Game of Life Part I

03/21/2030 5:00 am

Caspian bumped against the keyboard for the third time, stamping even squares of dust on his forehead. He glanced back at the sofa bed—with the cushions still unfolded into a narrow mattress—and produced a lethargic, Garfield yawn. The entire dormitory was asleep, as he should be as well. Caspian never understood why he tortured himself like this: climbing out of bed at a god-awful hour, only to down five coffees throughout the day.

If that wasn’t enough, he ran himself ragged late at night. He didn’t know why he worked so hard. It was perhaps his innate desire to achieve the means to get out of this city.

His vision blurred; the packed words on the screen crawled like a squadron of ants. On top of his first obsession, he never understood why he kept beating a dead horse—a parallel universe novel he’d been working on for the past three years.

My mind is not my own because there is something else, the Almighty perhaps, who rules my soul and body. Caspian didn’t know half the time what he was writing. Because I was a mere beast and they, the more civilized beings.

“Go to sleep, Lockhart.” Marcus grumbled but dozed off again the next second.

Marcus wasn’t a friend; he was more like a protector. Being six-foot-two, tattooed and the nephew of the local drug lord, Marcus wasn’t someone to be tampered with. Thankfully, he took a liking to Caspian, whom he dubbed an “effeminate lily”.

I was Mr. Friendly towards all the wretched bastards, criminals and utter animals around me, and I was cordial with their king. I betrayed my kind and sided against the predators. He darted a glance at his back fearfully, as if there were eyes in the sky and underground. I’ve hidden next to a storefront when Marco the Lion pillaged the streets and rounded up a batch of lab rats. Trembling, even their begs for mercy blurred into mumblings. The Lion roared, and the echoes reverberated in my small body. The Lion then bit the head off of the first little boy, strangled the next one against a jagged wall, and stripped the last girl bare before thoroughly mutilating her with a machete.

Caspian pressed his thumb over the backspace key. He was being melodramatic. Marcus might bully the youngsters once in a while, but he wouldn’t go that far.

As first his room then the building of rambunctious young men scrambled into life, he closed his laptop. As always, Caspian didn’t make any progress on the book, and the word count might’ve gotten smaller over this morning.

03/21/2030 6:00 am

Lenka Chatzigianni fidgeted in her control seat. It’s been less than an hour, but the pulsing neurons of her avatar have already caused her to see doubles.

She settled her right hand perfectly over the dashboard and entered a sequence.

Inside the Cerebral Space, the front projector showed a set of angular knuckles clutching the device’s top cover then slamming it down.

As she directed her avatar through the dilapidated rowhouses of East New York, she forced herself not to take notice of the cigarette butts, the webbed car windows, the drunkards, and the disfigured statuettes in front of the most respected dwelling. As any other morning in this neighborhood, a siren wailed like a rooster, and as if on purpose, another would follow. Even though she was not the one trudging over the injured sidewalk, her skin itched—in a manner she did not like.

On the bright side, her unease made her forget to convey the sensation to her avatar, as the rules stated. She could reach over to the emotion panel and play with a few things, but she was going to spare him that.

Yes, him.

Her avatar was a twenty-year-old college student living in a hellish place that never should’ve been synthesized from the dark matter. She gave him the name of her biological brother, Caspian.

Crossing the crime hub of the city was the only route to send him to school.

As a result of Lenka’s feeble nature, she had almost emptied out her gamer’s account’s savings to build a new life for him. Again. She knew he’d like a coastal city, preferably a less populated area, maybe even on an island. But she had already made that mistake with her first avatar. As long as she sticks to the budget now, her frugality and his discomfort could save him one day.

She was glad, though, that she coded him with greater delight in manipulating words rather than slamming into other human beings with a careless disregard for their wellbeing. Sports was the stupidest thing the Game of Life ever invented. There were eloquent activities, however, such as art, literature, music, mathematics…

Still, Caspian had to take a physical education class.

And, because of her hopeless piloting, he suffered quite a number of bruises.

At the end of class, she was sweating in her seat, relieved that she didn’t send him to the nurse again. Fortunately, her perspiration reminded her to pull out her drawer of key bodily functions, select “Exhaustion”, dial to “Sweat” and assign a value of “2”. Maintaining homeostasis was crucial for any avatar’s health.

