a soft look on his face, indicating friendliness.

"Maybe, it's a way to pretend that she is not a divorcee in the middle of a crisis, a chance to finally find herself, knowing that she did complete some kind of goal at the end of the day." He explained the background of the woman's reasoning.
"Ok, true. But, what if none of that is true?"

"No one knows. People should believe in the best of people."

They were both quiet with just a pinch of awkwardness.

Colette turned in the direction of the park's playground.

"These kids are the best to watch, mostly because they look happier than everyone else. They just play and run. They're freer than you and I right now."

He shook his head.

"They're somehow so energetic and relaxed. I hope to have one of those creatures one day."

"Creatures? They're humans too."

Colette laughed.

"You know what I mean."

Wait a second. What am I doing? I am already telling this man. I mean Raphael that I want children. He's still a friend. Not even, I literally just met him.

"Do you imagine specific jobs for each child?"

Oh cool, he didn't find it too weird.

Slightly lifting his arm with a bent elbow, he identified the black-haired boy. He added, "That fellow seems like he could be a firefighter or an agent of some sort, depending on his desires."

Raphael saw something of himself in that child.

"Yes, but that boy is caught up with the golden-haired girl. Right now, they're not together. They usually play on the seesaw together." Colette looked up at Raphael's eyes. He was taller than her, not by much.

"Their honeymoon phase is over." He chuckled.

Colette paused, looking at the two children in thought.

"They grow up quickly, using cell phones and tablets at that age. Anything can be exposed to you at any age if you know the capability of the internet."

The distinguishable man tilted his head to the left and suddenly agreed.

"I'm glad that I didn't grow up during the age of apps."

"Yeah, same here." Realizing her lax vocabulary, Colette looked at her phone to distract herself from her embarrassment. Raphael respected Colette. He had no reason to start an argument.

Sprinting off the branches to the tree trunk onto the floor, the squirrels raced after one another. They tossed and turned, fumbling in a pile of twigs.

Raphael had a kind expression on his face.

How does he become more and more handsome by the second and more and more admirable?

"This is nice, people watching. It clears my mind, compared to sitting in an office all day." From Colette's discerning, he was vivacious.

"Don't get me wrong. Routine and structure are needed for a good purpose. A goal would never be completed if there was no reason."

"And, what even gives us reason?" Colette interrupted.

"What gives us reason? It's the reason to build, to discover something, to build connections with others as we discover who they are. Then, you can finally accomplish something. That's how it works for me."

Raphael's eyes beamed so brightly that Colette sunk her shoulders. He was right, and so was she.

She closed her eyes.

Hopefully, Raphael isn't one of those people who is exorbitantly obsessed with their career, like Teresa's mother.

"I'm definitely not looking forward to the corporate world."

"So, what would you do differently, then, Ms. Colette." He placed his hands on his hips, mocking her stance.

"I don't know. Divide the wealth. But, that leads to problems in itself because someone is always in control. I guess that I have to let it go."

"Yes! Eureka! Exactly, don't worry about that stuff just focus on the small stuff. It means the most for the other person." Raphael stated the honesty.

"Where do you work?" He asked seriously and abruptly, similar to Colette's style of conversation.

"Um well, I study at Blairmount University. I'm graduating this semester if all things go well."

He appears to be very mature, unlike me, a guinea pig growing into adulthood.

The two friends had been standing for a couple of hours. The sun had been setting, exposing a Saturn shade of orange in the whiteness of the clouds.

"I'm twenty-one by the way," Colette said, prompting Raphael to provide information about himself.

"I'm twenty-three. I work at that building across the street." He moved his head in his office's direction. Colette assumed it was the short brick building.

"Sweet. The house that I live in is made out of brick too."

What the... Why did I have to say that?
He accepted Colette's quirks.

"That's neat."

"So, you just graduated college last year?"

"Yes, something like that."

Colette abandoned the draining topic of family and work in the discussion.

Contemplating Colette, he searched for her engagement in her eyes, then to her cheeks, her ears, and the marks on her forehead. He was determined to solve her thoughts, noticing a layer of faith before her.

"What else do you like to do?"

Colette laughed nervously, afraid of his analyses.

"Go on." He made her feel safe with welcomed thoughts.

"Well...um... I like to dance, listen to music."

"So, you just dance and listen to music all day. That's all you do right?"
"Hm. No one really asks me what I like to do. I guess that I like to paint sometimes, and I like fashion. Why would dancing and listening to music all day be a bad life?"

"It's not, but work is needed to strengthen the world. What kind of dancing do you like?"

The honest truth, probably dancing in front of my mirror while my mom leaves for the grocery store.

Colette fixed her hair.

"I took dance lessons as a kid. So, I tried all types of dancing, ballet, pop, jazz, and even waltzing. But, none of them really stuck to me. I mean I like slow dancing or dancing at parties. Something more freeing without the rules."

Art should be free, limitless. That's when it becomes the best. Sometimes, too much structure can be bad in a way. She did not tell him, but he understood her mentality.

"It's true. There would be no will without freedom."

Colette's spine shook with shivers.

"So, fashion... I reckon that you are fashionable, at least on my terms. I don't really know what is considered fashionable, but you do dress very nice."

It was 4:30 PM. An hour had vanished. The hours of life found distance whenever needed most.

"Thanks." She turned cold, waiting for him to change the subject of discussion.

All of this will end, and we will be strangers again. Why did I let myself talk to him? It's better to protect my feelings than to experience pain. Sure, he may think that I am pretty. Any guy can do that. Unfortunately, this man will not care for love, a higher love. Like any man, he probably just wants to take something away from me, whether it be a theft of insight, lust, or time. No man will solely think of me as one. There will always be someone better. It's predictable.

Raphael was to prove her wrong.

As her mood took a plunge, he stood by her side, accepting her emotions without a predicament.

"I have to get to class soon."

He briefly felt a rush of blood to his head.

"I hope to see you again. In all honesty, you are such a blessing."

Colette blushed.

Are these compliments genuine? Maybe, it's best not to question it, not to ruin everything.

"I'd definitely rather hang out with you than with my Investment Analysis professor."

"Oh, I'm so honored." Raphael imitated Colette's voice.

"It's true!"

"Well, I'll see you here again tomorrow."

"Here's my number, just in case that I don't make it."

"That's fine. It doesn't have to be tomorrow." He winked.

Colette paced herself. She was hanging on a familiar loose cord, but she was flying.

Chapter VI: Next Week

The tea kettle churned. The rivet of the kettle fell off, causing the handle to collapse. It was broken.

"Colette, did you do this? Why do you break everything that you touch?" Her mother inclined a punishment, a tactic that poor parents believed was the most effective without conversing in a style of familiarity.

However, Colette was old enough to differentiate her own standards of living. She had to remind her mother that she was twenty-one, age of maturity.

"I didn't do that. The nail just sprung off the kettle." She added.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

The daughter did not answer.

Her mother opened the drawer, placing two mugs on the green countertop by the stove.

Colette moved her mother out of the way to grab the metal tea box from the cabinet. At night, Colette forbade herself from drinking coffee. Black tea was the best alternative to her caffeine dependency.

"Did you do your homework? How was your day? Is everything ok with you?" Her mother pestered her with care.

Enough, she thought. Her phone lit up.

It must be Raphael. Colette's stomach twirled.

"Phone Backup Failed." She opened her phone's settings, as her mother stirred her tea with a petite spoon.

"Texting, again. All you do is go on that phone." Her mother nagged to correct her daughter's behavior, ruining the silence.

"Stop!" Colette exclaimed in anger, yelling softer, "Just stop!"

Her mother stood in fear, dramatically waiting for Colette's explanation.

"You're being really annoying right now. I don't know how else to say it." Colette was rude and guileless when under stress. She distributed her emotions to her mother, her only outlet.

"Colette, after all, that I do for you. Can you please not yell at me?"

Now, the guilt stepped in.

"I'm sorry. No one is even texting me. You need to relax."

Her mother was punctured.

Handling the cup of tea, Colette brought the steaming drink into her flax-colored room. Mrs. Freedom smoked upstairs, continuing to burn the bedroom walls that were begging to be revamped. The house was depreciating.

Colette knew that her mother may have wanted to cry, but her own crying was indefinite. Whenever Colette sobbed, her mother told her to sit up straight, that it was not normal for a lady to cry. She would have ruffled into a panic.

Her spine curved, and she held onto her elbows in disgust. She sobbed. It was easy for her to become emotional. Children in elementary school previously called Colette, "a crybaby." It did not bother her because she experienced a higher pain than those of peculiarity. The recklessness of her teenage years was finished. Her mind wondered where or what her father was doing, but Colette did not believe in an afterlife. She opened her mouth without making a noise, pushing to scream, but limiting herself so that no one could cause her any more freight.

In this tremble, Colette humbled herself, finding various worldwide epidemics throughout the scope of the gravel. Watching documentaries of drug abusers and prostitutes, she compared her own faults to theirs. No one was there to guide them, and no one provided an understanding of human decency. When one person lent a hand, it was too late. Love and trust were as worthy as drugs and sex. There was no meaning.

Colette felt worse. She ran to the bathroom, and she threw up.

Her mother was asleep across the hall in the large bedroom.

There were about 7.6 billion people in the world, and Colette acknowledged that she was self-centered. She initially had the idea that people were more interactive than counterfeit; but, right now, it was easier for her to say, "I hate you," than "I love you" to one of those billions.

She thought of Raphael. He strengthened her, displaying a fear of unworthiness rather than what was contemporary.

When the morning peered tones of hues through her window, her problems changed altitude. A new day required newer thoughts.

Colette grabbed her phone, leaning on the nightstand, a foot away from her brain. The aspects of becoming virtual were more likely than the aspects of solving the worldwide repeating tensions until there is no voice in use. Besides, she would get killed if she truly solved the immortalities. There was no reason. Humans were animals, exhorted from meteors, bullets, and carousels. These concerns scared Colette into existential crises, looking for a hero whom she had forgotten.

She typed "Raphael Vigil" into her phone's text box. There were no images of the man, a private person who left no subtle trace of his identity.

I should delete my profiles one day. What kind of job does he have if there is no possible way to contact him online?

She logged onto her profile on the communicative business service, Vintech. She typed "Raphael Vigil," "R Vigil," "Raphael V," "Mr. Vigil," "Ralph Vigil." There were an infinite amount of variations for his name, and the same three profiles coincided with each entry.

Her searches were not invoking shame but comedic relief. It was silly of her to rummage through internet pages of a man who could have submitted a nickname or a previous name.

I can't do this anymore.

What do you mean?

Raphael hasn't texted me, yet. Should I text him?

Colette, focus on your life, not his.

I don't want to do that.

I know. Let's get on with the story.

She placed her phone aside on the miniature nightstand and flung herself out of her covers. Looking for something to wear through her closet, Colette touched her favorite dresses with her fingertips. Trying one of her favorite items, she wished to wear a beautiful black dress. Intimidation inhibited her.

Wearing a feminine piece in the city encouraged people to stare at a woman's body. Men and women were born naked, but only men have the right to conjure their properties.

Her mother encouraged her to wear maidenlike clothes, but the unwanted attention installed a pathetic categorization in Colette's perspective. There was so much emphasis if a woman wore a dress that it felt very uncomfortable. Colette wondered if other women had experienced this uneasy feeling of the over glorification of an inch of a woman's skin, a stolen fragment of humanity.

She spun in the lace dress in front of the large mirror, listening to music, enjoying the ability to dance by herself, abolishing the mundane routine of life to escape her home and whatever was normal, pretending to be one step closer to becoming free.

Though, she was not free. Since she was a child, her mother, schools, and governments ate every piece of her, limiting her capabilities, her hobbies, permitting only a specific scale of duties and problems for the person to solve.

"Colette! I am going to kill you! What is this?" She held a piece of paper in front of her face.

"Mom, let me change. Why don't you knock first?!"

"Colette, what is this? Answer the question. I don't care about what you're wearing right now. Look at the mail."

She grabbed the paper as the mother was sweating from her daughter's occasionally frequent mishaps.

She really needs a drink. No sane person acts this way.

"It's a $250 speeding ticket. I'll fix it."

"Colette, what's wrong with you? Do you realize what you have done? Stop trying on dresses to impress the boys at your school. Stop driving like an idiot. And get yourself together. Do you want to end up going out to parties for the rest of your life? Do you want to be homeless? Look at Teresa. She wouldn't do this. Why do you do this?"

"It was literally one mistake. Calm down."
"I can't even look at you." Her mother slammed the door behind her.

Colette sighed. Sitting against the wall on the floor in that dress, she read the contents of the letter more carefully. A lawyer in New York was more expensive to hire than the price of the fine, with the possibility of a judgment that mediated harsher litigation.

As if the government needs more money. They don't even pay back their own debt.

The government and the civilians were allies and foes. Colette was able to afford school, but she was unable to afford a car. Yet, she knew that those in office possessed the biggest bonuses while putting on a front of compassion and empathy towards the average worker. However, in disguise, the officials did not solve the lifelong monstrosities, the unspeakable evils that the FBI and CIA movies display.

Those who behave normally are the ones most likely pulling the strings for they are more likely to block any realization of emotion until demise, satiated guileless animals like pigs and snakes.

Those who could endorse the crime could gain a profit.

Naive, Colette once believed that the United States was different from most other countries. Success can be obtained without a pedigree. But, the country was very close to that fine line.

She did not cry. In the mornings, she worked more efficiently with a pure mind.

I got to make more money.

Changing out of the dress into jeans and a T-shirt, she flipped her laptop open and pressed the power button, almost breaking it from her force. Several websites were loading different job listings. Applying to all categories in business, she applied to each junior intern level position.

She looked across social media, and she stumbled upon a platform where people can sell and buy photographs, PhotoPrimer.

Did a computer just read my mind? Of course, corporations and governments would love to do just that.

Colette never released her opinions. Society labeled and misconstrued these exponential ideas as "conspiracy theories" or "fake news." When a theory is proclaimed just as a law, disunion emerged and privacy disappeared.

Let me make sure. It's not some scam.

After rereading the forums of the company, Colette placed her trust in the routine and uploaded some photos that she took when she visited her cousin Teresa upstate. The photos were taken four years ago. The exposure and the brightness of the photos enhanced the used quality of the family's camera.

"I made breakfast. Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you." She knocked on the door lightly, accompanying Colette's solitude.

"You have to drive carefully."

"It's fine. I got it covered."

"No, I will pay for it. This can be a warning."

"I have the money for it. Just let me pay for it. If I need help, I'll tell you." Colette asserted, seeking independence from her mother.

"Ok. Just drive carefully. You know how much I care about you."

"I do too." Colette returned to the content on the computer screen. "I'll eat soon. I'm busy right now."

Agreeing to the settlement, her mother was praying in her bedroom, failing to close the door.

She's so righteous and dramatic. If anyone's the child, it's her.

It was she, the girl who moped in her chair, judging a vicarious woman's gestures of compassion. The ones who delivered the most goodness oftentimes were the most abused.

Colette was afraid of becoming like her mother, stuck behind another person, afraid of risk. However, her mother was an angel in the face of reality, prescribing the purity of truth.

On the computer screen, she searched through the listed photographs, mostly pictures of major cities, an obsession with glamour, and the discrepancies of the local lives in these bizarre places.

The images that had depicted the colors of a sunrise swooned Colette. On the front page of the nature section, one photographer sold his work to news outlets and geographic companies.

Wow, people really make a living off of this.

The photographs in her libraries were primarily personal. She laughed at the fact that men actually bought photographs of a woman. It also angered her. Humans were the only animals to glorify the female body, no wonder Eve had eaten the apple.

And now, we're condemned for our existence. It's a purgatory to be born. If we show a hand, some men will try to sexualize it due to this warped psychology of a woman's existence. Women have used this power to rule nations because it was the only option to win through the encouragement of men.

Her phone was buzzing to be unlocked on the rumpled covers of her bed.

An unknown number was calling her.

"Raphael." She gasped.

"Hello!" Answering the phone, Colette glossed over her voice like a melody.

"Hello, Colette?"

His voice was sharp, cutting her words short. She was as giddy as a toddler on a carousel.

"It's Raphael. I've missed you. How are you?"

Colette did not answer.

"That was a mouthful. What have you been doing?" He said with hesitance.

"I was missing you too."

"I'll take that."

Colette perceived his smile behind the phone.

"I've just been studying. "

Ugh, he's doing the same thing at the park, making me do all of the talking.

"Um, reading stuff online, the usual. What about you?" The excitement in her voice disappeared as she remembered her actual life.

"I'm fine, not too busy now. Are you ok? What happened to you? You don't seem like yourself."

"I've had a rough morning. That's all."

"Am I interfering with anything?" Raphael resoluted with the utmost politeness.

"No, not at all. I'm happy that you called me. Really, the problem is between my mom and me. I want to move out but now is not the time. I think that I'm scared of letting go."

"Letting go?"
"Letting go of all of my securities and safeties, like moving out and becoming a loner, these things."

"Hm. From what I know, you're far from a loner. I'm often alone. If anyone is a loner, it's me."

Colette giggled.

"Hey, how about this, we hang out today until sundown, before it gets too dark." He said instantly with charisma.

Oh, no. I can't

"I wish that I could. But, I was planning to get myself organized for the school year."

"Well, I have to see you soon. I'm not letting go of my chances of seeing you. So, we're in the same boat. I'm also scared of letting go, Ms. Colette."

"Well, we should conquer our fears by having no fears." She confessed to Raphael.

"When are you free?"

"Let's hang out this upcoming Saturday." She didn't dare to mention her mother. To maintain her privacy, Colette planned to tell her mother a white lie: she will meet with Carla rather than Raphael. Her dating life was to be kept in secrecy.

"And, your um, your family will be fine with this?" Raphael had read Colette's mind.

"I think so. Don't worry about it." She said with a calm demeanor.

"I got to run some errands today. It was nice speaking to you, Mr. Raphael."

"Ah, ok. I'll miss you, busy bee." Raphael consolidated her.

"Me too." With the brush of a finger, Colette hung up the phone.

Chapter VII: The First Dare

Colette paid off the speeding ticket with the help of her mother and the website, PhotoPrimer. A purchaser from the service bought her images of the private lake located on Teresa's property. The vast space always belittled her for Colette owned no land of her own. She received fifty dollars as she sold the rights of the photos to the buyer.

The endeavor of making a quick buck brought what the image was worth. Yes, the photographers with $2,000 cameras that took images of quirky swimsuit models enjoyed more benefits of the mainstream industry than Colette's $500 camera. However, Colette captured these photographs because it was a beautiful sight, with no intention to make a profit.

Some had even called her a photographer, but her mother did not like the idea of someone with such a career. It was meant for the people who held onto old money, not for the girl who started her life with nothing.

However, it was a very nice day in favor of humanity.

Colette confirmed the receipt of the trade, deleting her emails, as she dollied her way to the bathroom of the train station. She checked her makeup in the mirror, putting on chapstick and a touch of lipstick to her top lip. Whenever Colette had worn too much lipstick, she was scared of her own reflection. She pressed her lips together. She looked perfect, but looks were just one thing. Dignity was needed.

Raphael had phoned Colette the night before, agreeing in pursuit of their plans. Since she did not know him very well, she avoided the maintenance of long conversations. The distance between them tired Colette. She was not looking for a chase but a victory.

In the back of her mind, Colette levied towards the rush of falling in love with Raphael, but she did not force herself into the discrepancies of romance. Raphael was actually a virtuous man, and Colette had to maintain her balance.

Her purse dragged her arm to the left side as she left the bathroom, tipping her over like an iceberg. During the school week, Colette wore a backpack on her shoulders causing her to slouch. Without the backpack, Colette felt naked as if she had no purpose to be present in a city of pharaohs and indentured servants. She was neither a pharaoh nor a servant, but a trespasser until she was paid.

To be free in an independent country came with a toll. So, where was the freedom if she didn't feel whole?

She lingered around the station, watching the people chat in sports uniforms, some were dressed up in dresses, some were in business suits. Colette often paid attention to the details of her environment without the intention of a scheme. Her squandered energy relished into a peaceful trance as if she had been looking at the sun for too long.

Raphael towered Colette as she peered over her left shoulder, squinting his eyes intensely. Colette was in her own space, concentrating only on what she wanted to concentrate on. Drinking from bags, the waves of people trailed on top of the escalators. Life was short on the weekends. Colette judged them.

Why are they so loud? I mean I can't say that I haven't done the same. But, really, they act like they're snobs but they're roaches.

It was difficult for Colette to make friends on Long Island. They were anteaters, and Colette was an ant wherever she had traveled.

"Colette, roulette!" Raphael's voice brought an alarming comfort to her mind.

"What the hell, Raphael? Were you standing here the whole time?" Colette panicked.

"Yes and no. Did your mother allow you to go on a proper date?" He raised his eyebrows, placing a hand on his hip.

Colette's mother permitted her daughter to see a friend, whom Colette falsified as a girl. Mentioning Raphael to her mother would have opened a new door to an array of problems. The maternal helicoptering was on pause. Anna was no longer in Colette's life, and Colette had been receiving good grades in school.