Her eyes flitted back to the savings amount: ninety bars. That should be enough to purchase a successful surgery and recovery even if he ran into an accident.

She guided him to the shower area of the boy’s locker room, and her cheeks tingled hotly as he took off his shirt, then his belt. She’d shut her eyes if that wouldn’t cause him to stumble.

Sometimes, she wondered why she got a second avatar with the opposite gender, unlike the majority of Gamers. After Cass’s death (also named after her brother), Lenka was afraid to commit too deeply.

“Blushing again, sister?” Speaking of the devil, her brother’s voice barged into her subconscious, uninvited.

Next, the holographic of him at his screen(s) forcibly occupied half of her projector. The real Caspian looked almost the same as the avatar one. Her brother had a natural pompadour hairstyle that exuded grace instead of garish flamboyance. His face was so pretty, even whiter and smoother than a girl’s, that it’d be a shame not to capture it in the Game. The only feature Lenka modified on her avatar was the eyes, the emeralds that coruscate in the dark or under neon lighting. Having witnessed her brother’s insufferable arrogance—though in the case of Caspian Chatzigianni, he had every right to—Lenka wanted to spare her avatar the unnecessary envy and hostility from others.

“Go away, Caspian.” She made sure to turn off the neural connection to the game first before conversing with a real-life Gamer. “You are going to kill one of your five avatars.”

“I’ve told you before, Lenka, write algorithms. Most of these avatars’ lives are routines.”

“I’m being serious.” She always worried about Caspian’s avatars: a pair of father-son billionaires, a young senator and a set of twins working in Silicon Valley.

But he read her hidden thoughts. “You need to take a step back from the game, sister. And what happened with Cass was a one-in-a-lifetime glitch; that doesn’t make you an irresponsible Gamer.”

“I know” —she inhaled sharply, biting back the feverish tears— “Thank you.” At least he was sincere. “Even you might mess up, though.”

“I never mess up.”

Lenka hated how his panther eyes flared with confidence and not arrogance. “Yeah, yeah.” She was already constantly reminded of how different the Chatzigianni siblings were. “You didn’t just startle me to show off your multitasking, did you?”

“Sister, you put dangerous suggestions into my mind.” He grinned. “Unfortunately, I simply had a message from Dad: Watch your avatar twenty-four-seven.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dad was one of the few Gamemasters who was not mandated by law to have and administer an avatar. He knew the Game of Life, the cheats and strategies to it, more than anyone else.

“Beats me. And you’re right, sister; I need to go. Senator McLaughlin has a press conference in two minutes.” And just like that, Caspian’s forced entry departed.

Lenka sighed. Grudgingly, she directed her Caspian to a nearby ramen bar, but from there, she relinquished control to the “Eating” algorithm while she puzzled over her father’s riddle.

Most likely, this was another test of his. He was the one who challenged Caspian to take up his fifth avatar, getting him ready to inherit the position of Gamemaster. But no one watched their avatars incessantly. The Game of Life was designed to only occupy half of their days, and when their characters hit the bed, they are free to live their part of life. As for the reason for the Game’s creation, some called it boredom from insomnia; some called it their kind’s dominance syndrome; some called it a pitiful desire to recreate the Earth that has been lost and the beauties of daily lives on there.

A burst of electricity struck her in the chest.

Where did it come from? His synapses? His neuron terminals?

Even amidst her spasming limbs, though, there was a cool peace. Lenka was familiar with this anomaly; she had felt it when Cass died. However, Caspian wasn’t bleeding anywhere; he was merely slurping down noodles.

The tangible currents leaked out of her dashboard, slithered across the floor, and coiled up to her calves. Another wave of discharge gripped both of her wrists. So this is what people call an electric chair. Thank heavens the pain was minimal, not at all like the torture that had wrenched her out of her seat when Cass had been locked in a burning house. And the moment Lenka had risen from that seat, Cass’s life had ended.

Where was the danger? Could it be that Caspian was poisoned? But his health indices were steady.

The “Eating” algorithm ended, and he set down his chopsticks.