The first blueprints of the bridge had been printed. The drafts were torn apart, and a new bridge between Colette and her mother was to be installed. So far, Colette had nothing to knock over.

"Um, yeah, I told her that I was seeing a friend." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Fair. I was only asking because you live with your mom, and I don't want to be on her bad side."

Colette grinned politely. She guided him through the train station to the empty stairs in the corner of the commotion. The stores were glistening with Valentine's Day heart stickers and paintings.

Imagine if today was Valentine's Day. I probably would've canceled this date.

Normally, Colette hated walking through the shopping aisles of Penn Station, but Raphael's smile and wit brought optimism to the new atmosphere. Her life became slightly more purposeful, joyous, and it was confirmed.

Raphael reached for her hand. "Do you feel that?" Colette worried. "What was that?"

Her fingers tingled as she held onto his skin.

"Colette, don't worry about that. Come with me. I'm going to show you the best day of your life."

He swung her arm around, and she twirled like an adorable rattle doll, almost tipping over the ball of her foot.

"I thought you were a dancer." He laughed with goodness in his heart.

"Hey, I had no practice for our recital in front of our fans." She opened her arm towards the three men walking around the exit hall outside the city streets.

"On our next date, we shall put on a show." Raphael embraced her.

She stuck out her tongue. Colette behaved like a child when love was received and redistributed.

Most adults had forgotten that they were once infants, bewildered by the complexities of the Earth and its installments and constructions of life.

The thoughts of trauma, loss, and conviction were irrelevant at this moment, the present. It did not affect Colette right now. The people passing by were planning each step of the future ahead, cutting taxes, putting up with the sinisters of superficiality, unlike Colette. On this day, they ruled the Earth and reaped the benefits out of this life.

The streets bustled around the two beings. Somehow, Colette and Raphael thought of the same plan. They managed to have no disagreement in contrasts because there was no contrast to be made.

"So, what were you studying in your classes?" He held her hand tighter.

"Nothing just regular business stuff like accounts payable and receivable. I don't know financial models of the like. Some of my professors just complain about their day all day long. I mean. I go to a public college, so what can you expect from that?"

Raphael indulged the words with a pause.

"Hm. When I studied, my professors challenged us. They tempted us."

The two of them waited at the crosswalk, a few blocks downtown from the train station.

"They tempted us to interpret the world and creation."

Did he tell me where he went to school, yet? Oh God, did I already forget? No, wait, he didn't tell me.

"Wait a second." She let go of his hand and grabbed his arm.

"Where did you go to school?" She lowered her pitch in astonishment. Sometimes, Colette covered the high levels of her voice to hide the inborn fact that she was a woman. It was a mechanism of defense that made her sound more serious.

"I actually went to Gilford."

"Where is that?"

"It's a small governmental school."

"I see, future Congressman."

"It was very disciplined. The people and the president were the best people that I have ever met. The president carried all of those who struggled throughout the most difficult times for any student."

"That's good. I wish I had that."

"Maybe, you don't recognize that you do have it." Raphael held onto Colette tighter, hugging her shoulders with both of his hands, steering her to lift her head.

The sky drizzled a few droplets.

"Oh no, no, no." Colette raised her hand above her head.

"I'll make it stop," Raphael said like an incredible superhero.

"What are you going to do? Snap your fingers and make it stop?"

"I was going to do that, but the better option is to... run."

Gripping her hand with all of his strength, they ran as fast as they could. Racing, dancing, facing all of what the road brought that day. They jumped over the small puddles, swung by the lingerers, and galloped over the crosswalks without a moment to spare.

What a rush, they thought.

Together, they made it onto the playground of Mercer Park, where the rain subsided.

"Maybe, we should have taken a train." Raphael realized, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You think?" Colette pinched him.

"Well, this was actually a part of my plan." He pointed to the stage a few feet away from the swingset.

A band was preparing their instruments underneath the stage venue. Playing riffs on their bass and electric guitars, the lead singer roared, "Are you ready to r-r-r-rumble?"

The bushy-bearded man began projecting his words,

"Keep up a good fight,

don't let the fight make or break you,

keep up that good fight."

The sound blasted a pastiche, combining the blues and the pop reformation of the 1960s.

"Now, we dance," Raphael said happily.

"Dance? We literally just got here." Colette yelped.

"Here are the pros, we have a good time and continue laughing and experiencing real moments. Here are the cons, the rain falls on you."

"Yeah, but, we're going to look like weirdos."

"We're already weirdos."

She raised her hand onto her forehead, hiding her face from his humor.

He waited for her response.

"Fine, let's go." She rolled her eyes.

Raphael flipped his wrist for Colette to latch onto his extended palm. From the outskirts, the two flew across the ground to the stage front through momentous twirls.

The singer shrieked, "This one's for you girl. Hit it!"

Riffing the measures on the electric guitar solo, the guitarist whammied all of the chords that the guitar had possessed as if the music exponentially increased. Colette released herself from Raphael's arms, headbanging, letting her hair fall against the wind as Raphael shattered in glee.

Freestyling, he danced with his arms in the air into the next movement of the song.

"Black Dog!" The singer screamed.

"Do you know this song?" Colette voiced into Raphael's ear.

"No, but I do now." Raphael flipped his black hair like Colette. They were made for the scene.

"Watch this."

Colette moved her feet in a swing-like motion like the cartoon characters on the Charlie Brown and Snoopy Show. Raphael grabbed her arms closer to his meek chest.

"Now, we have to drop down!" Lowering his body closer to the ground, Colette succeeded to his level as she twisted her hips.

"This song is by Led Zeppelin by the way." She jumped up and rolled her eyes at her new friend. He pointed his fingers at her with a soft look on his face.

"Ah, ah, ah, ahhh..." Colette sang along with the lead, air-drumming the rhythm.

Raphael was adjacent to the guitarist. He lifted his arms like a swimmer chasing the ocean.

"This isn't The Beach Boys." Colette teased Raphael. Then, she copied his swimmer's dance, snubbing her nose at her new best friend, her crush.

With the clicking of the cymbals, Raphael lifted Colette up with his arms and spun her around like a baby. The hues of the sunset pronounced the few last guitar strums of the finale. The watchers and those who joined the dance behind Colette clapped for the tribute as Raphael pulled the girl closer to his arms.

"Thank you for that dance, Colette." Raphael rubbed her left shoulder. Colette retreated in wariness of their conspicuous disruption. On second thought, these Purist beliefs didn't end all and be all.

She leaned in closer to him, kissing him on his lips, a short kind kiss with strong anticipation for more sincerities. Colette happened to fall in love, evolving deeper into his conscience, his and her wholeness of belief.

"You're welcome." She said next to his rosy cheeks with her snub nose.

"Wow, I feel like I'm floating in the sky." He hugged her and pecked her cheeks again and again. "But, our plans await. Will you walk with me to the 6 train for our next program?"

"Sure." She sniffled.

I'm really putting my faith in him. This is strange. Normally, I don't let my guard down so quickly.

Four blocks from the park's exit, they were on Lafayette Street. A black and white spotted cat ran up the staircase from the cemented underground. Worried about the expenditures, Colette swiped her MetroCard for herself and Raphael at the turnstile.

"You don't have to do that."

He was too kind.

"It's my pleasure."

An industrial man waited behind Colette as she shivered in cumberment.

"So, what do you want to do after college?"

"Move out. Maybe, leave the country."

She placed the MetroCard back into the sleeve of her purse, slightly tripping over her feet as they hurried to the other descending stairs.

"What is your plan?" He held her arm. She had never experienced such warmth before, a safe haven of justice.

"No plan. Don't have one."

"I don't have a plan either." He shrugged. "I just let my priorities take control."

"And, what are those priorities?"

"To love my family and to do good."

"What does being good even mean nowadays?" She slouched against the column attached to the platform and the ceiling.

"Love."

"A scary thought." She smiled in her own humor.

Maybe, I should tell him about my interests, but they're just daydreams or wishes.

"Love is important. But, it's not real. Humans act upon selfishness." Colette explained herself.

"Love is very real. If love wasn't real, the whole world would have destroyed itself. But, humans have learned to handle it, a good progression, like a stepping stone, not perfectly, but that is another discussion." He sympathized.

The four o'clock train graveled to Colette and Raphael. They walked aboard, plopping themselves onto the orange and yellow seats. A few passengers with headphones were sifting through their phones, ingrained in their own responsibilities.

Horrors and revenge seemed to vanish one by one with Raphael. There were no more anxious times, only anxious for a renewal closer to find the whiteness of the snow in the dirt.

"What are your dreams?" He was very serious and interested in Colette's upbringing and being.

"I don't know what I want to do. But, I have been wanting to make perfumes and skincare products. Sometimes, I like to design stuff in my head, too. Like, I'll have an idea in my head, but it's just a vision of a certain style of furniture, clothes, or walls. I never took the first step in making it. I'm interested in the creation and how everything works, but those dreams can be unimaginable."

"Why?"

"Huh?" The train halted. The name of the stop, Fulton St, glared at the couple, and they quickly got up from their seats before the train doors had closed.

"Why haven't you taken the first steps towards your vision?" His eyes changed colors against the peering sunlight as the train cart rocked on the bridge.

"I don't know," Colette said in doubt. "I don't have the materials. And, it probably won't lead to anything. It'll waste my time or at least that's what everybody tells me."

Following the signs to the six train, Raphael ran up the stairs to the next line.

"You can try to make something new, little by little each day." He whispered.

"I guess." She looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the train to arrive sooner, accepting Raphael's mindfulness. "I wanted to open an upcycle company, without any factories, all handmade items to resell, but try to keep an innate quality to it."

"What if you need to make mass production?"

"I'll hire trustworthy people to make the products or I'll have a limited supply."

They transferred onto the red 3 train, swooshing by the sidelines.

"Will you hire me?" Raphael asked, jumping onto the pole of the train like a boy in a playpen.

"You can be the Vice President." She followed him, diminutive in her physical presence.

"Hierarchies, huh." He let out a giant breath, remembering where he was at that moment.

"Hierarchies." She nodded.

"I forgot that existed here." He winked with a dashing charm, but Colette was very pale. She was dehydrated and unaware of it, a great difficulty to always remember to drink a simple sip of water, relying on work to appease her satiable needs when the day turned blue.

"Do you have any other dreams?"

"What do you want?" She snapped at him with a cynical, misunderstanding look.

"Would you ever fly a plane or go skydiving?"

"No, I don't care! Do you!? Do you fly a plane? I haven't had a drink of water all day, and you keep talking! What are your dreams? You keep asking me! What do you even do for a living?"
"I work for the CIA."

Chapter VIII: Strengths and Weaknesses

She blocked those words out of her mind, keeping her hands inside of her pockets, gradually seceding from the idea of perfection.

"Listen, I told you this because I feel something for you, Colette." He said at the end of the train tracks.

Colette was unable to move her body. She remembered the voice of her mother, yelling at her for asking where her father was, finally telling her the unspeakable truth after her high school graduation.

"My father was murdered at war by a bomb by both sides. There are no good guys at the end of the day. It wasn't a mistake. He died. We're lucky to be alive, but he isn't alive. He worked in the CIA, and now he's dead. He's gone, and the fact that you work in the CIA makes me sick. It's sickening me." She said with a cold stare of emptiness.

"I know." Raphael mouthed the words.

"I don't support this. I don't think any of this will work out between us. You signed up for murder, or you could have already murdered someone. You could have murdered my father for all I know." Colette had no fear when she trusted a person for trust required an all.

She stopped herself from screaming and leaned against the metal gate between the platform and the loose air. The blood from her shoulders had rushed to her head as the coldness of the air was easing her resentment, numbing all of her thoughts.

"Please calm down. It's not an easy problem to solve." Raphael stepped off the train right after Colette. "I am here to help you. Colette."

"I can't calm down. How can you tell me to calm down?" She turned her head with spite, and Raphael sat down on the old cheaply painted bench. A flock of birds flew above the two into Long Island.

"There are two truths in a lie. The reason to lie, and it's treason. When your father was serving in Serbia, he did not follow the military rule. He did not. He abandoned all safety precautions. He was never supposed to be in the center at Belgrade." Raphael stood up from his seat. "Your father, Luka, was restless. He placed humanity first, regardless of official rankings, regardless of choosing sides, regardless of the rules made by mankind. You should know that he found the best way to save the right people. Not many people can do that."

"How on Earth do you know?" Colette's voice shook as she stood over Raphael. She wept. Raphael's avoidance to answer caused her to scream. "How on Earth do you know?" His knowledge of her father's absence infuriated her with dissonance.

"I looked through the office files from 1999. It was needed for another case. No, I am not allowed to speak about this. However, some rules were made to be broken, and you deserve to know what happened to your father. He was a hero, not a political hero, a prestigious one. Angels have lived on Earth, and he was one of them." He stopped speaking. Colette had underestimated Raphael. Suddenly, she had received an intuition of completion. Nothing had mattered. His reasoning did not demonstrate competency.

He's just saying this to be nice.

"Maybe, I'm God-sent. Maybe, it was fate for me to meet you. Take it or leave it. I do know plenty, including your father's story, and I am here to be with you." He entrusted Colette.

Wow, for once, I thought a guy would actually like me for me.

"The last thing I would need right now is your pity. The only thing I need is money or to somehow transform myself into a purebred American girl whose father would have always been protected under this country, whose father would always be looked out after, whose father would've never been abandoned because that's the only thing that runs this, this, ..." Colette gasped, sobbing. She finally exhaled. She was breathing with an overwhelming incorporeal volition of being.

"... this life, exploitation." She exhaled. He held her closer to his chest, brushing her black hair with his fingers. Living in the world's melting pot, people still held onto their own kind, their saints.

Colette remembered the words of her childhood friends. "Nobody cares about what happened in the middle of nowhere." She continued. "Nobody. People are greedy. They only need people like me to be alive, so that I can be exploited. Yet, they act as if studying for their PhDs in sociology or physics for six years was the biggest accomplishment of their lives. What problems have they solved? Nothing, they only spread relevant news that relates to an increase in personal finances rather than the miseries of the people that they offend. It's fake. This whole life is fake. Everything could be done better."

Life was null in Colette's mentality. He looked at her and kissed her forehead. Raphael was her sign of peace.

"It's not fake, Colette." His voice expressed hope. "Some people behave better than others. Every person has their own set of problems, their own ways of upbringing. If NATO didn't invade Serbia, who knows how many more people would have been killed in the area? I know that you're not Serbian and that you care for your father. I can't change what has happened to him. But I must say, who knows how many more people would have been stripped away from the freedom of life for the sake of an incomprehensible morality? This includes you and everyone, all values that form goodness. Innocent people would have been killed too. Each person was capable of winning the war, losing the war, or ending the war." He sighed. "You're safe here in New York. You are living in a purer democracy than most countries."
"My father wasn't. My father wasn't safe." She stuttered.
"I'm on your side, Colette."
She tilted her head, staring at the ground in a disheveled upheaval.

"Colette, I just happen to know your father's information because I work for the CIA. Your last name sounded familiar. I muddled through the records, and there was a brief recording of his death in Belgrade. You were an infant at the time, me, likewise. I'm telling you firsthand because you deserve to know every detail of your father's life. Do not tell anyone, any of these specifics."

Colette disregarded those last words of his, "And, my father just happened to save the people in Serbia at the same time when a bomb was placed by NATO, and he just happened to have disappeared in this situation as an ethnic Hungarian American man."

"He did not disappear. He knew that he could save people in the hospital, and he did, only two other people have died. He knew that he was risking his own life to save others. I didn't want to tell you this here in the freezing cold weather." Raphael shivered. "But, he did. He evacuated the Serbians, Albanians, Croatians, Hungarians, Slovenians, anyone in the hospital, anyone who was innocent. You might have thought that those people were just Serbians. No. In fact, your father evacuated people with Hungarian bloodlines and nationalities alongside the Serbians and many more." He paused.

"You see Colette. This is a political game. No one is a purebred American, Turk, Indian, Serbian, Russian, you name it. Each person's ancestry belongs to each person. Everyone has crossed pathways. For if this weren't true, where did people originate? Everything comes from the same source. You see. Life has been existing for millions of years. Some say we evolved from apes, and others say that the composition of the human body was found in stardust. Tomorrow, they can prove it's a mix of everything with the addition of evolving from the ocean's floor. What is true is that we are one. Each person's ancestry has crossed the same path with every person on this planet. We all originate from the first human. Many people like to ignore that fact. It's politics. And, you're right Colette. Lies do emerge, even about our personal history, making us separated rather than united as people."

His eyes appeared brighter with the reflection of every color of light in his iris. Raphael had been patient. He stood up from the cornered bench seat.

"Follow me for today. Promise me that we can focus on what's good just for this one day. People make mistakes, but please believe in me. I don't want to waste your time. We need to go eat." He provided his reasoning: the past was unchangeable in their hands. Colette trembled when the wind from another train emerged.

All of her tears were dry. "You're not wasting my time. It's just a lot to process." She walked somberly, coinciding with Raphael.

"Thank you." He shook her shoulder.

Raphael was kind, and so was Colette. It was rare to find such angels in the demonic city.

The streets were wild. People were everywhere. Buses were beeping. Shuffled music was screeching against the department stores. Colette nearly fell sick.

"You took me here? Let me guess. We're in DUMBO?" She glanced at her phone's location.

"Hey, that's cheating." He smirked at Colette.

"You know, normally, I wouldn't walk around with a stranger, especially with one in the CIA."

"I don't think that we're strangers. Besides, the CIA is not as intense as it once was or how it's portrayed in the movies. I do more paperwork than I would like to, and I send more emails than usual. I am just like any other office employee. I serve my responsibilities for the general good. That's all."

"General good. Hm, I don't really know about that one." Pouting her grin, she held onto Raphael's arm, envisioning an instant encounter of warmth.

"Forgive my redundancy, but you are very special, Colette. You deserve more than what this world can offer."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you." They crossed through a foreign park, a long shortcut towards Raphael's knowledge.

"All I know is that I'm starving." Colette proceeded to walk quickly.

"Where are you going? Remember you still need a plan." He exclaimed as Colette sprinted along the pathway of the park, reaching the grandeur entryway.

"I didn't run away yet." She blushed.

She waited for Raphael by the sidewalk.

"Well, somehow you keep exposing my plan. We're going to that restaurant, Atrium, on this corner here." He bobbed his head without taking his hands out of his coat's pockets.

"Atrium, hm, sounds resolutely pretentious."

"Oh come on, if you make that argument, you can say every inch of this city is pretentious."
"Yes, and you put it into those exact words." She smiled.

Raphael held the door open for Colette. Peering alongside the road, she lifted her arms in her fat puffy jacket to exemplify a curtsy. He bowed to his partner, "My dear. Dinner awaits."

"Thank you, kind sir." She tilted her head, offering her hand to his. They were happy.

A couple waited before Colette and Raphael. Chatting up with the host, Colette assumed that they were regular visitors.

Colette daunted an angered look onto the host. She was very hungry and tempered, but she didn't express her opinions or feelings aloud. It was considered impolite to voice a reaction in front of strangers if you were born without pride.

"Next." The host lifted his hand.

"Can we please have a table?" Colette pressed the question on top of the smug host.

"You?" He squinted his eyes, checking to find a vacant table around the former warehouse. "Yes, right this way." The man said modestly in obedience to the cultural dogma of the catering. "Enjoy." The host returned to his booth like a patrol officer.

Raphael slipped the menu to her fingers. "Thanks." Colette grabbed the leather pamphlet from his hands, skimming to find a meal worth purchasing.

"A burger, hm, I'll get a burger." She said, expecting Raphael to respond. He dropped his head. His lips quivered, becoming thinner than ice. Colette inspected the agent.

He's thinking about something. Should I try to figure this one out? I really don't know too many things.

"Are you alright? You're not very good at keeping a poker face." She wondered.

"You can say that. I am not hungry." He looked at her with a gentle smile.

Strange. Maybe, it's something to do with his diet or religion.

"Well, I hope that you don't mind me eating."

"Please do." He whispered into her ear.

The waiters were immigrants as were the cooks. A family of three mocked Colette. Then, they identified her beauty as her only strength. The family practiced ignorance for all the words are spoken aloud were assumed to be discrete. Anything revealed aloud could never be discrete.

Funny how a problem exists when someone tells you it does. What are those people doing? Why are they staring at me? I feel so uncomfortable.

The mother of the family had a frantic look on her face when Colette copied her observance.

"It's so rude that some people can talk about you; then stare at you in front of your face. Even behind my back, people do that, and I just don't get it. They act as if they are solving their own problems, by analyzing me. It just makes me angrier and them stupider. Really, what has she, on Earth, have done better than you and I? Nothing. It pisses me off." Colette ranted about the objective of others like a sailor.

"I didn't notice." He said lightly.

"Really?"

"Yes, I try to focus on one thing at a time. It usually brings me the best results."

"That's for you, not me. Multitasking is an art for me." She said sarcastically. He laughed.

"Prone to more mistakes and more ingenuities."
"Maybe, maybe not."

"Listen. Don't worry about those people. They don't care about you. Also, you are very pretty. They might be complimenting you." He reassured her.

"Uh no, that would be extremely different. I clearly heard them insulting me, calling me 'peculiar.' Whatever." Colette spoke very loudly. The family was in awe. Colette drank her water. The first gulp that she had taken all day. Raphael held her hands.

"And, why can't you tell me what's wrong?" She whined.

"They say to eat like a king for breakfast, a prince for lunch, and a pauper for dinner. On some days, paupers do not eat." He explained.

"This is the exact reason as to why people left the British Empire to America," Colette stated, preceding Raphael's ruptured laughter.

The golden lamps illuminated the restaurant windows and the twining roads of the city's former Brooklyn suburb, beautiful for a change of scenery. Some parts had presented a secret mini paradise. Colette reverted her attention to the family in the restaurant. They were the perfect family. The mother was wearing a white blouse and golden earrings. The father and son wore matching suits, and the little daughter wore a nice sparkly headband, matching her expensive shoes.

"How was that burger?" Raphael pondered, distracting Colette's thoughts.

"Good, very tasty. I love the onions that they added. As a kid, I would have hated it, but now everything tastes better, which is nice." She was delighted by the hearty meal.

"I think that you are in a good position to be President and me as Vice President."

"What? For what, the country? You're crazy." Colette laughed.

"That too, but for your company."

"Relax, it's just an idea. It probably won't happen any time soon."

"Of course, you have to live your life first." Raphael stopped looking at Colette. "Hey, I have an idea: let's go biking. Let's bike along the park here." He slightly pointed at the city's bike stand.

"Those bikes are so grimey and dirty." She crossed her arms. "You know what, why not? Let's go." They paid for the meal and ran off to the fenced bikes. Rapidly, she disinfected two bikes. "What are you waiting for? I have wet wipes."

"Your thoughts are all over the place, Colette the brunette." He nudged her shoulder. Raphael contested Colette's dispute.
"It may be dirty. But, without disinfecting the bikes, we're also building more immunity to the bacteria. If we're lucky, we already have the bacteria necessary to this exposure."

"Alright, nerd." Colette mounted herself on the bike. "I'll race you to that end of that bridge. See 'ya there!"

"Which end?" Raphael raised his voice as Colette drifted across the clear road. He scuttled under his feet, carrying the bike from the stand. "Hey, cheater! I'm on the bike now!" He yelled, and Colette looked over her shoulder, showing her top and bottom teeth, pedaling quickly until Raphael passed her. Pretending to be like fools when systematically growing up, these were the moments that were cherished for the future generations to come.

They were almost on their knees in their circus of affairs, screaming and shouting at the wind, chasing and dreaming for the prize up ahead, playing a game worth winning. The maroon colonial buildings bowed to their two guests with welcoming pride. Colette was alone with Raphael, presently, and beyond this given life. Racing to the very end up to the promenade of the bridge, Colette abruptly stopped her bike, and she touched the rental binoculars for the tourists with her gloved fingers.

"I won! You can't beat me! You almost would have won if you didn't think of the common misconception that 'it's too easy to race a girl.'"

Raphael poked her shoulder. "Alright, 'common misconception.' I let you win. You had a head start and decided the finish line. We definitely know that's cheating."

Colette ignored his argument, looking outward at the skyscrapers, the Freedom Tower, the New York Life Building, and the Empire State Building.

"But, I forgive you." He said. Colette went somber again, a vicious cycle of realism.

"It's crazy. Everyone acts so independently here that they think that they know everything to the point of hedonism. This whole city wasn't built by one person."

Raphael admired the uniqueness that she held. She had felt him looking at her, and she was upset.

"Why couldn't they realize that my father was needed? Why couldn't they have saved him? Why did they bomb innocent people? Why are we the only ones who know about this?"

"We're not the only ones." He disagreed, turning his head to the bridge. "People don't know the impact that they have in any field. People need law and order to have self-discipline. Mistakes happen. More people need to work in teams to prevent these mistakes. Fastidious plans turn into awful plans. Look at it this way. People don't trust foreigners. A deadlier war could have occurred if more people were warned of the bombing. A nuclear war could have occurred. Your father was the only one who had the courage to save those civilians."

"Civilians are always innocent. It wasn't courage. It was human decency. There was no possible outcome for war after the U.S. bombing, so it wouldn't matter if innocent people were warned." Colette remained still again.

"Sure as individuals, people are innocent. As a nation, it's a different story. People follow nationalistic orders because their country enforces duty and obedience to their own country with propaganda, despite anyone's background."

"You, yourself, are a victim of propaganda!" Her anger rose and descended for she knew that Raphael didn't do anything wrong. In fact, he was on the side of glory.
"You have no idea." He said in enlightenment.

"I've never met my father, and there's no one else to blame except the government during that time. And, if I were to shout it out at other people, who knows what would happen to me. They would think that I'm crazy. Usually, they just ignore it. My friends don't even care, so there's no point in discussing politics." She paused jumping from one conclusion to the next.

"Did freedom ever exist? I go crazy whenever I think about it. How come people have to fight for freedom. That's the opposite of freedom."

"You're only human. This isn't heaven." Raphael docked his bike by the water's edge. "Besides, your father is looking down on you, right now, thinking, 'what a remarkable woman you are.' Because, to tell you the truth, I think that everybody thinks that."

Colette melted. She jumped onto him, and she fell. He laughed, and he spun her around. Her body swindled.

"Ok, you can let go now." She said, and Raphael dropped her onto her feet. She brushed the fuzz from his sweater off her pants.

"Ow." She whimpered.

He sympathized. "I have a gift for you. Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just close your eyes."

Colette covered her eyes with her arms as Raphael crouched down to find some flowers. He could not find a petaled flower for it was only the beginning of spring. Until one tiny sprout stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Open your eyes."
"Ta-da!" He exclaimed.
"Oh, Raphael, you shouldn't have." Colette pretended to faint.

"Just take it." He rolled his eyes, a deja-vu to sarcasm. She became serious once more with the moon illuminating tranquility upon her, becoming more like him. Raphael knew that she was going to go home soon. He was already well acquainted with her, so he decided to ask her, "Do you want to dance?"

She glanced around his body, avoiding interlocking with the colors of his eyes.

"Why not?" Colette settled.

Simply to be in the arms of a lover, they experienced genuine immortality, forgetting the losses of despair, interlocking these moments of forever as theirs. These were the joys that rendered the remainder of what was fair.

Chapter IX: Attached

Steady was the month of April. Envelopes lay enclosed on the dining room table. More bills had to be paid, and more money was to be made. Futile problems deteriorated generations of work. There was no room for sound arguments to feed the appetite for hunger. The perceived innocent were distracted from finding an answer. If an answer were to be found, someone could lose even if the world could win.

Colette flipped through the news channels on her television while eating an omelet on a glass plate.

"Are you really eating on the couch instead of the table?" Her mother was cleaning the ground floor with a rag.

"Why don't you use the vacuum cleaner instead of scrubbing on your knees?" Colette argued, unhappy with her mother's antiquated style of work. Mrs. Nowa was geared to working with her hands.

"Vacuums don't clean the floor as well as a rag." She subdued.

"And, working harder does?" Colette argued.

Her mother paused and gave her an envelope, reaching over the dining room table towards the couch.

"This one's for you." She tugged.

"Thank you." Colette snatched the paper from her mother's palm.

"Colette put the plate down."

Tearing the envelope open, Colette unfolded the letter with her finger. She read the title, Graduation Registration.

"I have to register to graduate." She placed the plate on the miniature coffee table. "There's a fee for $150 to buy the cap and gown." Her eyes glossed over the font.

Colette despised asking her mother for favors. Discussing the topic of money fed Colette's dependency.

"Those things are worth a good $10." She scrubbed the floor with the pressure from her fingertips, inspecting every corner of the room.

"Maybe, thirty years ago, they were." Colette turned off the advertisements on the television. "I wasn't going to buy it anyway." Without faint remorse for her mother's incredulous concern over the floor, Colette stepped over her mother's body to make herself a cup of coffee, a nuisance for everyone.

"If I had a good daughter, I wouldn't have to be cleaning on my knees."

"Again! Just use the vacuum!" Colette uproared. "You do things so differently. This is the modern age. People are worried about going on Mars, not wiping the floor with an old cloth for God's sake! I mean now robot vacuums..."
"That's enough Colette." Her mother picked herself up, placing a hand on the head chair. "I'm not going to Mars any time soon, nor would I want to. I just want my daughter to help me."

She literally does not listen to anything that I say.

"Ok, next time." Colette relinquished her anger, modestly. She conceded to her mother's argument. Colette was worried about her mother's suspicion. Her mother's preliminary control could have imperfected Colette's relationship with Raphael, a defense for what was rightfully hers, her privacy.

Yet, there was no point in hiding the relationship. The barriers were set too high. For a couple of weeks, Raphael did not call or leave a message. Colette had understood. She had ruined her date with Raphael. Her status was incomprehensible. She was too awkward, too ditzy, a complete moron in her conscience. She sought for change in what was wrong with herself.

Colette was mildly incapable of keeping Raphael's career a secret. Never was she perfectly serious. More problematic than normal, she had avenged Raphael. She pointed out his mistakes for speaking about her father's extremities, assuming her father's actions at war. She should have listened to his message and left him alone.

Though, she also knew that her feelings for Raphael were strong. She could not forget about him. The consistent image of his face reappeared in her mind, reminding her of his smile, his kind eyes, sufficing the distance apart.

Colette stared at the dining room table. Thirty minutes of her wallowing penalized her. She shuddered.

"How do I look? Does the jewelry match my dress?" Her mother flaunted her beautiful dress. A new person was in the room. Mrs. Nowa finalized the purple party dress with her wedding ring in the corridor mirror alongside the entry door. The apartment was small. There was no other grand room like the kitchen with the living room.

Colette had been so preoccupied with her own thoughts. She discounted her mother in the room.

Her mother lifted up her wrist for Colette to clasp her precious bracelet around her soft skin.

"Yes. You look beautiful." Colette hugged her, rescinding their negativities. "You look twenty-one."

"Ok, that's enough." Her mother snickered.

"Where are you going?"

"I am going to carpool with Mrs. Pink and Gina. Then, I am off to Mrs. Wegrzyn's get-together."
"Who's Gina again?"

"Come on. Gina? You know Gina."

Colette raised her eyebrows, shaking her head.

"Gina is Mrs. Freedom's daughter."

"Oh, that Gina. Ok. I've never met her before. She's probably much nicer than her mother." She sipped her cold coffee in her nightwear.

"Colette, don't say that. Mrs. Pink is a very hardworking woman." Her mother's face sunk.

"That doesn't mean that she's nice. Isn't her daughter from Ohio?"

Tucking her feet into her high heels, her mother explained, "She's here to celebrate her birthday with Mrs. Pink. Her expenses were too high, so she moved to Ohio. All of her friends and relatives are still here."
"Smart move." Turning her back, Colette rinsed her black cup to rush quicker into her room. The Church conglomerate celebrated all parties together, which Colette deeply avoided.

"Colette?"

Her mother peered her head into the kitchen without showing her body.

"Yes?"

"Sit here. Don't leave yet. I wanted to talk to you about Carla. How is she? You were with her two weeks ago. Right?" Her mother was standing by the dining room table, a piece of furniture that presumed serious discussions.

Colette nodded. "What did you do with her? I forgot to ask you because I had been so busy with work." Her mother placed one hand on her hip and one on the table, changing in rank.

"Nothing. We just went out to dinner, nothing crazy." Colette twisted the truth like a lawful advocate. She had asked Carla to get dinner one of those weeks. Colette defended her conscience.

"You don't speak to Anna, right?"

"No, I don't." Colette groaned. "She doesn't like me because you don't let me hang out with her."

"Good. She's not your friend."

Well, losing friends is also not healthy.

She gawked at her mother's languish preparation, pressuring her to leave sooner.

How am I supposed to move out one day if I can't make a decision on my own friends?

"Whatever, I just can't wait to move out," Colette commented.

"Oh-ho me too!" Her mother fastened the lid of her prepared salad. "I'll see you around 8. Will you be here? Colette? Do you want to come with me?"

"No, I don't want to go. And, yeah, what else am I supposed to do? You don't let me go out."

"Maybe, go for a walk while the sun is out. I love you."

"I love you too. Bye." Colette helped her close the door.

Finally.

Colette turned on her loud music. Embarrassed, she shut it off when she heard Mrs. Pink and her mother yakking over their appearances and who would be attending the event.

They have the whole party and car ride to talk about themselves. It's like they're doing this on purpose.

The motor of Mrs. Pink's van hummed, an unexpected sound from a new car.

Cheaper materials had allocated more wealth for a standard car company, an optical illusion of the fluctuation of the value of machines. Mrs. Pink wasted her time and energy on the cash burner, spending more to prevent future maintenance on the new car, accessorizing the item like it was her own child. A feasible vehicle was never an option when the CEOs demonstratively pickered their horses, calling themselves, "genius." Genius, indeed, a genius in the idea of supporting a war for profit in exchange for a herring in a deadly resource, not a religious precedent.

Colette was unfortunately stuck with her old car. She did not wish to be a slave to the overvalued scraps of metal, whether it be electric or gas. Instead, she waited for nature to take its course for everything to depreciate.

Increasing the volume of her laptop's speakers, she played an upbeat song as the van turned. She ran and jumped over the coffee table. Colette found running inside the house much better to avoid people from the outside. After the warmup, she completed one hundred jumping jacks, and she sat down, stretching her arms and legs over the beige sofa.

There was no specific workout routine that Colette followed. Whenever she was cheerful, she jumped and danced around her apartment, sometimes creating new visuals of dances, some interpretative, some exceptional. Whenever she was angry, she watched a kickboxing video. These instances of aggression were rare.

Raphael popped into her mind. She had an urge to cry from her dependency. She thought of herself as weak. In society, she was taught to only rely on herself on the independence of work. Being overly emotional or abiding by one's wishes of harmony was pathetic. Though, who should she become? She longed to discover her own capabilities. Most people have dismissed that they were capable of increasing love and justice, alongside fortune. Fortune may be considered evil, and it is if there is no fair giving and retrieval.

She listened to the movement of the music, dancing as if she were a peasant, a culture stolen by men who were once peasants. Dancing in her body with the privacy of herself was a privilege, a privilege to be happy, a privilege to be alone without perversity from others, a privilege for a woman to simply exist.

Colette often remarked that a woman's decision was dictated by her superiors, the family men, the bosses, then eventually her own children, leading to a woman to diminish into the privacy of her own mind for speaking was uncomfortable. People with no morals were distracted by the female for they only believed in the physical.

Men were exceptional in the pursuit of freedom. Women had the constant consciousness of their bodies. It didn't bother Colette too much. She knew that every woman unconsciously and consciously utilized their capabilities to convict men by what nature had given them, a regular female body. If all men and women were nude for thousands of years, the body would have been accustomed as innocent. Though, people have shamed the body and its natural being. Until all people are viewed as brothers and sisters, then the body will be free.

Her mother was often blamed for her husband's death. Traditionalist women in the parish have mentioned to Mrs. Nowa that allowing a husband to leave home provoked danger. Colette worried about her mother. Wanting more out of life required more, and she did not think that her mother's friends were searching for that more.

There she was in her sleepwear, fearless when she was alone, a natural in her habitat, another human who wanted to forget about the mundane routine of formalities.

Unintentionally eyeing the liquor cabinet, Colette revealed a zombie underneath her skin. She contemplated whether a drink was morally acceptable or irresponsible. Alcohol had demented her, but she had already thought of herself as so, impure and stupid. Uptier lifestyles in academia became so hopelessly foreign to her, finding more resemblance of those intrepid to their superiors, eerily similar to Bob. She poured herself a glass of red wine, spinning on her toes.

She was about to take a sip until Raphael called, so she picked up the phone.

"I've missed you, Colette." He said nearly choking on his words. "What happened to you? Where did you go?" Raphael wondered.

"What happened to me?" She stressed her words, pouring the wine back into the bottle. "You haven't been calling me this whole week."

"I was caught up on a work thing."

"Oh, yeah work. I forgot about that."
"You're lucky that you are a student."

"I would like to say the opposite. I'm actually in need of a job, and I don't have one lined up for me." She advanced to her room, drawing herself closer to her laptop.

"I remember that you mentioned finance or something of the like."

"Yeah, I'm studying finance, and I'm finally graduating next month, which is a little scary, but I really need to move away from my childhood bedroom in this cramped apartment."

"You don't think New York will be any different?" He chuckled.

She laughed. "You're right. But, I guess I have to find out for myself."

"Let's have a bet that if you move back in with your mother, you have to marry me."

"What?" She pinched herself.

"What? It's only a joke. Cheer up. I know that you may be afraid of me."

I wish that it wasn't a joke.

"Anyways." They laughed. Colette continued, "About my job searches, do you have any recommendations on what I should do?"

"I'll tell you what. Look outside your door."

"What, why?"

"Just see, maybe there's some guy who is walking on your lawn who can help you."

"But, that never happens. No one takes pictures of each other's property like in Manhattan."

Raphael knocked on her door. Colette was astonished, dropping her phone on the ground.

"How did you know when to come?" She inquired.

He took off his shoes. "Were you watching my mom leave the house?" Colette placed his coat on the dining room chair.

"You could say that she was watching me." He waited for Colette to laugh in stride. She didn't.

"I'm in my pajamas." She realized. "Stay here. I need to put on something useful." Raphael had no harmful intentions attached to Colette. He respected her concerns as did she. Raphael waited, examining the room and all of its belongings.

"Did you catch a look at Mrs. Pink or I'm sorry that woman driving the car?" Colette stepped out of the hallway in her favorite sweater and jeans.

Raphael kissed her forehead.

"Yes. I did. She seemed tired."

"She's more than that."

Raphael turned his head. Colette sat down and so did he.

"Well, for starters, she doesn't let my mom and I use the backyard. She hates speaking to me, and she never acknowledges that people also have a brain."

"It seems like you both have something in common."

Colette threw an apple at him from the table decor. Raphael defended himself, lifting his hands forward, persuading her to kindness.

"I mean, you do acknowledge my brain from time to time." He squinted from one corner of his eye.

"Come on. I hear you out." Colette crossed her arms.

"Occasionally."

"I would let you use my backyard if you lived in my basement."

"I would too." He held her hand, sitting across from her at the table. "Why are you worrying about it so much?"

"I don't know. She's just too negative in my life. I feel dependent on my mom, and my mom's dependent on Mrs. Pink. I'm the weakest one." Colette played with the apple in her hands.

"They're not young anymore, and they see that in you, a different kind of energy without conformity. They want that. You are anything but weak." Colette smiled.

"Yeah, but she's never friendly. She ignores my existence like I'm five years old." Colette dramatically sighed as if she were an actress on television.

The birds dove in spirals onto the pipes at the top of the house, ruffling their feathers in yesterday's rainwater. The sun rarely fixated on the family's homestyle apartment through the small windows. Trapped in the apartment, Colette suggested going for a walk to the minimart near her house.

Raphael obliged.

More handsome than Colette had remembered, a few strands of his hair drooped against his ears. She loved him. The neighbor's berry bushes loomed over the sidewalk. Colette pranced in front of Raphael, avoiding stepping on the outlying grass.

"I really want to get dark chocolate. I eat it every day, the ones with the almonds inside." Colette voiced her thoughts aloud.

"Chocolate. I'm more of a steak kind of guy."

"Yeah, I don't get the whole vegetarian thing either." She jumped to conclusions. "It can help someone, personally, sure. But, it doesn't stop corporations from mass-producing meat, and I mean, really, some people will go out of their way to save animals but if a child is struggling to survive. It's alright. It's not their problem."

"It's not alright." Raphael stopped by the private corner near the suburban houses, along the quieter, longer route to the store. He sometimes felt uneasy by Colette's quacking, and she sometimes felt as if he were manipulating her for his own personal gain.

"Those are two different subjects, Colette."

"It addresses people's attention on the wrong issues. I don't think they're that different if millions of dollars go into saving puppies and kitties because of those overly sentimental commercials. But, they can't save people from starving and working their whole entire lives."

"It's just the world we live in. You need to relax. People may look at you as if you can't control your emotions."

"It's better to be emotionless?" Colette yelled. "If I were emotionless, then I wouldn't be able to love. I would be a psychopath. Maybe, it's better to have overflowing emotions than to be a psychopath."

Raphael was in awe. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You hold the power to default. It's your choice to either do well or to complain this whole time. I am not your target audience."

"I know. I just wanted to rant about it, God, gosh." Colette was tense. She fastened her speed, almost tripping over her feet, reaching the end of the road with Raphael behind her, her common habit, to run.

"Wait up! I didn't mean it like that! Please don't be mad!" Raphael called.

"No, I don't get it. If I don't tell you, then who else can I talk to? Who can I talk to about anything?" She raged, without turning her head, approaching the end of their barrier, disregarding any unnatural signal of politeness and lenity.