Lenka couldn’t allow him to set foot outside of this restaurant, not in this state, where anything could happen out of her control. But there was no logical reason for him to remain, and a breach in logic had an equally ghastly repercussion according to the Game Rules.

As she gingerly touched the dashboard, the electricity that eagerly traveled up her fingers mutated. Writhing, dark embers rocked her back and forth with a hungry ferocity. She could hear her neck whiplashing, but always on the brink of breaking. Still, she held out her tremulous hands and typed in her command.

One feet away from the door, Caspian turned to ask the ladies at the adjacent table whether or not he had met them somewhere else before.

All electricity ceased as the woman entered into the avatar’s vision field.

Lenka could recognize her eyes anywhere, tranquil like forest ponds that donned the leaves’ verdant shade. Lenka remembered those eyes in fragments of memories, of how they always blinked under strong lights but never backed down, of how they always balanced overflowing love and unyielding rigor at the same time. The woman was dressed based on the Game’s customs: jean jacket, plaid shirt and khakis. But no matter what costume she changed into, Lenka would forever see her in that black bodysuit, before she stepped into the Game’s server room and never reappeared.

Lenka forgot to turn off the neural connection to her avatar before she blurted out loud. “Mom?”

03/21/2030 12:00 pm

“Have I seen you before?” Caspian interrupted the conversing women quite rudely, irritated by a sense of deja-vu. He addressed the younger of the two, wearing an outfit that screamed countryside.

“I don’t believe so, handsome.” Her eyes were inexplicably soothing, like a long-lost memory. “Are you lost?”

“No.”

Slightly taken aback mentally, he took a step back as well, and by some miraculous medium, he went from there to the ground. His brain, restless from the physical exertion earlier, seemed to be dancing a jig, absorbed in its own tea party and ignorant of its owner’s pain. This migraine of his had gotten much worse in the last two years, and of course his daily regimen was no help. He knew he needed medicine, but he also knew that the pharmacy would suck his savings dry.

Although he did not hit any of the table corners during his descent, he leaned against one table leg miserably, blushing as the pretty lady knelt down before him.

His mouth suddenly cracked open. “Mom?”

What was he saying? Was his condition so serious that he had delirium now? He racked his brain for an explanation for his impertinence, but even his tongue juggled inside the pharynx, incapable of sound.

“My darling.” The woman’s reaction was completely irrational as well. Her eyes crinkled, and even her fingertips seemed to have melted as she tapped his forehead.

But, surprisingly, he showed no revulsion to her touch.

She leaned even closer, breathing winter spruce, and brushed away a line of tear from his face.

Confused and still in pain, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a fountain of sadness.

“I’ve missed you, darling.” She crooned. “Let me help you.” As she pressed her forehead against his, the migraine cleared, and with that, she stood up and left with her companion.

He remained slumped over the floor. “Where have you been, Mom?” A high-pitch whine blundered out of his mouth. He should feel incredulity, or in the least, surprise, but there was only an interplay of joy and heartbreak tearing him apart.

My mind is not my own. He remembered his own words.

Soon, the intrusive voice—what he strongly believed to be someone else’s—clamped shut. When the waiter asked why he was on the ground, he scrambled up, mouthing string after string of apologies, and darted out of the restaurant. The voice didn’t return that afternoon, the next day or the subsequent week, but the lunchroom episode was stuck in his brain.

03/31/2030 12:00 pm

Caspian underwent a total transformation during this time of waiting, though.

For the first time in his life, he slept in.

On a school day, Marcus was the one who shook him awake at noon. “Perhaps I’ve given you the wrong name. You’re not Lily. How about Sleeping Beauty?” Marcus and his close-knit gang guffawed, a grating backdrop of sounds.

Caspian walked into the bathroom. He couldn’t help but grin as he looked into the mirror. He had no idea what that pretty lady did back in the ramen bar, but it would seem as if she took away a lot more than just his migraine. He used to agree with the others’ opinion of his own femininity. Otherwise, why would he color into an autumn apple just from seeing his or other males’ bare chests and avoid touching himself?

“You had a good sleep in there, Sleeping Beauty?” Remus, Marcus’s second, raked his lascivious eyes from Caspian’s chest down. “Come here, and your prince will grant you a kiss.” His sexual orientation had always been questionable.

And Marcus had always sanctioned Remus’s groping of Caspian. “Don’t take us too seriously, Lily. We are just glad you’re turning normal. You have a different air about you. Come.”

Caspian was pleased Marcus noticed. He gathered up his meager belongings into a backpack and walked out of the room.

For a long time, I was their pet mouse, and my location alternated between their pockets and their palms. But when I slipped out of their grasps and scurried away, the Lion, the Wolf and the Tiger could only stare. Their pride beckoned them to chase, but their cowardly souls murmured, “What if the mouse bites?”

Caspian was smirking as he sipped latte. He didn’t even like milk a week ago.

Marcus would hunt Caspian down sooner or later, especially since Caspian had been in charge of all their financial accounts and didn’t leave without taking his due salary. Caspian thumbed through the small wad of cash. For once, the notion of bankruptcy did not scare him out of his wits.

After five years in East New York, he could use a different landscape.

He would enjoy Hawaii—the rhythmic waves, the swaying palms, and the scintillating sunlight that pours down without filter. Perhaps there he’ll finally make progress on his book.

In fact, in the past week, he had written thrice the amount of what he originally had. There was no more fear that the gang would uncover his little rebellion and bash his brains in.

The little mouse found his way out of the maze, thanks to a Fairy Godmother who lingered by his side but for a moment. How he wished to find her again and express his gratitude? The sky out of the maze was not like the nursery blue within; it was a lot bigger, spanning across infinity.

Caspian looked out the window at the lowly beggar by the lamppost, the schoolchildren in their white uniforms, and the first-day intern staggering in her heels.

Even though the little mouse could be squished by any beast, blown away by their sneeze, the mouse felt incredibly safe. No one took notice of him, so no one wanted to exploit his vulnerability. And none would care if he skimped some cheese crumbs from their feet.

The little mouse summoned up the courage to strike up a conversation with a pretty butterfly. Her torso was the same size as his whiskers, but her unfurled wings, colored like a Turkish, hazel mosaic, dazzled him easily. As they fluttered in the wind, the semi-translucent petals called him closer, closer.

“Carson the Mousling, at your service.”

“I’ve waited to meet you face-to-face all my life, Carson.” Even her voice seemed to carry away in the winds.

His heart swelled. “Won’t you come down and rest on this rose stem, my Lady?”

For an instant, he thought she consented, for her wings bowed inwards, ready to land. But the wings were out of place. Grazing a thorn, the glorious film fractured.

She sought higher elevation immediately. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He couldn’t stand to see her injured. “Of course, but please don’t fly away, good Lady!”

She was the first creature, so beautiful and majestic, to notice him. She said she was delighted to see him, and the feeling was obviously mutual. She was made for him, in a funny instinct that he couldn’t describe.

“I’ll stay, but just for a moment.” She was such a tranquil spirit. “You’re not what I expected, Carson.”

“Then I hope I was a genuine surprise.”

“You are a wonderful surprise.”

He counted through his money and chuckled. Although he had barely enough for a one-way ticket, he was dreaming about moving there. He really was a changed man.

“How are you doing, sir?”

“Fantastic” —Caspian broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter— “Absolutely fantastic” —He worked himself into a frenzy of chortles and snorts, quickly developing into a frog in his throat. He bent over and retched up a stream of vomit.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“I’ve never been better.” There was still matter dripping out of his mouth. Maybe he was caffeine intolerant.

His heart tapped, building into a thunderous drumming. He had not felt this adrenalized even after Marcus ordered him to do ten laps around their campus. More curiously, his heart, or maybe his chest, began to murmur, as if the cardiac muscles were trying to squeeze his little ticker.

“Sir? Sir?” The girl, quite a darling, scurried away. “Someone call the ambulance!”

“I’m alright…don’t bother…” People get so agitated just because he sounded raspy and was on the ground, and he had blood on his hands, a decent amount of blood, but they left him on the floor only for a few minutes.

Several pairs of hands grasped his limbs and lifted him up to a gurney. Someone clapped a respirator over his face. They then hooked him up to one of those really fancy cardiac monitors.