"You can talk to me. I just wanted to warn you. Colette, I want what's best for you." His eyes teared ever so slightly, the actual first normal creature to have fallen upon this Earth.

Colette couldn't say his name. She felt unworthy to pronounce it, still unfamiliar to the meaning behind that word, the person, himself.

"Things can't be blurted out all the time. You have to watch what people say. They may take offense to it and play the victim. Words can create wars." Raphael explained. Both of them resumed their walk to the grocery store.

"Maybe, war was created by the existence of a woman's body, and a man's desire to control most of them. Why would any man invade a country if their own country was already fruitful and feasible? The Trojan War was literally one of the earliest wars caused by ONE female. That's the effect of a woman just for existing in her body."

Raphael listened, interpreting Colette's conveyance and theory.

"You do have a point. How about World War I? Nationalism was a major cause."

"Nationalism is pathetic no one will truly die for any government. It's just a way to gain monetary value for the time being or to persuade a person into thinking that they are defending some goodness by doing the exact opposite, hurting others. Everything is just so fake. It drives me crazy. And, yeah they probably invaded other countries because they wanted to sleep with the most women."

"Alright, Colette, roulette. Things need law and order for a true non-fraudulent system to work, starting with you. Try to make peace with yourself first." He grabbed her pink nose between his fingers and kissed it.

"Yeah, it seems like there's no easy way out. But, I also don't think that's true. There has to be a way out of this madness."

"Only God knows." He said.

They crossed the busy boulevard, linking Front St and East Meadow Ave. Colette opened the door, gathering what she wanted most, two chocolate bars in addition to a funky cheese and grapes.

"Do you need anything else?" The cashier asked her.

"No, thank you." Colette took the items and Raphael stood behind her. She liked to take charge next to Raphael.

"What were we talking about?"

"God," Raphael answered.

"Oh right." The sun blossomed on the peaches of her skin, giving her an extra pump of blood.

"It's nice out," Colette noted. Raphael nodded.

They made their way back home as Colette thought to herself about God. Raphael went on about the way women and men behaved with one another, recognizing the clashes and harmonies of both parties. Colette listened, but her mind was questioning her life.

"If God was real, why couldn't He come down and solve everything? Why couldn't He help everyone, including me? Why are there horrible consequences in this world? I can't do anything about it. I don't even have a degree, yet. I expect everything to be granted to me. But, you know what, there are real problems on this Earth, and who is to blame - us for behaving naturally or God? And, if someone gets one step closer to solving it, they're executed. Why couldn't my father be saved? Why couldn't those people be saved in Serbia? Don't tell me that God is here because if he were, there wouldn't be countless wars."

She sighed, yearning for a cigarette and a spoonful of alcohol. "What's the point, everything is already given to the snobs on their asses who think they know every single thing on this planet..." She raised her pointer finger. "... until they get a disease and choke up. Then, it's too late. And, I feel like it's best not to speak. But, I can't. I just can't stop speaking about the things that I feel wrongly about. It's driving me nuts. It drives every person away from me. They think that it's too weird, not cool, while they don't even know how to..." Colette cursed like a sailor. "... care about something worthwhile." "Counting every penny for what point, to be a slave to another person's dollar, to everything, and what am I? I am nothing. I'm just a hypocrite."

"Everyone's a hypocrite." Raphael blocked her. "No, you're apparently not! I'm a fraud.

Everything is so wrong. Everything in this life is so wrong. And, I don't know who to even blame, myself or God, because if I speak about the wrong, I turn out to always be in the wrong."

"God is only here to help you. God has always been with you. You choose to accept Him or not. I don't know how to make it any clearer for you, but I am here to help you."

"Why is it that I can't do things properly? That whenever I think that I'm right, I turn out to be wrong."

"Don't worry about it too much."
"How can I not worry about the things that pass by me blindly. Maybe we're in hell. Maybe, this world is some form of hell."

"No, it's a testing period, Colette. That's it. You can either choose to be good, or you can choose to be bad. It's on you. It's your decision."

"Well, how can I know that God even exists? Jesus died. He's not in this world anymore."

"Jesus is here, and he has resurrected. You can choose to be in his life or not. If he was a blatant man in power, life would be a dictatorship. Love is supposed to be free." Raphael paused. "Listen, Colette. God is within all of us. We are all equal. Everything that was made was dawned upon you. You were made to be perfect. People have imperfected other people. You and I will never be as perfect as God until we try to become more like him in every waking second. Happiness needs sadness, without sadness you do not know happiness."
"Then, how come I am always sad?"

"You beat everything around the bush. Look more into who you are with your spirit."

Colette listened to the words, accepting them while wanting to taunt them. They entered the house. A shadow casted itself on the lined up houses on the street, making the largest building look small.

"My mom is about to be here soon." Colette sighed. "I wish that you could stay longer."
"Do you want me to meet her?"

"No. She's a dictator." Colette giggled. "I'm kidding. If you meet her, it would be a big event, and I should probably tell her beforehand. I'm just not ready yet."

"Phew." He said, and Colette pushed him aside. Colette wanted to say that she loved Raphael in extremity. She was shy, but her feelings were indescribable.

"You do know that your father was serving for actual freedom. Even if you think that it's not real, some countries do not have as much freedom as this country. And, that is very real."

"I know. I just need someone or something to blame."

"You can blame the sadists and masochists."

"Sometimes, I'm a mix of the two."
"Oh, please, you're a feather, not because you're a girl or due to your gender or whatever that you prefer."

"I don't care." She murmured.

She checked the time, 6:30 PM. "I don't know if my father's death even helped solve any worldwide prosperity."

"It doesn't have to. Things don't happen worldwide automatically." He understood Colette. "Some strategies are planned for another plan to knock over into someone else's hands. But, the real impacts are in the lives of simple people."

"I assume that's what you tell yourself when you send emails at work."

He cheered up and kissed her cheek.

"You should check your own scores."

"I need a job." She complained.

"It will come. Apply every day. You have your whole life to work." He was her mentor and friend, who had shown signs of affection.

"I love you. I want what's best for you." He said to her as if they weren't exclusive, but the best of friends.

"I love you too, Raphael." She understood the meaning of his name. He was pure goodness.

Chapter X: Confusion

The finale of Colette's academic career, one more test was to be taken towards that obtainment of a thick piece of paper, representing Colette's deeper understanding of the English language, supposedly Finance, and the procedure of abidance to obey orders at the uptight pace of technology to further be mind-controlled.

Colette did not exhibit the power that she held to express these thoughts; no matter how loud her passion and volume increased, no one listened to the twenty-something-year-old girl when competing with the snakes and raccoons. It was better to be silently unproblematic to master the system.

Despite her mother's urges, Colette skipped mass yesterday. Her daughter claimed that conforming was lying and that lying was a sin. It was not honest to attend a church mass if she denied its purpose. All was well. Colette had thought. She didn't need the saving that everyone ridiculously preached like mindless parrots. There was no room for saving in Blairmount.

Waiting in the most intricate hallway of the college, Colette sat on the floor, resting against the curved wall. She had enough of studying for the past 17 years, looking forward to working for a change.

She checked Anna's social media. Colette was in shock as to how incoherent she once was. Anna had walked all over her. Colette was never in control. Those who were the kindest were used at best.

Anna's probably going to text me or talk to me. I can feel it. I have some uneasy feelings. She's probably going to ask me for a favor or something.

Colette looked at the time, 7:09 AM. The test was at 7:40 AM. Her adrenaline was through the roof from the two cups of coffee that she drank that morning, a convincingly necessary lift. She confirmed Anna's expected text message through the representation of the numbers in the time, interpreting her own rules of addition, subtraction, and religion. Odd numbers = positive = yes.

Overly confident, Colette glanced at her notebook for a quick review. She didn't get any of her written scribbles. Each day she wrote like a different person, depending on how the day went.

Carla tapped her on the shoulder, leaving Colette with only a few minutes to review.

So much for studying.

"You're taking this class too?"

Carla appeared prettier than usual. Colette assumed that she had plans after the exam.

"I think every senior is." Colette stood up.

"Did you see Anna?" Carla wondered. Colette's heart sank to her stomach.

What a ...

"No, I haven't." Colette couldn't keep anything to herself. She wanted sympathy. "Anna and I don't really talk anymore."

"Haven't you been ignoring her?" Carla looked away to the side, pretending that she was better than her because she made a friend.

"What?" Colette's voice shook.

"Anna told me that you were ignoring her for so long."

If I say that she ignored me, she's just going to think of me as a nobody.

"I don't know. Life got busy. I wasn't really ignoring her. I think that she was also busy."

Carla didn't listen to her at that point. She was typing on her phone, acting as if Anna was her CEO.

Poor girl.

Anna tranced into the area, clinging onto Carla. Anna gave Carla a hug, and screamed, "Hey!" in the girliest annoying voice. They dismantled Colette, what pure agony it was, to watch a zombie in a new shade of blonde with fake nails and her fake tan, trying so hard to be human.

Anna was once a natural person. Who is she?

Colette was about to say something, but she decided that it was better to ignore them. She was beginning to leave when Anna called her.

"Wait." She said.

Colette turned around. She was visibly upset. Regretting her calling after Colette, Anna pretended that she never said anything at all, continuing talking to Anna, having all the students stare at her as if she were the hottest commodity. It's true she was, and you can decide if that is a shame or not.

Whatever.

Whenever Colette was agitated by her friends, she treated them like her competitors. She tried to better herself in spite of them and to truly make herself better. The spite controlled her to a gross comparison. It was vital to her success.

However, the final exam degraded her to a greater extent. She could not pass the silly simple questions, adding and subtracting numbers with a small task of division. Why couldn't she do it? She blamed the teacher. It was their fault for doing such a horrible job under a horrible salary. She didn't know which numbers to input. It was always the same mistake with every business class.

She used all of the time. Every student had left except for her and three others. It was enough, and she handed in the paper. Studying for 17 years took its turn.

"It's over." She moved her lips cautiously, exiting the building.

Colette wasn't surprised. Raphael had been waiting for her as she was taking the test, holding a cute bouquet of rosemary flowers.

"Congratulations, Colette!" Raphael was certain that she had passed, that she could pass any absorbent attack that tested her. Colette thought of it as false.

"You don't have to buy me flowers. It's kind of cliche." She was mad.

"You can throw it in the garbage if it makes you feel better."

She did and kept one of the flowers on the stem in her pocket.

"You're a confusing girl."

"Everyone's weird and confusing, and the ones who hide it the most are the weirdest and confusing." Colette exhaled.

"Are you ok?"

"No, it's just that I saw this girl that I don't like. She just makes me so angry. And, my professors make me angrier." Colette had nothing to drink or eat. "I didn't know anything on the test, and they do nothing to improve teaching, half of my notes are just definitions of God knows what, anything but math."

Raphael took her hand and comforted her. She walked with him to the grocery store. They picked up their favorite snacks, dark chocolate, Brie cheese, and grapes.

"On top of that, I still don't have a job." She whined outside of the store, opening the chocolate.

"Maybe, you should meditate and pray."

She ignored him, "I don't even want to work. I just want to get out of here, leave New York as soon as possible."

"You can try to get a job just to learn from it."

"Yeah, that's what a reasonable person would say." She smiled.

He kissed her, and she was anew.

"Um, thank you." Raphael became so awkward like Colette. They had adopted each other's qualities, becoming more and more like the other. She was serious, and he was a goofball. Though, Colette knew that he did not behave that way during work.

"What happened with that girl?" He unwrapped the mini Brie from the fancy store to pass it to her.

"Anna. She's just so fake. I've never met anyone that fake before. For starters, she's dating my ex." Colette raised her eyebrows.

"Hm," Raphael said with humor.

"And, she nearly left me to die at one point." Colette's eyes were empty. "I was out of my mind always trying to get drunk or something. At one party, I was lying on the ground. It was stupid of me."

Raphael was silent. He didn't need to inquire any more thoughts, letting her speak to her comfortability.

"I mean. I wasn't actually dying. It didn't feel that way. But, according to the ER doctors, I was. I was just so stupid." Colette's face turned dry.

Raphael held her hand. "You can't entirely blame yourself. It's ok. You've learned from the past."

She ignored his statement. Her conscience still found herself guilty.

"My mom doesn't let me hang out with Anna. And, now, Anna hates me, and my mom doesn't trust me. But, honestly, Anna would get mad if I didn't follow her. I was stupid."

"You're not stupid, Colette. She's not a good friend."

She felt as if he were lying, but she received immense love from him through the simple ethics of care.

"I know it just sucks because I hate every girl that I meet here because they hate me."

"You can find new friends." He straightened his back. "That's not a problem."

"I know it's just that I knew her my whole life."

"Start a new life without her, with me." He cheesed a smile and quickly inverted to his restful visage after showing the unique appearance of his shaped teeth. Colette leaned on the bench, sluggish, tired from her past.

"It's nice that you are always here for me. Really, I mean it." She faced him. For Raphael, Colette wasn't troublesome. Her openness to change suited her. Spending his time with real people was not an expense but a treasure.

"Do you speak Hungarian? I assumed that you didn't. Correct?" He lifted a new topic into discussion.

"A few words, but I don't. My mother didn't want me to learn it. She was born in America."

Colette blew her hair out of her face, playing with the dead ends. She was honest with her abilities.

"You probably speak a foreign language. Do you?"

He nodded. "I speak a few. Almost all languages are all connected."

"Are you a polyglot?" She raised her eyebrows in a silly ordeal.

"Yeah, something like that." He squeezed her hand. "But, it's mostly just mapping and linking words together. Once you get the hang of that, it's easy, especially with the popular ones."

"I don't think that my mind could work in that kind way." She coughed from the dryness in the cold.

"Growing up, I was taught French and Spanish, which helped with the popular languages. My mother wanted me to learn more languages."

"Oh, that explains a lot."

"Uh, what do you mean?" He lowered his chin.

"You're a bit too posh to be a typical American. I mean I can't tell where your family is from. But, someone can also say that you're not from here." She supposed.

"I grew up here, born and raised. Actually, since you've mentioned it, my parents recently moved to live in England." He said.

"Oh, I'm embarrassed."

"Don't be," Raphael reassured her.

"Where in Britain are they from?"

"London."

"You're lucky. You're also lucky to have studied at a much better school than Blairmount."
"Do you know where Gilford is?" He seemed to be curious.

"No."

"Then, how can you assume that?"

"Any school is better than Blairmount."

"Come on. It can't be that bad. Gilford is a plain training school for the CIA." They reached the crossway. Raphael placed both of his hands on her shoulders. She bowed her head.

"I know what will make you feel better."

"Let's go get some food." He smiled, an inkling to his mischievous mind.

Colette was taken aback.

Maybe, he is a killer, and I've been gullible this whole time. I can't trust anyone. I know that I'll be the victim again.

Releasing herself, she burst out her thoughts, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

That was a dumb question to ask.

"No. It's not like that. The CIA uses other tactics. It's more psychological." Raphael said the truth.

"'Psychological?'" He could be doing some tactic or ancient voodoo on me right now.

She agreed in disrupted awe.

"Listen, I have to go. I have to help my-y-y... mother with something."

Raphael sensed her fear as she leered for some time alone. "I'm sorry. Let's hang out tomorrow." She made her way towards Blairmount.

"Colette!" His hoarse voice called after her.

"I have to go!" Colette rashly kissed the air.

Walking to the same train station, applying to the same ordinary jobs, Colette was settled. She needed to make more money to quit New York and perhaps even Raphael. Never did she do something on her own. He felt like a stranger in a tug-of-war. Everyone did. How can anyone really trust anyone?

Each person had a ravaging animal living inside of them. Meanwhile, Raphael had never displayed his instincts. He never exhibited a flaw. It was peculiar.

Colette thought about her mother on the train ride home, about the complaints that she would soon hear, staying out later than necessary in the city.

Her mother stirred a pot of stew, throwing carrots and potatoes into the mixture. She exhaled and sighed, talking to herself until Colette slammed the door shut. They mumbled a few words to each other. Colette's mother has been a lonely person, refusing to meet any bachelor since her father's death. She accepted her vulnerability by complying with her mind, surrendering to advance.

Chapter XI: Wishful Thinking

When the morning crept from the cracking of Mrs. Pink's footsteps, Colette's mother woke up first, acting unnaturally happy. She blocked the memories of the past for it was unfit for work, social events, and other tedious errands. Colette sometimes wished that she could magically erase her emotions as her mother could. Sorrow was somehow irreplaceable with work. Her mother would have argued otherwise.

To be happy, Colette required Raphael. Colette needed love, and love was free, requiring more effort than repulsion. The immense pressure that he had left in Colette's heart increased. Her endearment towards him increased. She wanted to learn more from him, and repressing her emotions was not the answer.

Date after date, the couple exposed themselves, revealing their hopes and fears and the lessons learned within such a short amount of years. Perpetuity stole its own essence, colliding with the night's stars, appreciating each and every indelible occasion without the determiners of rigidity of behavior. His goodness was real. She figured. They existed in harmony. Any faint hint of harm from Raphael was more inadequate than the detrimental factors of her own problems.

Relying on the anonymity of internet forums, she had been mistaken by her inclinations. Most governmental jobs corresponded with Raphael's explanations of the CIA. The country was not as bad as she had once believed it to be. The service, on the occasion, contributed to reason and empathy with the overall planet, a means of protection for safekeeping. It could have been worse.

Mrs. Nowa was indifferent to Colette's explanations about politics. The governments of all nations took her husband's life. Her mother exposed no sympathy or concern. Forgetting was more appropriate than chasing after the most powerful. Maybe, it was due to the naivety in her age, but Colette never forgot about the destructive and the wrong even in herself.

Throughout her dates, her mother had been fooled by every excuse that Colette presented, "I'm going to see a movie with Carla." Another, "My college is hosting a play for the end of the semester. I really want to see it." Colette often left the house into the city without saying a word, regaining her unspoken permission.

She had been lying for a month now with no vindication. The lies guilted her only because she did not have a job yet, still burdening her mother with her reluctance to worry.

Colette lied to her mother this afternoon, "I'm going for a drive to the park," a white lie. Her mother was so dismantled by her gardening. She mindlessly agreed. So, Raphael met her at Verdant Park, a 5-minute driveby from the house. No cars were driving on the roads on that Saturday morning. Colette rolled the car beneath the stoplight, hitting the break in the middle of the crosswalk.

What's wrong with me today?

She showed symptoms of caffeine withdrawal from the skipping of her daily dose. The famous YouTube blogger that Teresa so dearly loved, claimed coffee as a dependency. Colette was easily swayed by her family, and she limited her caffeine intake to experiment with the effects on herself. It wasn't going too well.

The light turned green. Someone honked aggressively behind her.

Colette wanted to scream in rebellion, lots of panics, not enough solving, alluding to deeper panics. She held her emotions back, thinking about her mother's words, "People are going to think you're sick, Colette. You can't scream like that." Her mother influenced her more than any other person in the world, instituting mercy.

Oblivious to her surroundings, Colette was startled by Raphael. He was knocking on her car's windshield.

"What's going on?! Get in!" Her voice was muffled, not even that old antenna could catch the signal. Three cars were beeping at her. Raphael jumped into the passenger seat, and they drove.

Something was different. His appearance was intact, with no extra freckles from the sun, no change in hair nor a change in weight, but a dullness conspired with his bare face, truly copying Colette's idiosyncrasies of diffidence and dissatisfactions.

"I thought that we were meeting in the park... Where did you come from?" She smiled unexpectedly.

"I just got off the train." He reassured her by pointing straight at the road.

Right, he doesn't have a car.

"That was perfect timing like a coincidence."

"Some things are not coincidences." He kissed her cheek. "I was already planning to see you today, silly."

"I guess so, but the whole perfect timing thing was on target. No?"

"There's a quote about what just happened here, 'Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.' Do you know who said that?"

"No." She said.

"Albert Einstein."

"Oh, I didn't know that he was religious."

"I don't either, only he could know."

"Alright, wise guy." Colette couldn't bring herself to curse around him. He seemed peculiarly silent throughout the short drive, a bit awkward between the two.

At the park, a few trees surrounded the field. There was more open space than a need for crops. Colette was the first one to get out of the car. As Raphael stepped outside, she kissed him on the cheek, refraining from her anxious demands of accusations.

If Raphael wants to tell me what's wrong, he can do it alone.

He swooped her hair behind her ear.

"I've missed you." He said, without looking into her eyes.

"It's only been a week." Colette crossed her arms, kicking the rocks on the ground.

"Colette, I feel like you're a part of me. I can't let go of you." He held her, softly and dearly; his and hers were most valuable. Whenever she saw him, Colette felt the warmth of the sun, during the summer and the storms of the sky, without him. He was her safe haven, her security.

"I feel the same." It was the first time in her life that she felt whole, purposeful, with answers to questions, with love to hatred. She didn't feel like another passenger anymore. She was human, equal to everyone, Colette.

Raphael moved around her. "Colette, Colette." He tattled.

They held hands while walking down the curved pathways, surrounded by fields, pointing at leaves and squirrels.

"By the way. I wanted to tell you in person, so I didn't tell you this over text. But, I got a job." Colette mentioned to him grinning with her lips.

"Really? That's great, Colette! You're amazing." He showed her his admiration and squeezed her hand.

"Thank you. I'm excited. I've never really worked in dealing with finances before. It's entry-level, but it's a change in scenery."

"Are you prepared?"

"What?" Colette said sharply.

"I wasn't prepared for my first job. I actually worked a couple of years in the banks, trades, and other businesses."

"How? You're like what twenty-four?"

She remembered his birthday, the baked cake, and the candle-lit dinner that she had made for him, convincing her mother to visit a friend for the night. Work didn't permit travel, so Raphael was unable to see his family during his celebration.

"About those jobs, I owe it all to my father. He sacrificed everything for me to grow. He worked hard to get to where he is today." Raphael paid his debts, revised his strategies, and respected his elders. Colette wished that she had the chance to be like him to reverse her childhood and her deliberate crying as a child. She hesitated. It was too late to change herself; her life was arbitrary, and her strategies were miscellaneous.

Passing the playing fields, they reached the body of water that Colette had always admired. Raphael grabbed some rocks and threw them into the streamline. Each rock dropped to the bottom of the water.

"Have you been praying?" He crouched on his feet for a smoother speed.

"Not really. I don't really have time for that. Why?" Colette asked as Raphael threw the rock with more power. He clapped his hands dry in the air, quickly standing up on the pavement.

"I think prayer is the best remedy to any problem, prayer or meditation to reflect different variables."

"Alright, Gandhi."

"I'm a Christian."
"Yeah, it's all fake."

Raphael laughed and said, "I don't know about that."

"Well, I don't want to be homeless, and I was busy, trying to find a job." She argued, lingering around the artificial pond while holding onto Raphael's hand.

"So, you have no time to pray."

"Hmmm."

He has a point. I should be more grateful. I haven't done anything remarkably correct.

"You're right. I feel powerless on any side." She eased into peer pressure so easily, a ditz.

"It's not your fault. It takes time to let go of everything, the partying or the drinking. It's not who you are. It's a trap. And, I know. You're getting out of it." Raphael patted her arm.

"But, everyone swindles around the rules." She argued. "Why can't I just do that? It's really hard to be whatever people admire as 'good' because I find out that no one is 'good.'" Annotating the word with her fingers, she handled the imbalance. "It would only be fair to live selfishly if everyone around me does it anyways."

"I don't." Raphael crossed his arms.

"Alright, that's enough." Colette pretended to push him into the water, teasing him. "You're right, though. Being selfish doesn't fix anything. Maybe what I've learned about faith is true. But, the whole organization is like any other..." She stopped and threw a rock. "They never solve anything. It's like a front."

"How do you know?" Raphael asked her.

"Well for starters, many pious women get raped in faithful conglomerates, and no one appears to help them." She said sarcastically.

"Colette. That's not real Christianity."

"Then, most men in the Church have and still gloat about themselves by making basic interpretations of the scripture! They're the ones who control and puppet everyone! They're the same as politicians!"

"And, what about the people who are in the church, who are extremely faithful, who give up their life for prayer, activism, and peace without any praise?" Raphael changed his tone, "You have a point. But, many people have done well, and they are not recognized for it, nor are they made into saints. People live meekly, not to show off their piety but to live a life for the sake of God, noticed or unnoticed."

"Then, why can't I bring myself to do that? What's the difference between them and me?" Colette maintained her composure.

"There are other things waiting for you. I love you, Colette. I want you to know how great you are, and you do deserve it." He took a step down. "With any relationship, it takes time to develop, only you know your relationship with God." Raphael looked at the grass on the hill. "Let's go over there."

On the high ground, they stood like statues, chatting about their families. Colette reverted to the argument.

"But, there are just so many faults and egocentric thoughts in the Church. Their history shows a whole list of evidence of immorality. They had a war over the expression of art. Art is meant to philosophize not galvanize." "Hey, that rhymed,'' she smiled. "I mean who cares about wars over icons and those nit-picky rules. I don't understand how they cared so much, trying to avoid the fact that they were just descendants of monkeys. You can say the same thing about abortion. Instead of changing the root of the problem of the poor, drug abuse, and the mentality of monetary gain, people throw shade at those poor women. Some spend their whole lives in ultimate shame; meanwhile, the same people who shame them go out exploiting workers, making millions to feel so high and mighty."

Raphael found more rocks to throw into the water.

"In the past, people took advantage of every opportunity given just like today. It was a battle for power and that was their form of money and control." He threw more rocks into the pond from the hill. "The Church had wars over every issue because it's human. They weren't a true image of Christ. Mankind has always been lustful, sinful, and guilty when proclaiming the truth. This is what still makes people stay awake at night as they fight for permanent retention. Then, once they start losing too much sleep at night, they become delirious from the wars. They start asking God for clarity than for mercy, only to learn that prayer had brought clarity, not their humanistic beast-like selves. Clarity is different for every individual but collectively identical." He closed his eyes. "It's the same problem today. With abortion, it's the same power gimmick. It can be solved if everyone behaved in a perfect world or a moral world with the notion of forgiveness. Although, we live in a sinful world, and there is plenty of evidence for that which you had just mentioned." He startled himself as if he had said too much.

"It's just hard to believe in religion with all of this going on, and the science backing up atheism."

He placed his hand to his face, "Most scientists are religious. The important ones always have been religious. It's just not as important to be religious in a system of fraud."

They were standing in the same spot for too long. Colette bent her knees to rest. Her phone rang. She ignored it, putting the volume on silent before Raphael could hear the alarming sound.

"If I told anyone what you just told me, no one would listen. If I said scientists were actually religious, like you just did, people would think that I'm wrong. They would only try to disprove me."

"Why?'

Colette thought about what she had said, and she couldn't comprise the correct words to express her emotions.

"I don't have the power to change anything." She said closer to the grass, as Raphael gazed at the lengths of the trees. "No one listens to me." She mumbled.

"I listen to you."
"I know." She stood from the ground.

"You need to believe that the majority of people are nice. And for the most part, they really are. People become kinder each day. If they weren't, the population would have been cut short from nuclear warfare, or there would have been no consistency of ethics in practice."

Colette's phone buzzed again. She turned it on airplane mode.

"There is no consistency of ethics, just look at people's lawsuits. The same arguments can be made, but whoever had the most cash or the prettiest face wins. But, yeah, I guess. I see what you mean." Colette faced the sky, "It's not that, though. People either give me too much credit for my femininity or the way I dress or how I look, but they never give me credit for my thoughts. And, it happens to every girl. I feel nothing."

"I hope that I do." He comforted her.

"Even when I discuss stuff about my father to some people, typically guys, they don't actually care. They just focus on my appearance or ignore me."

"Guys tend to run away from things."

"Oh, believe me. I know." Colette rolled her eyes. She stared at the alignment of the leaves that crawled out of the branches. Each stem had a direction, reaching towards her, and she still had the persistency to ask, "How did you become so religious?"

He gazed at her. "I try to hold onto the values necessary to become better by confiding in truth. I do believe in the Holy Scripture. But at the same time, it's a scary world. The translations can be off pitch, or it has been transformed into someone's liking. I spend my free time reading scriptures in Hebrew and the first translations in Greek..."

"And, I guess that's how you've learned so many languages by reading."

"It helps me grow closer to God."

Colette placed a hand on his arm, checking for a pulse. She couldn't find it, and she blamed herself. A breeze swayed through the top of the hill on that humid summer day.

"As I said before, I just don't think that love is real. I think that people say it to make people feel happy most of the time, and the whole 'love your neighbor' is the biggest lie in town. People don't help people out of love, but due to the fear of hell or to make themselves feel worthy." Her restraint popped like a balloon. "I don't know where to begin."

"You can start now. You were tricked by everyone and everything until this very moment."

Colette still wanted to cling onto the familiarity of what was comfortable, the dark matter of the universe. But, she needed someone to hold her hand as well. Her stomach made a small noise. She had been repressing her hunger, immersed in her thoughts. Sometimes, she didn't feel worthy of eating, as if she were gaining too much from the food supply, convincing herself that she didn't have the right to obtain meat, dairy, or anything of that nature. Eating was an obstacle. Colette announced her hunger to Raphael, seeking confirmation.

"Let's go get a slice of pizza," Raphael stated.

A few dollars spent won't hurt.

Colette drove the rusty car to the pizza shop near the ocean's water. Raphael poked fun at her driving, making a few jokes as Colette abruptly stopped at each red light.

"I've been driving for less than a year. And if you keep making fun of me, I won't take you to the beach." Colette held up her index finger like a teacher.

"Ok, my sincere apologies, Colette. You are the best driver in the world." He kissed her cheek.

Granny's was a diner-style pizza shop, lined with the classic red and white checkered tablecloths. Colette ordered a slice for herself and took a seat by the window with no expectations, guiding Raphael to do the same.

Plenty of stereotypes had been made against her mother, alluding to dating men for the sake of money. As a result, her mother remained a widow. Colette had a need to rebuke any offers and gestures towards payment. In the repertoire of the Church, marrying after the death of a spouse was acceptable, but for Mrs. Nowa, it was not. Acquaintances had degraded her mother, excluding her in conversational gossip. Her mother had always been a saint to others, and only in return, she acknowledged jealousy and desperation. So, her mother stopped dating because she was thoroughly expanded as guilty.

The table by the windows was their favorite spot, seclusion from the indoors and outdoors. Somehow, the surrounders continued to stare at Colette, scrutinizing her then scowling when she noticed their disruption.

"I can't believe that I got this job, though. I thought that I was going to live with my mother for the rest of my life." She placed her hair closer to her eyes, covering her face. Sometimes, she wished to cover her whole body, to disappear. Although, covering one's body did not erase an identity.

The ricotta cheese melted in her mouth, burning her tongue too soon. She had no water to drink.

"What is the job exactly?" He asked, watching her happily eat the pizza near him. He took a slight bite into his slice of pasteurized cheese.

"It's something in the admin. The title is Finance and Administrative Assistant." She chewed her food, covering her hand with her mouth.

"Depending on the assignments, you could be doing paperwork, tax collisions, and generative work."

Colette laughed. "More like degenerative work."

"Who knows? Maybe, you will learn to love it."

"Why do I have to learn to love something? Love should be naturally given not learned." She pointed her finger at him.

Raphael leaned back in his chair, escalating the momentum.

"Some need to learn how to love."

"You can say that again. It's why we regress, instead of progress in all of that talk about ethics. It's so rare to experience love. People have terrible relationships with their families, the one place where you're supposed to receive love."

"And, why is that?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe, religion is needed. You see, if there are no representations of goodness, no foundations, then people will always be lost, committing horrible crimes, regardless of a conscience, training themselves to believe it as right instead of wrong." Raphael took a bite of his pizza.

The hairs on her arm pointed up to the cracked ceiling.

He swallowed and continued, "Love can be learned, or it can come by naturally. Love is love. It doesn't matter how it appears, but the fact, that its purity exists."

"Do you think that religion will ever be genuinely practiced?" Colette wanted to attack his fixation on goodness.

"That's up to you and me to decide too. It's a ripple effect. Doing good actions results in more good actions. Small changes create bigger changes. It depends on the person."

Colette finished her slice of cheese. "Yeah, you definitely need the most morals out of the both of us." She twisted her hair with her fingers. Raphael tangled the top of her head, shaking her hair. The messy hair suited her.

"My point is proven." She laughed in exhaustion.

"Do you want to go to the beach?" He said sternly.

He's too confrontational, sometimes.

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir." She threw out her plate outside, and they walked a few blocks to the boardwalk, leaving the car on the plaza's curb.

Raphael was in his gloomy mood again. Colette was annoyed. He was holding his thoughts to himself. There were plenty of people on the boardwalk in bikinis, swim trunks, and dresses. Some were meditating, working out, and some were tanning and smoking cigarettes. The sunset did not stop people from enjoying nature's gifts, which Raphael called, God's gifts.

"Let's have that race again." He carried a devious look.

"Ok, re-" Before Colette could finish her words, Raphael ran forward, skipping over a pile of bags and almost tripping into a baby. Colette tried to run, but it was too late. Once he had touched the benches, she walked heavily towards the targeted finish line. Colette reprimanded Raphael.

"Way to use my strategy." She placed her hands on her hips.

"Way to lose, Colette the roulette." He said.

Colette's head had been shaking, a tremor from that foreign June. She needed to sit down. The planet was spinning too fast. Gravity didn't help her. The sand had been shuffling. She didn't know if it was the wind or her own mind, creating these images. She peered under the ledge of the boardwalk. Her mother called her again. There were 12 missed calls on her phone.

What could she possibly want?

She ignored her, spending her life with Raphael was more valuable than answering her mother's fugitive needs.

"Was your mother calling?" He asked somberly in contemplation.

Colette was hostile. "It's nothing. What's on your mind? You seem like you've been ignoring something this whole day. You get into these weird moods where you can't even look at me in the eye." She was direct, and she waited for his response.

"I'm sorry. I've been meaning to tell you this lightly." Raphael held Colette's hand, and they sat down on the bench. All of the benches were memorials for the town's donors, recognizing the departed, who wanted a better community, a better life.

"Are you keeping any more secrets from me?" Her voice cracked in sadness.

"I may not be in New York forever. I don't want to scare you about my job." He coupled her hands.

"Well, neither am I. What do you mean?" She was upset. It was nothing new to her.

"There may be a day when I won't be here. Some people don't come back when they're called on duty. I might have to live somewhere else for most of my life. It can be anywhere. I can be stationed anywhere at any time." He looked into her eyes, keeping his palms around her hands. "I can't tell you when or where, but I think that you will understand why. When I am gone, remember how happy you are because you deserve it, and remember that you are loved by me."

Colette didn't cry. She was in disbelief.

"I love you, and I'll try my best to stay. I didn't want you to find out too soon." He said as she lingered on him.

"I love you too, Raphael. You have nothing to worry about. I already knew that this could happen."

"I wanted to tell you from my perspective." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "You mean everything to me. You've made me so happy."

Colette rested her head on his shoulders. "Now, I get why people marry so fast." They continued chatting about the depths of the oceans and the sizes of the suns, escorted by the invisible fear of uncertainty, what an amazing fear.

Chapter XII: Grim

The following week, Colette had received her diploma in the mail. No fancy rewards were given on the oiled paper, a quid pro quo. Funny, how graduating college wasn't as celebratory or valuable as a high school diploma: Colette had thought. More promising were the words, "Who do you want to be?" than "Where do you work?" An exploration for the soul or a purpose was progressively dying. Colette, though, was logical. Only death could kill her.

High school graduation had been more promising, more optimistic to her discovery. While, now, all was against her, bills disrupted her exhaustion to live, to work, to survive. Colette didn't want to become like her mother, a slave to everyone. She told herself that a job can be temporary.

Lately, Mrs. Nowa was complaining about her back so often that Colette concluded that medications were unnecessary. The cause of her pain was stress, Colette explained. Her mother had always been manipulated, but she was too clueless to notice, too nice to care. Mrs. Nowa dismissed Colette's predicaments.

A morning rivalry after another, Colette dissolved to smoke a cigarette. In the car, she lit one closer to her mouth, puffing the harsh fumes into her lungs. She knew that it was wrong, but she also knew that the people who stated it as wrong never cared for her. Instead of helping the person through the widths of understanding life's pain, they pulled them closer to the ground, spitting in their faces, believing that their atrocities caused a failed system, a system that could never be efficient because of a lack of love. Sometimes, Colette took the blame as no one lifted her up to realize it or to realize her own tragedies. And, if she told anyone she was the suspect, she would receive consequences that suspects had received, hatred. Licking her wounds was prohibited. It was all gone. She reminisced about a party in high school with Anna, when they were dancing, a step closer to the devil in secrecy, the knowledge of good and bad. Anyone can argue anything to cause the best kind of selfishness, just look at the ethics of law. To forgive was immoral, and to lie was superb. Judging someone for smoking a cigarette was honest while changing society's despair was radically humorous darling. Innocence was key.

Colette shut the door of the car.

The train carried typical men in its seats. Most men glanced at Colette for a second, like with any woman aboard. This did not interest her. It scared her. Whenever strangers made a glance, flaws and demonstratives were detected from her life. Fame wasn't an option that she desired. It was respect, an equal plateau.

One particular passenger was reading his newspaper, disapproving each body on the train. His presence was opulently predisposed as superior through politics, absolved in the papers and assignments, that changed nothing for the better. In which, this notion was considered fair. It was fair for others to stumble onto the ground to kiss his feet. His demise for the appearance of vulnerability was objectively fair for interpretation through the works of art, his art, the horrible awful presence of having everything. Everything was his. His beliefs dominated the world. His appearance was what a man wished to be. The world was his.

Though, this had pained her. When entering this ponderance, Colette ranked her goals above his because her advantages were superior to his. Though, it didn't matter because his frown exhibited his own frustrations, a loss for a reason, a desire for satisfaction which he could not find for he was fined to justify crimes through the ethics of greed. Fairness was incomprehensible.

Looking around, it was all the same. When she rested her head on the back of the seat's chair, she closed her eyes, thinking about certain clients who have tempered her. The strangers spoke in a language so cold, it mutated her. She dove into his belief in superiority.

Colette pictured the Flatiron Building, where she had been working under an accountant, handling his clients' finances. The feeling was powerful to be selected in the culture and status of New York. At first, she hadn't realized that she had little control. She was on level one all over again, a new strategy in the game, a kindergarten for spayed dogs, except emotions were robotic. There she was, blocking out those same feelings that her mother had, pain. It was time for an abortion, a pill to destroy all costs of existence. No, it was time to return to childhood, to a religion, to something worthy. Her boss had asked her three days into the job, "Do you believe in heaven?" "I don't know." She replied, not wanting to be persecuted by rumors or the developmental disorders of heinous acts. "I am going to die soon." He had mentioned in a blank stare.

All of these feelings were blocked to alter her own identity. Taking demands from every person was the option to rise from the bottom, a concept taught from an early age. Even though she didn't receive any proper care, she was thrown into the abyss of an unknown repertoire of consumerism that she had never even understood the actual point as to why anyone would ever care for so much relentless evil, greed. So many people had died for the sake of freedom, as so many people pointed out the flaws in that freedom, freedom physically unattainable due to the horrifics of every single person on this Earth; it was all dead. She was dead. She was shot. It was all destroyed. Killing was the only answer to get what people wanted, the state of nothing.

Her boss, Frank Multon, stood behind her as she used the company's computer. Colette stood up with a smile. "I am just working on that Excel sheet."

"You're still working on that?" He said, pushing her to complete tasks more efficiently like a swine.

Her smile dropped. "Yes." There was a pause. Frank squinted at the computer screen. The wrinkles on his face were covered by his body's plumpness.

"No one told me exactly what to do." She provided a reason.

"Oh, why don't you just ask, Colette?" He argued with a calm tone.

I don't want to be a distraction. I don't feel comfortable next to anyone because they don't actually know me, so they don't like me. They don't care about me. They don't care if I will be happy.

"I'm sorry." She said, waiting for him to leave, repeating the phrase each morning.

He sighed, shrugging, as he stepped back into his silver office, making her feel uncomfortable, a contest to appease. Colette viewed old people like him as a grandparent even though he was just another stranger. Older people tended to be nicer, and Frank revealed it discreetly. Professionalism required secrecy. Anything required secrecy to receive no judgment. If empathy was shown, ferocious wrath could dwindle in jealousy.

She stared at the computer screen, trying to figure which numbers were missing, but she was in distress from a lack of honor. Colette left to the bathroom, another action that she thought was wrong because everyone was glued to their seats. Her body was shaking. She began thinking of all of her own wrongdoings, not paying attention to work, partying, lying, her guilt increasing like a movement in a symphony. She needed to confess to someone who deeply cared, to someone who would love her, to someone who understood her, to someone like Christ, not this monstrous world. She had been so wrong. Her fraught twisted her into the realms of Christian rule, her mother's morals. Her life of greed was unnecessary. The one thing that she had avoided was the most important thing in the world, her religion. Her shame prohibited her to think any further.

The girl in the next stall was crying, a lawyer's assistant. Colette didn't know his name, but his face depicted more evil than anyone from her office. Though, Colette told herself not to make judgments. They were strangers.

How do I get out of this place?

She missed Raphael. Someone who can understand purpose and gratitude. Someone who wasn't dead, someone who exemplified justice, someone who was a good Christian.

Walking quickly with avoidance, Colette returned to her desk. Frank phoned her. "Cole, please come into my office."

She knew that this was a power move to amend things as right; and, she took note of this, analyzing her own feelings. She accepted it. If she were someone else, she would be able to leave the first day.

"Do you want ice cream?" He was sympathetic.

Weird.

"For you and Samantha." He attempted to determine her eyes.

"Sure." She nodded.

He's trying to bribe me like a toddler. No, I'm overthinking it. He's just being nice.

"Take my card. Go to the ice cream store on the first floor and get a tub of ice cream."

"What kind of ice cream?"

"Chocolate. Or uh, ask Sammy." He stopped looking at Colette, annoyed to answer questions of preference.

Samantha answered "Chocolate." She had been listening to music, typing data into the keyboard with her short fingers. Samantha was short too, exhorting a boldness to her personality. Colette once spied on her computer screen, as she opened a tab of online tarot cards. Whether the cards were falsely impractical, Colette convinced herself that no harm can occur from the interpretation of omens because Sammy was a diligent, productive worker. Frank gave her the verdict. This did not help. Colette consequently endured more sadness and contempt through the knowledge of surveillance, that she could not escape with Raphael.

Colette overheard Brittany Locatelli, a suburban mom who implanted hair and eyelash extensions, complaining about Colette's lack of knowledge of the computer programs. No one had ever inquired Colette about her skills. She had been hired by Frank in desperate need of organization. He had never asked the office's rag doll for advice. Each person was egotistically absorbed as an advocate for themselves in the rat race until it became a pig race.

This was normal. The pay was good. Everything was normal. There was no room for arguments, at least not for a girl with Eastern roots. And, you may be wondering. Stop complaining. All you do is complain and make Colette seem to like her life is so terrible because she has to work like every other person. Whose fault is that hers or yours? Who started the movement of working for the cost of a buck to obliterate small people to make their souls more worthy than others than to only realize that their souls are incurable because people have picked and chosen which people shall be connected, despising their enemies who are just the same as themselves.

Submitting to the politics of the office, Colette convinced herself that she wasn't the monster. Work was assigned, and she completed it, eventually faster, mulled like a dark horse from the leftovers of her coworkers' assignments.

When Colette returned with the ice cream tub, showing her pass on the elevator of the tall building, the security guards smiled, nodding to her corporate attire. She wondered how they would have reacted if she were homeless. Colette framed the thought of her business plans in the back of her mind, analyzing various situations to create more sensible products from recycled products, eventually alluding to mass production of distorting plastic into books, vehicle components, despite the overturns. With younger voices rising, it could be possible, except for the sons and daughters who were resentful for change.

Entering the elevator, a familiar woman was aligned, checking her watch, reminding Colette of the work that had to be done, the finances for the tycoons. She didn't know. She assumed.

The woman analyzed Colette, stating "Busy day, huh."

"Yeah, I know," Colette said.

The woman worked with the lawyers on the floor, an unknown department for Colette.

"How's your boss Frank?"

"He's alright. You know, a boss like any other boss." Colette smirked.

"He's not as good as you think he is."

I knew it.

"What did he do?" Colette inquired with energy.

"I can't really tell you. I have to run to a meeting soon."

There's so much envy and drama. Everyone always has something nasty to say. Maybe, he's not even that bad of a guy. He's just a regular person.

"Good luck," she yelled as the woman exited onto one of the lower floors.

For the rest of the working hours, Frank phoned Colette, assigning minuscule tasks, emailing, writing letters, updating, and organizing the office. "Well, why are you standing here?" He yakked, expecting results from a well-formatted peace treaty, a dish of ice cream.

The windows of his office gleamed with the tall skyscrapers, a different society. Colette recognized that she was a servant for their society. She was a subhuman in its brutality, waiting for freedom by working for a number of years. However, she defended Frank for he was familiar with her nationality, having more respect towards her identity for he had to lose it, brainwashed to make money. It wasn't Frank's fault nor was it anyone else's. It was just the egotistical ugly opinion of New York, home of the gangs and bandits seeking revenge through greed, a fallen paradise.

Was it worth it to be like Frank? To have everything except a family, a perfect office view, enough space. Yet, this kind of money could buy a private castle. What's the big deal of New York? It's a panorama of false advertisement.

Hard work resulted in success. She convinced herself to continue working, not realizing that she was wasting her prime hours responding to the duties of a corporate environment where everyone avenged themselves like cannibals. Then, she thanked God for never having any physical harm done to her, the bare minimum of humanity's goodness.

Each person's range of successes turned astute. Everyone was stuck in the same place. Judgments on the impoverished were made by those who were sick to disguise their own collapsing atrocities. The pons protected the stationary king. Though the king was attacked by all of the pieces in the game, for the pon was viewed as weak.

Deceiving herself to work harder, Colette remained in the office until her boss instructed her to leave. Independence was innate. When it's disrupted, all come across fear.

Teresa phoned Colette. This was Colette's cue to leave for the day.

"Colette?" Her voice was uncanny.

"Hi, Teresa. I just got out of work."

"Good, because we're hanging out today." She announced, with energy, free with emotion.

I really need some sleep.

"Oh, I don't know if I can. You know my mom." Colette uttered.

"I spoke with her, and she actually said to check up on you. I was in the city for a med school meeting. And, I double ok'd it."

There was a pause.

"Did you come to my office?"

"I actually am in... um... Uptown."

"Can you come up here?"
"I don't really know how."

"You can take the train." Colette realized that she was being harsh. "Ok, I'll just meet you there. Text me your address." She said in a lighter note.

"Yeah, totally because I was about to say that. It would be really so much easier if you went here. It would be better." She stressed that last word, which Colette despised, especially now when she was indeed dramatically annoyed.

It would be the same distance.

"No worries. I'll be there."

She wondered if her father had been annoyed with everyone's orders, was this the reason that he had left the planet. It was unintentional, but what if his death was intentional and saving the people was just an excuse. She stopped herself from thinking about these bad thoughts. Good thoughts often left her too quickly.

So, she left for the train, wondering how and why she had previously wanted this job so badly, thinking that she would be able to leave when she never could, waiting for a different day.

She looked at death differently. It didn't seem as scary, though for what it's worth, hell would have had more horrors than Earth. Her face was weary, sick, skinned with failure and high expectations. Hell avoided her entrance. She was supposed to suffer on land to redeem herself. She was scared, scared that one day her back would be bare with the leftovers of a dumpster, what stood her apart from them. Only numbers were worth more than bodies.

The people on the train were visibly tired. Most of them were affluent. Uptown was very charismatic and foolproof. There Teresa stood waiting for Colette at the corner of the Metropolitan Museum and the train.

"Colette." She waved.

Colette hugged her first.

"Let's go to find a place to eat."

"You haven't found one?" Colette squinted.

"No. I've just been so busy with this meeting today. I had to get a latte. I've been so tired."

"Try working all day."

"It is work, Colette." She was snotty.

Colette picked up her phone, looking for a good meal without overpriced mediocre fast food.

"I found a taco restaurant. Do you want to go there?"

"I'm not really in the mood for tacos." She frowned.

"What are you in the mood for?" Colette asked, longing to sit.

"I don't know."

"Ok, what about Italian?"

"Yeah, let's do Italian." Teresa flipped her curled hair.

They walked a few blocks over to the center of the city, right above Times Square and under Central Park. Colette orientated Teresa, and they arrived at the candle-lit brick restaurant.

"I can't understand how you can work in such a noisy city."

"I know. I like it, though. It sort of feels different."

They waited outside, as a group of workers chatted, looking for a good happy hour.

"I kind of always wanted to learn about investments and open my own company."

Teresa started to realize that Colette was using one of her serious tones.

"You're always too serious or too goofy, Colette. I mean maybe you can run your boss' company, one day with practice."

God, I hate Teresa.

"Yeah, but this job just doesn't offer that kind of knowledge. It's kind of depressing."

Teresa ignored her like any person. No one wants to talk about deeper topics. Therapy exists in this society. Friends and family are advocates for more reasonable topics like work, relationships, and politics. The drastic sense of living was unreasonable to discuss. Colette was unhappy with this understanding. She looked at the time, 7:08, an even number, meaning "no." No, she was not bitter. She couldn't keep up with Teresa. Competition prevented her from growing because the competition itself was despicable.

A lady guided them to sit in the back of the restaurant. Colette realized that she was able to treat herself to a restaurant, but didn't take the expenses into consideration.

They ordered their food, pasta with tomato sauce. The meals were appealing and delicate.

"So, what firm do you work for?" Teresa asked.

"It's called Leonard's and Co." Frank Leonard's family owned the faculty.

"Never heard of it. I thought you worked for The Bank of New York or something." She took a sip of the wine that she had ordered. Colette had already finished her glass.

Why am I even here?

Colette's conscience told her not to worry.

"Yeah, it's a family company. My boss and I get along fine, though." She lifted her chin.

Teresa was waiting for Colette to question the details about her meeting. Colette noticed, and she did.

"So, what was the meeting about?"

"It was so fascinating. We were talking about the evolution of stem cells and the properties that were engaged in mixing these cells in dishes. So basically, properties are like chemicals."

"Yeah, I can infer what properties are Teresa." Colette was tired of her obnoxious persona.

Teresa stopped talking. There was a silence, and Teresa was visibly disinterested and upset.

"Can you keep telling me the stuff about the research, please?" Colette said, trying to remedy her own pain.

"What happened to you, Colette? You know most of us think that you're really unhealthy, especially with what you did with Anna, partying, drinking, and smoking. Do you still do that?"

"You do the same exact thing. What are you even talking about?" Colette screamed, threatening to curse at her until she stopped herself.

"I don't know. I'm just in a bad place right now."

"You should really see a therapist."

Colette was silent. If Colette would have said therapy was like a paid friendship, that if the family could only help each other, Teresa would have asked how much money she needed because that was her problem, a lack of money. Colette believed. It was sickening, an infectious disease. Even to experience empathy, one had to pay for it. She was imperialized. No one cared about her pain as Raphael did. If Teresa knew what empathy was, if she didn't take advantage of Colette's forgiving of her belittlement, perhaps, Colette would have been patiently happier.

She changed the topic, "I'm seeing someone, not a therapist." She laughed to herself. "A boy."

Like magic, Teresa forgot about her diagnosis, visiting the shrinks, and her eyes opened wider than Colette had ever seen. They were wider than the eyes that she had displayed during her childhood. She did care about Colette's well-being, but she didn't want to help her pitch. No one did because if her pitch worked it would be unruly in their favor, admitting fault.

"Who is he?" Teresa exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her seat.

"It's a long story."

"So, tell me."

"We met in the park, and now we have been dating for almost a year."

"What's his name? Show me a picture of him. Come on."

"I can't really tell you."

"Are you mentally ok, Colette? Why can't you tell me?"

Am I mentally ok? Colette second-guessed herself for every action was vindicated as wrong.

"Just tell me," Teresa said, irritating her, questioning her lifestyle like an older sister though she was a cousin.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Colette left her seat, sneaking out through the back door. She lied to Teresa to leave. Leaving was better than offering empty hands.

Teresa texted her, "You can't be serious. What's wrong with you?" She sent money to Teresa on her phone, writing off more than enough for the meal, knowing that money can't change feelings, neither can a stranger, a therapist, another idea that had been warped for luxury.

Chapter XIII: Family Comes First

"Apologize to Teresa."

Colette groaned, "Huh?"

"Remember to apologize to Teresa. You were rude to her last night." Her mother uncovered her feet. "What are you doing laying in bed? Get up." She was angry.

Colette peered through one of her eyes. The white ceiling in her bedroom appeared stationary. Hoping to relocate to a new room with new furnishings, she wanted to revert back to her dream. Sniffing Earl Grey tea with a fluffy white dog, beautiful opulency only existed in dreams.

She raised her arms in the air, stretching her bones' lengths. "I just woke up." Colette ignored her mother's request, combing her hair, putting on a jumper over her shirt.

"I know. You think that I didn't just wake up to deal with you."

"What are you talking about?" Colette was confused, tired of the demands, closer to giving up rather than moving forward.

"Call Teresa, and tell her that you are sorry for ditching her. Do you know how embarrassing that is for me? For Fiona to call me about this mess? Teresa had to pay for everything herself!"

Colette didn't know which statement to attack. It was an overload of hypocrisy and attention-seeking madness. "I actually paid her back." She mentioned.

"Don't you think leaving someone in a restaurant is rude? Are you not ashamed of yourself? It's definitely not normal." Her mother sighed, tidying Colette's room. Piles of notes, pencils, and pens were laying on top of each other in an order that Colette preferred. Her mother rearranged the items.

"Stop touching my things! Stop!" Colette yelled with riddance.

"I do everything in this house! Why don't you clan the dust?"

"Just leave it alone." She lowered her voice. "I'll call Teresa."

She dialed her cousin's number on her phone. There was no answer. "No answer," Colette affirmed, but the phone rang right after the declined call.

"Hello," Colette said. Teresa was silent, adorned in her own apartment with her boyfriend.

"Hello, are you there?" She repeated herself.

"Sorry, I had to turn off the TV." Teresa was passive-aggressive.

"No, I'm sorry for... leaving you at the restaurant. It was my mistake. I got really upset."

"Colette, I was only asking about your boyfriend's information, like I'm your cousin. We're family." Colette listened to Teresa's fluctuating tones, how she had an influence over her because her parents never made her experience burden. Her parents had never excruciated a dollar to be lacking need. Her parents gave her everything, without worrisome frantics of spending money or copiously saving money just to buy a piece of bread and coffee at the market.

"Raphael. That's his name. He works in an office by Midtown." Her mother was eavesdropping on the conversation, which Colette had typically sensed from her.

"I'm sorry Teresa. Please I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it's fine. I don't even care." Her nonchalance vindicated Colette.

Then, how did my mother find out about your complaints, the complaints that make me look like a freak?

The conversation finalized itself with two simultaneous good-byes. Colette believed that something was intrusively wrong with her, mutating herself. She needed to yell, to cause distress, to pour paint on a canvas, but a large canvas was too much in price, making the paint too disgusting to touch, even without the turmoil of consent.

For if those dollars were spent, she would experience hunger and a lessening of the self in starvation. It was her greatest fear, starvation of the people; yet, fears portrayed the existence of poverty throughout humanity, the smug look of a liability.

Colette could not change these things. She was indeed more emotional in this range of subjects than the average folks. Though it caused her more anger than sadness, she handled her anger better than most men through thoughts even if her thoughts took advantage of her.

Thus became the world, bleak like a storm in a hurricane, two negatives became a positive, which she had to respect. Unless it was her mother, her mother was akin to her daughter. When one negative strikes, another was too ferocious.

Her mother opened the door to the room, a few minutes after the phone call, attempting to enclose the least suspicion possible of eavesdropping.

"Colette, from what Teresa's mother had told me, have you been dating someone new?" She tilted her head.

"Yeah, I found someone new," Colette said. Her mother feigned an indifference towards her daughter's response, thinking of Colette's father, Luka Nowa, a good man taken away from the wonders of the world, sin upon sin, a man who followed the orders of basic humanitarianism, saving innocent lives, for the sake of God, not the military, not the government, not man's will.

Her mother closed her eyes. "I never understood it, how a man can leave so easily and hurt someone so wrongfully. Your father left when I told him not to leave." Tears carried her eyes forward. "I told him not to leave, and he became a special agent. He decided to leave. It's my fault that I didn't stop him." Teresa's unbefitting guilt suppressed her into a short reminiscing of what could be.

"It's no one's fault. It's the fault of the person who made the first crime. It's the fault of mankind. America was defending an ethnic group of people to show the consequences of the massacres in evil. I don't know if it always works. But, it's the world that we live in. He was a great agent. He saved everyone capable. He saved everyone for the sake of freedom for the sake of being a true role model for any country." Colette felt uncomfortable as if her happiness caused her mother's misery.

"It's true. You're very smart Colette." Mrs. Nowa wiped her eyes with a tissue. Her daughter held onto her mother for very long. One day the roles will reverse, Mrs. Nowa will age, and Colette will carry her mother like an infant with open arms.

Disparaging the cast of sin, the aching reality was what human nature possessed, a considered man sacrificed himself for unconsidered fathers. The existence of souls didn't matter, only the existence of their flesh to be galvanized into treacherous prisoners, blamed for every single action caused by other prisoners, hunters, spies, aristocrats, godless penniless businessmen, alcoholic fathers, and desperate spokesmen, the victims of sin. They were all the same.

No, they were also not all the same. When the prisoners were galvanized, they did not receive a dollar for a dollar was only requitable for countrymen, who had sacrificed the meaning of freedom by sacrificing freedom without peace. Losing freedom justified more peace and benevolence than the writing of good deeds from the powerful, losing all credibility of the past's mortal jealousy, presenting themselves as weak with a decree of surrender until the feathering of prolific sentences had begun, subjecting enemies to futile agents, switching sides once again for the sake of a countryman's dollar.

How can God even exist for allowing everything to happen? For allowing every single wrong to happen? To allow people to get hurt every day? Colette avenged God, the cause of life was to suffer, to suffer as Christ had suffered, to suffer and to receive nothing in return, whereas others screamed, "power" in God's name to receive the most status, idolizing those same goods as gods. Colette did not look at herself introspectively. She critiqued all as if she were in power. Forgiveness was unforgivable, and bandits were seemingly becoming more and more forgivable than the charmers of diplomacy. For at least the bandits only stole what was physical, while those in the money stole a forging of love. To Colette, all were bandits and tycoons.

The jealousy of mankind befell their anticipated plague. Thoughts of karma alluded to Colette. She justified her lack of production at work with the anger of the world. She justified her anger with the wrongs of others. To look at one's self was a step that she was not ready to take.

Her mother postured herself, forgetting about the topic of Colette's father, trained to indulge in the satisfaction of the savory treats on the table.

"All I know is that God is good, and your mother is never wrong." She pointed at Colette.
Breathing heavily, Colette said, "Do you want some tea?"

The golden shade of yellow hit her mother's cheek with all of the Earth's beauty. Colette then realized it was unhealthy to reminisce about the past for any longer.

Chapter XIV: Heaven on Earth

The sky was falling down whenever she was alone. A fugitive in her room, Colette stared outside her window while lying in bed. She scrolled through images on her phone, advertisements of women in bathing suits holding flowers and boxes of chocolate staring at the sea. The only attribute that Colette dignified to herself was envy.

Or, there was a choice to make - either to advertise herself in becoming happier or to run into what she had always wanted, whether it be from her problems or her accomplishments, taking full responsibility for every action, indebting herself from the world, working jobs at sundae stores and glancing at art shops with the audacity of being happy. The choices were unlimited, but her mother restrained her as a foolish girl without the money for a living.

I'll be happier when I'm retired maybe.

Colette sighed. Where was she to sleep? Where was she to eat?

Raphael called her in an eruption of optimism. She picked up the phone. She picked it up with such glee, laughing at herself for her silly thoughts, a frantic glee of recurring dreams. He hung up the phone. Finally, he arrived with a present from above, his convincement. They had bought tickets to London. Traveling to worlds of royalty feigning its pageants and blairs with eavesdropping smiles and pretty flowers. It was a city like New York. It was a city of the origin of what New York had become, an industrialized playground for the wealthy. It was all that people had wanted through the suffering of becoming a man and a woman, the world of predestination in birth. Every place tried to define those roles. The roles in the plays of life were followed more intensely in London. Colette had abandoned all of the scripts that were presented, finding only whom she needed, Raphael and the resembles of nature in pieces. It was a warzone.

During their escapade to London in the park, Raphael and Colette discussed the time that they had left together. "Eventually, I must go home." He reminded her. "And, you too will have to go home or find a job here."

"We can go to your home together." Her bright smile made Raphael cheerful, knowing that she believed in the goodness of a heart.

"Some things may confuse you, Colette. No one knows everything." Raphael held onto her hand. His comfort buried her thoughts of selfishness. For the first time, she relied on herself, and she was happy. All the work in her life, all of the stresses of other people's work did not matter for she was happy.

Her mother was left alone in a distraught. They had spoken on the phone, and she had accepted her daughter's traveling with misunderstanding, stating that she could lose her job. Colette wanted those risks. She wanted to lose everything to learn how to give and receive. Running away from her problems had never felt more exhilarating than today.

A peculiar student in Hyde Park observed Colette. He seemed to study the sciences based on his appearance of glasses and lack of correlation in his dress. The older student studied her behavior and her psychosis as he was trained to do in an English-speaking society filled with words to describe every phobia and every syndrome than to simply say "I feel worried." He walked up to her, thinking that she was lonely. Colette had always been beautiful, and people assumed that she needed more compliments to feed the image on her face instead of purpose. The studious man began a conversation with her.

"Who are you speaking to?" He inquired. Raphael had gone to the restroom, and Colette was waiting for him as she sat on the park's bench, their hobby in talking.

"I was just speaking to a close friend of mine." She smiled politely.

The student took a woman's kindness as a form of sagittary interest. "Where is that friend of yours?"

He is bizarre. But, maybe, he's one of Raphael's brothers, that he had mentioned.

"I think that he's using the restroom." She laughed sweetly in confusion. "Are you Raphael's brother?"

Now, the student could have been honest, but he decided to test her wickedness for she was immensely gullible.

"Yes, I am Raphael's brother." He said, and Colette believed his word, trusting in the face of goodness. "My name is Lewis."

"I'm Colette." She said, offering her hand to shake.

"Would you mind having tea at my home?" He pursued his sick joke of deluding the innocent as psychotic, a common task among the unfaithful.

"Can you tell Raphael that we will go to your house?" She asked. He thought of her as mad, but she was so charming in her appearance that he couldn't let go of her. With honesty, the student reasoned that Colette needed his help that her mind was in a conundrum rather than his own selfish desires.

"Yes, I sent him an SMS." He raised his cell phone as an abidance to his word, lying and thinking of Colette as stupid, wanting to understand his own perverse nature by claiming Colette as an idiot for trusting him.

Then, he realized the power that he held, and he had sorrow for Colette, thinking that she needed his psychological evaluation of his reverted thoughts of perfection, sin. Lewis was imperfect, and he was unable to admit it. He reasoned lust with science, and he reasoned science with atheism as Colette once did.

Since Lewis called himself Raphael's brother, Colette followed him to his house.

Meeting his parents for dinner, Colette sat down near Raphael's brother. She noticed that Lewis was different from Raphael for a brother. Lewis wore glasses and kept an unshaven beard across his chin. He portrayed a look that seemed like every girl wished to be seen with him, a common look among affluent men until they realized that they were no one without a good woman, and to have a good woman resulted in ethical leadership.

Lewis and Colette walked to the center of London to a brick building. The bricks were darker than the red bricks of her house in New York. She thought of her mother. Her heart sank into her stomach. She compared her life to his, thinking that Raphael and his family deserved to live in these buildings and that she was undeserving for she was a sinner. It could have been that people made her believe that she was a conceited sinner, a poor girl, and a stupid ditz, without laying a judgment on themselves.

She trusted Lewis, thinking that Raphael will appear for tea while feeling guilty for abandoning him at the park.

"Do you think that Raphael will be worried that I left him in the park?"

Lewis pressed an eighteen-digit pin into his house. He thought of foreigners and their successes over the years in technology. Lewis thought, "I could have created this door lock if it weren't for my father." He became bitter at the dispersing of his funds in his family's wealth.

He did not answer her. Colette did not know why, and she took it personally. In the house, she expected a warm welcome from Raphael's parents. However, they thought of Colette as a pebbler for some odd reason, the passing down of stereotypes from all generations. They exchanged subtle greetings as they sat down at a large antique wooden table. Most of the items in the house were as peculiar as Lewis. Though, Colette had sensed that these antiques were tradeable, worth thousands of pounds.

Lewis had made her and her family tea and told her to take a seat. It was the first kind of action that he had genuinely portrayed. Colette repeated the same question that she asked outside, "Do you think that Raphael will be worried that I left him in the park?" Lewis was irritated by her.

"No." He said, thinking that Colette was supposed to be the one to serve him.

His mother had asked, "Who is Raphael?" Intonating a tone of curiosity, then, Colette realized that she was not safe. However, she was in disbelief that Lewis would lie so much to her.

Lewis's father asked Colette, "So, Lewis had told us that you are from New York. How come New Yorkers despise true democracy?" He looked exactly like Lewis. Colette doubted Lewis's evil, thinking that people were evil was evil in itself. She justified.

Colette knew that people were ingrained in nationalism in Europe.

"If I'm being sincere, New York doesn't despise democracy. Actually, New York has included everyone, despite the measures that the country installs. But, it's weird. Sometimes, it seems like a place that's underground." She chuckled. "Literally."

Her laugh caused the parents to believe she was uneducated. They were silent. Lewis brought the tea and sat down next to her. She felt intimidated. "Did I answer ok?" She whispered, thinking that Raphael was near her. There was no answer. Her memories of his face were bleeding faintly, scared that she had nothing to offer to the family, except her own humility.

"What nationality are you, dear?" The mother had gray hair in a bonnet with a large diamond necklace.

"I'm American Hungarian."

The parents thought of Eastern Europeans as Russians.

"Do you speak Russian?"

Colette was belittled. She wanted redemption in their belittlement

"No. Hungary is actually in the E.U. I don't speak Hungarian. My father once did." She sipped the black tea with milk as if she had stolen something from them, a debt that she never owed.

The parents didn't know what to say. They had no context of any Eastern European country. She was considered a gypsy in their eyes. Colette wanted to think of the best in people, so she did not comment on their apathetic thoughts. They finished the tea in an awkward state of mind.

Lewis asked Colette, "Hey, maybe, you want to go upstairs? We can call Raphel." He had no sympathy for her. She was a fool who needed to be fixed due to her religious beliefs of kindness. His parents were a distraction, a factor that ruined his analysis of Colette.

She agreed, curious to know the rooms where Raphael had been raised. She followed Lewis to his office. The walls maintained distorted notes and photography of wild animals with drawings of the planets and the mathematical equations associated with its intricacies. However, the desk carried only a notepad and a pen.

"Where's Raphael?" She asked aloud. His brother did not answer her. Colette tried to envision Raphael's face in her sleepless mind. He was in one piece, perfection of all. She cried, sobbing, "Where is Raphael?" She demanded her return to the paradise of his face near her eyes and heart. There was no one in sight.

Lewis stood by the sofa near the window.

"Um, you can sit here." He said, waving his hand without an effort. She sat down on the sofa, trying to find the truth of his wickedness.

Did he really come up with this lie just to try to analyze me? Am I the only one who sees Raphael?

She questioned her faith, the faith of God.

Is Raphael my guardian angel?

"Yes." A loud voice was heard by her. It was the voice of God.

"Did you hear that?" Colette was confused.

"No." Lewis smiled. "What did you hear Colette?"

Colette was deeply petrified. "You didn't hear the voice of God?"

"Colette. No, there was no voice." He sat in his father's armchair. "Are you by any chance diagnosed with schizophrenia?"

I need to get out of here. Don't make a scene. I need to find out if Raphael even is real. What if I'm crazy? What if he isn't real? What if God is fake? And, I am just another crazy one.

"Where's Raphael?" Colette panicked. The sun highlighted her cheekbones, and she looked exactly like her mother, beautifully misunderstood.

"Where is he?" She said quieter to herself, dwelling in tears. Lewis thought of her as unintelligibly cute.

"He went to talk to my mother and father." He lied to dispute her mind. "Tell me, please. Who is Raphael?" He grabbed a cigar from a box in the drawer.

"Are you a therapist? Who are you?"

"I am a Ph.D. student. I attend Kurwurst University. You may know that it has a brilliant Psychology Department, one of the top schools in the world."

"Psychology was literally created during the groundbreaking of nationalism. I don't trust any of it. I could just pay my friend for confidential advice, and I would probably get much better advice than from someone like you."

"You are psychologically sick!" He demanded. They both portrayed their own insecurities through acts of insults. "What are you a scour, searching for money from men? Why did you follow me to my own home?" He accused her.

"Go to hell!" She yelled. He was furious that she had vindicated herself in a position without shame.

"Raphael is real. Do not be furious with me." Lewis twisted her mind. He trusted the institutions of integrity and wealth. Colette was not severely involved with those systemic classes. The popular views of syndromes and disabilities that dwarfed humans into peculiar animals were more trustworthy than a person's vulnerability.

Lewis was convinced that Raphael was an imaginary projection. Though he was wrong, and he knew that he was wrong, but he could not admit any defeat for his wrong would become right in newspapers, journal articles, mass media, the country then the world. He could not accept the justification of her religion or the angriness of her unorthodox presence. There was never an option to shine a light upon a person's intuition against systematic propaganda.

He desired for her to expose the excruciating details of Colette's past, acting as if his robotic family was one with the angels.

It was the first time that he was in control of his patient. There were no regulations to follow. He was the mastermind of the game, and she had nothing to her name. His cigar infuriated her. She said, "Why would you say that?" He continued to think that she was incompetent for work due to her emotional distress.

Why do I have to feel guilty for smoking a few cigarettes? This guy probably reenacts these weird scenarios with patients all the time, smoking cigars and writing notes like a control freak.

"Ok. Raphael is not real in your eyes. But, why would you lie to me?" Colette muttered with confidence.

He ignored her bullets with precise aim. "Why is he not real?" Puffing the smoke into the air, he drew a conclusion that she was as desperate for him as he was for her due to his wealth and mental stability.

"Why would you lie to me?"

"I did not lie. You needed my help." Lewis then thought that Colette was entirely schizophrenic since she had admitted to his understanding, but something had to be wrong with her. Angels and prayer were a sign of unattractive terrorism. Though, in his mind, something was explicitly wrong with her perception. He found it hypocritical, yet he never blamed the world as hypocritical for he ruled this world.

"He is not real because most people don't believe in angels. And, most people only believe in what people tell them to believe with their own perception." Lewis stopped listening. "And, you don't think that I am right. It may be due to my ethnicity or my age, but angels are very much real. If you can imagine it, it can be real."

"Uh-"

"By the way, making those stereotypes makes you a moron."

Lewis wished to comfort her gullibility and stupidity with pity. Then, he reasoned his ethics with the need that he had to fix her. He sat down next to her on the sofa.

"And, why did you think that Raphael was real?" He attempted to earn her trust once more.

"Because he gave me hope." She teared again, emotionally angered at the prejudices of his encounter. Lewis wanted to find a cure for her mentality. He acknowledged her emotions, but he did not feel empathy for he thought that she was indelibly wrong.

He looked at her jacket covering her arms. "Do you want me to take that off for you?"

She took the fabric off herself, placing it on her lap, tugging it tightly with her hands. Her sadness encrypted her mind. She made no effort to care about where she was. There were a million thoughts in her mind. Only one thought contained a purpose, Raphael is real, and this guy tricked me.

Lewis stood up and walked towards the corner of the square room, upset that Colette resisted his fendered politeness.

"Do you like to listen to records?"

"Yes." Colette regressed her panic. "How close are you to your brother?" She wondered, inching towards a familiar ground, attempting to use the same reverse psychology that Lewis had attacked her own soul. He gave her a weak stare as if he had just obliterated her, placing the needle on the black vinyl.

"Your brother? Your brother Raphael?" She repeated herself. "Where is he?" Lewis stumbled closer to her, attempting to control her panic, inching closer to her body with aggression.

"Raphael was at the park. Didn't you see him?" Colette was unable to accept her gullibility, his demons, and the questioning of Raphael.

Lewis didn't answer. Suddenly, he had one thing on his mind.

"You can't see him?" She questioned, begging to know the truth.

"Listen. I don't know any soul with the name of Raphael. You need to get help. I assume that a doctor will help you with your diagnosis of schizophrenia." The bearded stranger approached her, trying to hold onto her arm. "But, you are just so cute." She pulled herself away from him, using all of her strength to jump off the sofa.

"What are you doing? I am not diagnosed with anything!" Colette yelled at him, furious knowing the truth of any being, how abusive people were, knowing that all people were mad that they were no different from her for she was finally owning up to her own sins.

Lewis was visibly mournful. "I apologize. That was unprofessional." He analyzed his mistake.

"You are the sick one." Colette ran down the spiral stairs to the doorway. His parents were nowhere to be found, and Raphael was nowhere to be seen. She was terrified of the world.

A note was left on Lewis's desk, She needed someone trustworthy. Lewis threw the note into the bin and thought nothing of the text. His mind then pondered with his deceased brother in his thoughts.

Chapter XV: Nowhere to Hide

The arching towers of the bells and the dawnings of the chirping birds endangered Colette. The scene of elegance contracted her as a pebbler. Indifference sometimes made it easier to overcome the abundance of racing to fulfill the chase of prosperity, a rare certainty.

She attempted suicide. Though, there was no purpose in that. Every inch closer to success brought her several steps backward in comparison to the world. There was no home available for her. A waking day was a battle to find a place to sleep and to find another lonely meal to eat. She was an endangered species. She left the rented flat with a scare, telling herself that all people were against her.

Raphael appeared as she stepped on the street of the quaint rental building, "That guy Lewis was a total jerk."

Colette didn't know if she heard her own thoughts or the voice of Raphael. She turned around. Raphael was there, and she trusted in his apparition. She trusted in God's voice and the soldiers of love.

"Why didn't you show yourself to him?" Colette murmured indistinctly, avoiding the stares of strangers.

"Why didn't he trust your beliefs?" Raphael's captivating beauty secured her.

"He only believed in the physical."

"You were once the same as him. You didn't believe in God until you had heard His voice. Until you had realized that I am your angel."

Colette was bewildered. She had been frozen in time, listening to Raphael's word, as she stood in an empty space on an innocent road.

"Colette, you know that the world is hypocritical. So, please be true to yourself. Be true to the morals that you hold."

"It's difficult. I was in love with you."

"Kindness is love, nothing more and nothing less, making people genuinely smile, that is love." Along the next corner of the street, Raphael dispersed his spirit into a group of people. Each person with whom he had brushed lifted their heads, appreciating the touch of the air. Some had placed their cell phones into their pocket, and one had donated his coins to a young man.

Every city was the same. Each one needed angels like Raphael.

She openly understood that she was searching for an incessant selfish love rather than the love that was given. Humans had demented love into their liking upon masses. She was no different than Lewis or any person on this Earth for she was not yet an angel. And, she cried because she wished to find her home to keep this feeling of paradise forever. There was no place on Earth that was her home: happiness was as rare as Raphel.

Though, she wished to find someone as real as him, a man with the courage to be humble and charitable. But, some men were as revengeful as she once was against God. Some admired knowledge of all things, even if it was petrifying. Every justification was the worst sin of all. It was better not to think. She was in fear of her reality, the cross that she had to carry.

Colette thought: This is unfair. How can God take him away from me? He took everything away from me. He took my father and now Raphael.

Her grudge towards the universe made her furious. The power of forgiveness was forgotten to forgive the histories of power through a false statehood of grace. No man deserved this power. It was only for the Lord. She then yearned to see the Lord. She had been thinking wrongly. If her thoughts were genuine or simply pleading for comfort, it was never wrong to seek for the good in one's soul.

Attending concertos of plays in the park, she suddenly felt united with the power of the reflection through the characters of other stories, connecting each one into a portal of gracious ordeals. After the play, she returned to the apartment complex, and Raphael had gone. She prayed with all of her might to reconcile her sins to deserve happiness. Then, she justified her anger for it was her last night in London. She had no wealth readily available for her to complete her sense of belonging. Without Raphael, nothing had been achieved.

It was her last day in London. She was planning to return to her mother, respecting her wishes to go after the riches and opportunities that she had left in New York. The train wreck on the mountain that she had begun climbing was approaching despite all of her efforts to exist without the anxieties of the office. So, blaming her mother was her final weapon. As per usual, the innocent were blamed for the actions of the guilty.

Colette, stop. Look at yourself.
Her heart beated with all of its strength, and she prayed for the first time with sincerity throughout all of her life. Building any relationship required time and value placed before the self.

I am sorry for everything. I know that I am lucky to live. I am sorry. Please let me find my way.

She paused. Trying to sleep to escape from the deadliness of life, the shadows of her room scared her. It was all bizarre without Raphael. It was horrendous each movement, each thought, each fight. Conforming to her own mind, she was imprisoned in the lives of others. She had enough of it all, and she requested to sleep.

Chapter XVI: Stone Cold

With the money saved from her job, Colette decided to move on from her family. She was an image of her father, hindering her mother with pain. Her thoughts were taunting her to leave. Debt was unwelcoming, wanting to undebt herself for a new lifestyle of work and travel.

"I'm going to use the car." She called out to her mother across the apartment. Colette utilized every opportunity that she could uptake to feel happy with Raphael. Before her mother stepped into the kitchen, Colette sneakily swept to the stairs. Enough conversation prevailed last night. They both had been tired from the week's work and the foreign conversations.

Saturday had been Colette's favorite day of the week, a day of freedom. Raphael waited for Colette at the end of her street. They embraced and chatted about the livelihood that Colette expressed, how amazing it was to be in love without the judgment of another. Every second spent with Raphael made Colette optimistic that she was allowed to have a good life. She gained redemption through him, figuring herself and the works of life. In the car, he surprised her with a bouquet of flowers under his jacket. She clapped her hands, laughing to concentrate on the road.

"You seem like a new person, Colette." He said as she drove under her favorite road with the trees standing like giants, surrounding people as if they were miniature dolls. "Is it true that whenever we see each other you're happier?" She didn't respond. "Because it happens to me." Colette held his hand.

"Me too. It happens to me too. Thank you for the flowers by the way." She kept her eyes on the road, thinking of the different colored roses. Raphael pinched her cheek as if he had not seen her for years.

"No problem." He said.

She then remembered his previous words, how he may depart from New York. Living life alone was what she had always planned, but she didn't know if she was capable of doing anything alone. Her face lost its color. Raphael was afraid, "Are you alright?" With concern, he touched her forehead with the back of his palm.

"No, it's nothing." She nervously laughed at herself, turning onto the road towards the beach. "Well, I just feel like a failure. I think that I need to move out of my house to make myself feel better. I need to learn how to live alone. Everyone who left their house knows how to take care of themselves. Everyone has everything with the perfect plan. And, I screwed up my plan. I've always done what was wrong. I had no morals. And, I feel like I'm making mistakes every day at my job. I don't know what to do."

"It's not true. It's ok. It's ok to make a few mistakes. Trust me. No one knows what's going on. Are you learning from this job?"

"Yes, but I don't like it. Some people have been warning me to change my career. I'm taking it personally." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't listen to that. Just do what you need to do. Even if they're rude to you, you should not be ashamed to leave."

Colette was safe with Raphael. She felt invincible, and he had made her believe in herself.

Colette convinced Raphael to sneak onto a private beach. The water had once been contaminated, leaving itself deserted. Half of the property was owned by the residents, and the other half was owned by the local Church. Colette thought of no harm to step onto nature. She was a human, who wanted the right to spend time on a section of the beach to simply enjoy the sun.

Raphael helped her lay out the towels from the car. A mile away, another party was tanning by the water. The people were celebrating with friends and families.

"Maybe, the contamination sign is a lie to keep strangers off the beach." Colette pointed at the sign on the large rocks by the Church's land.

"Don't say that." Raphael laughed, hugging her.

"Well, those people are swimming over there." She squinted, pointing at the moving group.

"Fair." He said.

Then, Colette stared at the Church's section of the beach, upset with the contamination sign and its fearful atmosphere. Colette panicked, thinking of hell.

"Or, maybe, they dumped oils by the Church's property on purpose."

"You see that's better." He joked. Raphael turned his face, looking at the stone sculptured Church. They discussed its details and the history of the beauty in honor.

Basking in the sun, she suddenly mentioned "Yesterday was the first time my mom spoke about my father. I think that she's trying to forgive herself for what happened. I'm kind of jealous of her. She never did anything wrong. She's like a saint."

"That's not jealousy. That's your perception of her, and it's good."

"She never really talked about him." Colette wrinkled her nose. "I don't know who he is. I don't know my father as she does."

Raphael picked himself up from the towel. "Yes, you do. Come with me."

Colette followed him to the water, barricaded by the rocks with the sign, leading to the land of shrubbed grass and lively trees, bending towards the water.

"What do you know about the Milky Way?" He asked as she leaned on his shoulder.

"I don't know. That it's there. It comprises our solar system." She thought it was a strange question to ask.

"We're a part of it."

"Yeah."

"And, when someone passes away. You think that they disappear."

"Not, entirely. I think that people can be reincarnated. I don't know. Anything can happen." She stared at her hands.

"So, you think that a soul can reincarnate into another person's body. What happens to the other person's soul? Is it diminished? Each person is an individual created in one being, God's image. A Milky Way has a network of patterns similar to your brain cells. Then the Milky Way is connected to more solar systems in a very similar pattern to its original network, building from one pattern to another, every star, constellation, and the planet. It's the same with people. Though, you can argue that people resemble one another to assume reincarnation. People imitate the actions of others. That's the real psychology. It doesn't mean that they were reincarnated. People are similar to others because all humans are the same. All humans were made perfect, but humans distort children with sin. It's not just a coincidence that life has meaning." He smiled with his teeth. "The whole universe resembles very similar features to the human body. Each body on this Earth is a universe in itself. You are as great as the universe. Do not seek bad. Your father is with you. He is the universe within you."

Colette sobbed by herself. Raphael had been her guardian angel who left to God. He guided her to pray for her father's soul, her own soul, and to forgive.

"Raphael! Raphael! Where are you? Where the hell are you?" She screamed, panicking, sobbing, using all of the energy that she had been holding throughout her life. "Raphael..." She whispered. Alerted, the nearby people approached her with fear and disgust insight.

Intrusive thoughts had occurred, "You're terrible," "You're a fraud," "Why don't you just quit, and go kill yourself?"

Is this what they are thinking about me?

Her paranoia had increased.

The man said, "Are you alright? I am an officer. Is everything alright?" He flashed a badge.

No. no. no. What do I do?

"I can't find him. I can't find the man I was with." She had low energy. Her brain needed to know more truth, more purpose from Raphael. He had left. Then, she realized that he was still protecting her from the sins of humanity. She found her trust in God.

The officer turned to his partner. "Did you see a man with her?" His friend shook his head.

"This is a private property young woman."

"It's the Church's property! I can't stay here?" She was screaming, furious at the men for intruding on her solidarity, furious for making Raphael leave. She did not know any better.

"Mam, calm down. A resident called, stating that a woman was trespassing, indicating that the woman was screaming to herself." His eyes were mad. Colette was shaking, a tremor controlled her body. Something was possessing her. It was his mean spirit. She planned to run. The two officers grabbed her arms before she could escape. She had no choice but to follow their orders as they handcuffed her two bare hands.

Remembering stories in the media of officers showing guns, she abided by them for her life.

I should have studied to be a cop.

"Where's your family?!" He yelled. Power resulted in the retrieval of evil. All power was bad. It was better to be a slave.

"My father is dead." The officer was dumbfounded. Though, he was a puppet who had to follow the mandate.

"Why am I being arrested?"

"For violating public property."

"How did I violate public property?"

He did not answer her. An ambulance was called. He sat her in the back of the doors, looking through her contact information. A few paramedics were there not speaking to her as if she were a criminal worse than a murderous dictator.

"Do you have a loved one?"

"Yes, my mother."

She proceeded to give him her personal information.

I deserve this. It's alright. Maybe, I have a better chance of going to heaven. Though, Raphael had warned me. He warned me, 'Be careful who you tell. Those commercials about depression on TV won't help you achieve happiness.

Colette thought of a yellow smiley face, the fake commercial smiles of life. She had to put on an act.

"Hello, this is officer Finn speaking. I have your daughter, Colette Noah. She uh.." He cleared his throat. "violated public property from a residential complaint. I've placed her in an ambulance. Can you please meet us at Frontview Hospital? Great. Thanks." He hung up the phone.

"Why am I going to the hospital?"

"You violated the law, and there seems to be something going on with your um brain." He said kindly with remorse.

Why does he feel bad? What does he know?

"Frankly, I took psychology before, and this is quite brutal. This is an exact example of the prisoner's and guard experiment!" She made an angered face, and he took it as a threat.

I can't be mean. They're going to take it the wrong way, a perfect example of that experiment.

She made sure to present herself as a perfect doll, tidying her hair and wiping the sand off her body.

"You know. I was going to move today. I was going to buy a flight to Europe."

"That's great." He smiled and looked away.

"What nationality are you?" She barked at him.

"Who me? I'm uh 21% English, 30% Finnish, and about German and Italian."

I don't know where I was going with that.

"You know I'm Roman Catholic too. I may be from Eastern Europe, but we're actually Catholics too."
"Oh, I don't affiliate with a religion."

His officer friend stared at his phone with no feeling, a robot-like paramedic.

This is it. This is hell.

Arrived at the hospital, her mother was in tears, dark bags under her eyes as if she had seen all of death. They were all seated in the chairs near a large desk at the entrance of the Mental Health Department.

"Mam, did your daughter ever show signs or symptoms of anxiety or mood swings?" A random man in scrubs had asked her.

"Yes, she has." Her mother was crying.

"Mom! Literally every person..." The clinician interrupted Colette, as the officer held onto the back of her arm, occupying her shadow.

... shows those signs. It's natural to get angry. I didn't even harm anyone. What is going on?

"There is evidence that she may be having some problems with her mind from this disruption on the beach. Please, wait here so a doctor can supervise you." The clinician in blue scrubs left the room.

Sitting with her handcuffs, her mother looked at her with disgust. She whispered to her daughter, "Colette, why did you go onto the private property of that Church?"

"I didn't know that they would send me here." She whispered. "At least, I'm not arrested. This is kind of inhumane." Her mother scoffed at her.

The shrink walked into the room in her white coat.

This is who my mom wanted me to be. And, now I'm a lab rat.

Then, Colette heard a voice, "Do not be afraid." It was the voice of God. She knew that if she said that she could see spirits and speak to God, she would be considered crazy. There was no religion in this dark world.

"Hi, my name is Deborah, and I am just going to ask a few quick questions." She was a very pretty woman with dark hair and dark eyes.

"How are you?" She asked both the daughter and the mother.

"Well, I'm not really great. I have handcuffs on me."

"Can you unlock those please?" The doctor mouthed the words as if Colette were an idiot, who couldn't decipher a whisper. The officer uncuffed her hands.

"Have you been dealing with mood swings?"

"No. I think that everyone deals with mood swings."

"Ok, let's say on a scale of 1-10 how bad are they?"

"I don't have any." Colette shrugged her shoulders.

The doctor looked at her mother. "Hypothetically." The woman nodded towards her mother, tricking a mother to believe that her own daughter was mentally insane.

I can accuse this woman of a robotic syndrome, but no her degree buries her as superior.

"A 3." Colette grabbed the water from her mother's bag and took a sip. The police stepped closer to her body. Her body was theirs. She had no free will in the interrogation. They were her monsters, and, somehow, she was theirs for believing in love, human empathy.

The doctor wrote down her notes, analyzing Colette as if she were omniscient of Colette's mind. Colette sat still, mimicking the doctor.

What she's doing is evil, and she doesn't even realize it. She's diagnosing me with something that was man-made. I literally can breathe and walk. I have a brain that could be used for studying. They're wasting all of our time for nothing.

The doctor kept pressuring her to answer common symptom questions which have appeared in TV commercials for depression. She analyzed her emotions, her speech, her intelligibility, her facial expressions, and whatever else that could alter her to fit into a diagnosis. More patients equaled more money for the business of hospitals, pharmaceuticals, and any concept used in the pursuit of cash.

"Do you ever have thoughts of harming yourself?"

"Yes." Colette was honest. She had never been so honest.

"Can you please describe your thoughts?" The psychiatrist looked concerned, and Colette saw it as genuine.

"Well, sometimes, I get upset. I would never kill myself because it's against my religion. And, I'm scared of hell. Though, I feel like bad spirits control me to do bad things."

"What do you mean by that?"

I should be honest.

"Sometimes, I see an angel. His name is Raphael Vigil. He's my guardian angel. I have made some mistakes in my life, and he has helped me. He has made me believe in Jesus Christ." Colette began sobbing.

"It's ok. It's ok." The doctor in white touched Colette's arm.

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you. Angels are not real, Colette." She smiled devilishly, a sheep to religion.

"What on Earth do you know?" Colette could not bear it anymore. "How can you say that?"

She doesn't even know what I've been through. No one can know what anyone has been through in a medical office. No one knows my thoughts. This is scary. They're going to drug me and take me away, thinking that it works. None of that works.

"I'm sorry." She corrected herself towards the doctor. Her mother held her palm to her face. "I had something very difficult in my life. It isn't easy for me to say this. I feel terrible about it now. But, I used to be an atheist, and now I am religious-like Thomas in the Bible. He had to touch Jesus' wounds to believe in Him. And, you are acting the same way. You don't believe in me because you have never seen an angel."

The doctor dismissed Colette. "There are new medical treatments for your daughter." She was unable to look at Colette. "Will you be willing to place your daughter in our new safe psychiatric study?" Her tone was visibly manipulated into an elevator pitch, the destruction of care.

She is so stupid. She's mind-controlled by her own job. Wait, I can't say this. I can't even think that. It's wrong. They're afraid of people becoming murderers. And, I already had one.

"I've had an abortion." Colette blurted out, surprising her mother and the shrink.

Maybe, they will believe in the truth now.

"I think that I have spoken with my guardian angel because I am trying to find God." Doctor Deborah stared at Colette with pity, making it known that she thought of Colette as unintelligible for society.

"I've wanted to take my own life because of my sins. I've never really recognized it, and that's why I am here." Colette blurted out her secret for the first time. Her mother had known. She looked through her diary.

"Wait." The woman held up her arms. "From a medical professional, you did not sin."

She doesn't know.

"I know that's what everyone says, but it's just my guilt."

"Colette, don't let religion blindside you." The doctor proposed.

"I just want to be happy again. And, personally, I am a Catholic with many sins, and that's why I am not happy. I haven't gone to confession. That's why I've heard bad voices and good voices. They're spirits."

"May I have a word with your mother?"

"Sure." Colette was escorted by the silent cop to another bleak white room.

I've ruined everything. I'm putting my mother in pain. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to know that I wish to die. But, I don't wish to die. I wish to find somewhere better than here, wherever heaven may be.

Everything was man-made, fabricated to an episodic illusion of abidance. Each leader of truth was surrounded by gold, failing the truth, as others were dying on their knees. Colette had one thing to be grateful for, she was not persecuted.

The doctor waved to the officer. Colette was guided to her seat.

"I have been speaking with your mother Colette, and you are diagnosed with schizophrenia. And, we have decided to place you in our psychiatric study. It's 100% safe and 100% free. Actually, you could be paid a commission. How does that sound?"

I literally just met this woman. What the hell? How can one sitting indicate a diagnosis?

"No, I don't think that would work."

"Colette you are showing signs of various ticks, your mood swings, and what you have told me about your past shows that you are seeing and hearing illusions."

Basically, I'm miserable. It's probably due to this horrible State. Literally, everyone's a drug-addicted atheist, and if not, an egotistical self-care-obsessed girl or overly righteous manipulative men, who don't even care for mankind.

Every single person has insulted Colette. She tried to think of one person, who had never insulted her. It was impossible. It was only Raphael. She felt guilty when thinking of him.

"Your mother has agreed that we will be trying a new medication called Jobify." Colette glanced at her mother. She knew that she had to follow her mother's word. She was still living under her house.

"It sounds awful," Colette said with no intention to appear bright. Again, the doctor dismissed her opinion. "I've just been having bad thoughts because I've done bad things like tarot card reading. And, I used to follow horoscopes religiously. I used to steal things as a dare, and I've really had no morals." Colette glanced around the room and saw the officer.

And, I've slept with men.

"Those factors are not a cause of schizophrenia. It's not medically appropriate. Your usage of alcohol and other substances is an indicator of schizophrenia."

Why doesn't everyone label people who see angels as schizophrenic then? Whatever, I just want my mom to be happy at this rate.

"Do I have to go on these pills?" Colette whispered to her mother.

"Yes, follow the doctor." Her mother answered. Her mother wasn't a pharmacist, nor was the psychiatrist a pharmacist. They trusted the pill because the company's ticker symbol kept rising.

It's not the doctor's fault. She was taught to act this way. She's doing her job. Maybe, I can sue the hospital for medical malpractice. But, I have no money. What am I thinking?

Colette sunk into the chair. Her cocky expressions were unverifiable. She was a nobody.

I see as to why Raphael had called himself a spy. He was a spy against all people who did not value heaven on Earth. People trick themselves into believing their crazy and the hospital promotes it, convincing people to withdraw emotion. They trust chemicals more than their own good brain when it's all a societal construct.

Chapter XVII: Solutions

For several weeks, her mother was forcing her to swallow three doses of those pills, one for the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. Jobify was the death of all emotion and neuronal activity.

Colette knew that this would happen to her. She was warned by her conscience of good. Anger would not make her victorious. She must forgive them, but they must value her reasoning.

At her job, she was unable to work. Her mind began to think slower. Everyone was speeding through their tasks confidently as Colette was the last horse in the race. It was her time to quit.

"I can't do this anymore." She told Frank in the silver office.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't like business. I don't like working here. I'm thinking of changing my life." He seemed sad that it was his fault. She then mentioned, "I've been diagnosed with schizophrenia."

He tilted his glasses, "You? Schizophrenic? No way."

"Yes. I saw an angel, and no one believes me."

He was silent. "Are you sure that you want to leave?"

"I think that I have to. I don't think that I am able to work anymore." The medics had tricked Colette into believing that she was unfit for work, a terror. "If this is what you want." Frank was serious, staring at the front of his desk.

"I'm sorry. I need to leave."

Colette took her belongings, uncontrollably crying, taking another medication for that was what was believed as certain.

On the train, there were homeless people, sleeping mothers, and other people who were just as hopeless as she. She had no reason to cry. Her mother provided her a warm home with food and water. She needed to get better.

She thought of going to church that day to confess her sins. Off the train, Colette landed at one of the most famous churches by the station. A booth was available to confess, and she opened the curtain into a dark red room.

"My God, I am sorry that I have sinned." She mumbled the words of the prayer card and proceeded to say,

"It has been three years since my last confession. I didn't believe in God for a very long time. I was tricked by the media. I have indulged in profanity in the past." Her voice broke down in levels of aching. "I have committed a sin which has decreased conception. I have stopped drinking, but I used to be with people of bad influence and drink very often. I used to play tarot cards, and I feel terrible. I did so much wrong." The priest was bothered by her past spirit as he was in the place of judgment through God's power.

"Those are very wrongful sins, and you need plenty of help in prayer." He uttered.

Colette was angry, angry that she was a woman. She was filled with anger, then she realized that she was not a sister nor a parishioner of that particular church. Only God had the power to forgive, and the priest certainly had the right to explain God's word.

"However, God forgives us, and he is seeking for more people to enter the Church. Sometimes, we make mistakes. Some people may think everything is a mistake. For example, someone could eat lots of chocolate. Is that a sin?" His heart had changed through the grace of Christ. She had made a false judgment of his character.

"Not necessarily." He continued. "We must try to be proactive and fix our true sins by focusing on the cross." He ended his stream of thought.

Seeking for Christ, she needed to rely on her own conscience; however, she always felt that she had made the wrong mistakes. Now, she understood that the wrong moves have pushed her towards the right ones.

"Also, I have been medicated, and I don't believe in medication." Colette blurted.

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"You should trust your doctors." He sighed.

Colette knew that she had to believe in him, that after all this time she was the one who had been mistrusting, denying, and avoiding the people who were trying to help her.

She said nothing more.

"Pray the Hail Mary twice as penance. And, look at the cross. Ask yourself: what you can do for Jesus?" The priest responded.

Brushing the curtain open, she kneeled towards the cross. She heard God's voice, "Convert others like you have been converted."

She knew that this responsibility was a frantic, impossible mission. But, with the Trinity, all things were made.

At home, she listened to slow music on a soft recording while lying on her bed. The cars beeped on her street, as the workers greeted themselves in pride.

What was the point, Raphael?

"What was the point?" Colette whispered. "I could have had everything with you." She cried. Sometimes, heaven was earned for the unlucky ones before they could realize that they were always lucky.

Drowning in the thoughts of Raphael, she was unable to breathe. Holding her breath, she was in space, associating all darkness as a threat, and every person was considered dark. "Why did you take him away from me God? Why God? WHY? RAPHAEL!" She screamed in pain, sobbing, burning a match with fire, wanting it to touch her skin.

What am I doing? Something is possessing me. I love my family. I love my mother. It's not my time yet.

She blew out the old match with her lips. All of the sins that she had thought in her mind made her feel innate grief, wanting to rip off her skin from her body to reveal a true sinner, herself. She blamed herself. She blamed herself for partying and drinking. It was she. She couldn't blame the media or the television for influencing her. She hated her skin. She hated her face. She hated the act of associating beauty with her because nothing was beautiful in that form of abuse.

"I'm a coward." She stated.

It was her own mistake. She could not blame her friends anymore. She had every chance to decline her lifestyle of consumption to feel something. It was her inner decision to disobey. Only wanting to find a group to belong, without judgment, she had never found it. She took a deep breath.

"Don't cry. Don't cry."

Her mother walked into the room. She wiped her tears before her mother could see her.

"Colette." She said gently. Her mother was confused by her behavior.

Chapter XVIII: The Seeds of Life

Colette had been admitted into the mental hospital. Angels do exist as people, the good and the bad. It took her so long to realize.

After all the facing dangers, these people had allowed her to survive.

Some had been locked in cages, deciphered for their harmful actions from a vicious cycle of abuse. Whose fault was it? Colette had teary eyes throughout her time in the hospital. It was inappropriate to cry at certain times. She made sure to cry during group therapies to show her trauma and signal improvement to leave the place quicker.

The angels were the nurses, always providing comfort, food, and water for her, whenever necessary. She was lucky that she wasn't in a cell. The nightmare was closer to a dream with the kind people.

She swallowed her water at home.

"Mom, why did you send me there?"

"I don't know who this Raphael is honey. And, you couldn't stop calling his name. Your pulse was too high."

Colette did not blink. The ceiling of her room was the same shade of white, where she was reaching to go home, another place, beyond this universe called heaven.

"Do you want to see Mrs. Wegrzyn today? She has milk and cookies." Her mother brushed over the uncomfortable situation.

Colette got up from the bed and picked out a shirt to wear. "We can do that."

A couple steps down towards the lamppost of the old houses was Mrs. Wegrzyn's yellow house. It was old, but her garden made the house look brand new with her sunflowers facing the sky and her mother when she walked to the gate.

Mrs. Wegrzyn was sitting on her porch in an armchair. "Oh, hello." She smiled beautifully like a rose.

"Oh, hello." Mrs. Nowa repeated.

"What brings you two here?"

"We were just stopping by," Colette answered.

"Well come on in." The lady got up from her armchair and opened the front door into her home. The stairs were facing the women and the dining room table contained cookies, always ready for her guests.

Colette remembered when she was a schoolgirl. She was afraid of walking alone or waiting in the rain, and she ran to Mrs. Wegrzyn's house, calling her grandma before she learned how to write a sentence. They had played games in cards called war, where you never knew what you were going to get.

Mrs. Nowa sat down at the dining room table and Colette followed. Her interior was timeless, a nice house for a grandma like Mrs. Wegrzyn.

"So, are you working? Are you going to school?" There were signs of mild dementia, but Colette labeled that as simply as getting old.

"I graduated school somehow, but I'm taking a break from my job." Mrs. Wegrzyn poured milk as Mrs. Nowa helped her. The grandma furrowed her eyebrows.

"It wasn't the job for me. I make lots of mistakes."

"Oh, please. Everyone makes mistakes."

"I don't know. Everyone my age is quite adept with everything. It all seems challenging."

"I may try vocational nursing."

Colette helped her sit down with her mother.

"That's a good job. Nursing is an excellent field."

"Thank you. I hope so."

Her mother turned the other cheek. "How's your garden, Catherine?"

"My tomatoes are growing. Would you like to have one? Let's go outside."

She felt younger around Colette. Getting up from the chair like a fighter. When aging approached, new problems arrived, taking youth for granted.

In her backyard, onions, olives, tomatoes, and grapes were growing along the walls of the fence. Colette yawned from the medication.

"Why are you tired, kid?"

"Medication."

Mrs. Wegrzyn paused. "You need a garden like mine to get you up and running."

"Right. My mom will teach me." She smiled towards her mother, thinking of Raphael.

"Colette, I have to go. Spend some time with Catherine." Her mother answered a phone call, related to her work, walking back to the brick house.

"So, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I met an angel or a guide in my life. But, he's gone."

"I believe it. One time, I was praying, and I saw an apparition of Mary. It was her grace who blessed me when my boys were in the army." She pointed at the sky with her wrinkled finger. "I am praying to go to heaven because you know I'm a chocoholic."

"I think you have a spot." Colette smiled. She walked her towards the front porch, returning to her armchair before sundown as Colette said her goodbye in a familiar way.

Chapter XIX: A Desert with Rain

Multiple people understood that Colette was having problems with herself. She knew that to remedy these problems, Raphael needed to exist in the eyes of other people. It was a horrendous realization.

Only her dreams reminded her of his voice on the phone. It was all that she had left like a thread falling from a sweater. With no sewing supplies, the thread was reaching the floor.

Peter and Anna had not messaged Colette with a concern. She had no one but her mother. But, she was lucky because her mother had plenty of friends. Spending days with the elderly actually made her dream of working in a nursing home. Colette continued playing cards, rolling dice, and reading quotes with her friends, bringing joy to everyone.

Though, she thought of the priest at times. Was she truly forgiven? Were her sins washed away, or was the past ever breakable?

She didn't know. But, her thoughts to be with God one day had comforted her.

On the front porch, a package was delivered. It said The Nowa Household. Colette wondered what formality could have ended up on their street.

She quickly walked inside the building, giddy from the arrival of a package, yet worried if something was misplaced.

With her mother washing the dishes, she asked, "What is that Colette?"

"I don't know. It says the Nowa Household on the package. It might be something about dad." She hoped, lowering her voice in a whisper.

And, there it was. The CIA had sent a letter and an Intelligence Star in honor of Mr. Nowa. His remains had been found. Finally, the family had a chance to have a proper burial. Already, Colette had forgiven all for her burdens, but this was the best surprise yet.

Her mother was free again. She had let go of the guilt tying her down to the basement. All was forgiven for Mrs. Nowa and Colette to start anew.

After the planning of a funeral, Colette asked her mother, "Do you want to go to the park?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "Of course, Colette. I thought you would never ask."

Her mother indulges every moment with her daughter. Colette resembled a light towards the likeness of her father, and her mother had never forgotten him.

Unhealthy or toxic, it didn't matter if love persisted.

On the drive to the park, a rainbow shone from the street towards the water of the park.

"I guess that's a sign for us to go to the pond."

As they arrived, the two of them placed their sun hats and sunglasses onto their heads. They looked at each other and laughed at the obnoxious colors of their hats. They searched for the remnants of the rainbow on the floor in the pursuit of happiness, no matter how silly it was to be happy. Lifting her head, her mother noticed a man staring at Colette. It was Raphael.