“Quickly, quickly.” One of the paramedics hurried the driver. “We are losing him.”

The other paramedic crossed to the other side of the car to prepare the defibrillator.

04/01/2030 1:00 pm

Lenka couldn’t hide it any longer. When someone finds out that her avatar is roaming free in the Game, Caspian will be terminated on the spot, and she will face the most severe repercussion possible from the Gamemasters.

It had been a full day since Caspian was prostrate on a hospital bed in a persistent vegetative state. He was alive alright; his heartbeat reverberated in the Cereberal Space and in her eardrums, and it’s obvious what his condition was, something no human doctor could diagnose: disconnection. No avatar can survive without the Gamer’s daily maintenance, and Caspian was only breathing because of whatever her mother did.

Mom. Lenka should tell her brother, but how?

“Your mother had lost her life in a most unfortunate accident.” That’s what their father had always said.

“But—” Her younger self had squeaked.

“Please, Lenka.” Her father had dipped his head. “No more questions. I can’t take it.”

But Lenka had been the last one to see her mother. In a banned area. And, now she was inside of the Game. Evidently, she wasn’t controlled by a Gamer but acted according to her own will. She also freed Caspian in the same way.

The projector was still humming, but the entire dashboard, including every panel and every keypad, was frozen, solid like ice.

“Sister? What is this?” The worst still happened.

Lenka couldn’t look at him, but she explained. If anyone would keep a secret for her, it was Caspian.

“Do you have the memory moments of your avatar meeting Mom?”

“Yes.” Fortunately, she still had access to her avatar’s records, and with that, he believed her. “Tell me, Caspian. Is it possible for Gamers to enter the Game of Life?”

“No.”

“Then” —She saw his brows furrow— “Caspian? There is a way, isn’t there?”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, he said, “Yes.”

“How?”

“Technically, if one does it from the Server Room,” Lenka knew it, “it’s possible to trick the system into believing that they are avatars. But even after the computer is bypassed, the individual has to be strong enough to suppress their brain signals for a solid five seconds in order for the Game not to spit them out.”

“I know that pensive thought.” He sighed, a silent consent to her unworded request. “Train yourself to think about nothing for five seconds, that’s basically what it is. It can’t be an open plain or even the color white. Nothing.”

Lenka gave it a shot. First of all, having her eyes open did not help, but even with restricted sight, the constant thudding clipped and clopped. Her mind kept drifting back to either Caspian or her mother.

She reopened her eyes. “It’s no good.”

“It’s humanely impossible, sister; it requires an immense amount of fortitude.” And with an added sigh, he said, “Only Mom would pull it off.”

“But you could help me.” She grasped onto his arm, shaking it. “Nowadays, you are literally in and out of the Server Room, so you could trick the system two-folds. Mom was by herself, so she could only bypass one layer.”

“Technically, I could—”

“Screw technicalities!” A week ago, she would’ve never imagined herself interrupting Caspian. “I have to go in and find her; this is for the both of us.”

He pursed and unpursed his lips. His green eyes, born with a sharper edge than Mom’s, hardened even further. “Fine.”

Always the prudent one, he also promised to cover for Lenka’s rogue avatar.

“Tonight. At 11 pm?” she asked, a sudden fear and anticipation tingling in her blood.

“Yes. May the Gods smile upon you, sister.”

04/08/2030 3:00 am

Caspian had a wonderful dream. Too bad he only remembered the warm, fuzzy feeling when he woke up.

There was a steady beeping in his ear, with even intervals that he could fit a tongue-click in. Apart from that, he could only swerve his watch and entertain himself with the dot of light on the ceiling.

A man in a white toga sat beside him and flipped through paperwork. “Caspian Lockhart, are you awake?”

“Can you really not tell?”

The doctor’s poker face did not move a muscle. “On a scale of one to ten, what is your current pain level?”

Caspian frowned. He really hated more formulations in his life. “When can I leave the hospital?”

“One to ten,” the man repeated.

“Dude, zero.” Caspian flailed his arms about. “Why else would I try to leave?” Perhaps he ought to mention as well that powerful people should be looking for him by now.

The numerical answer finally satiated the man’s need. He went through Caspian’s thirty-page document again, taking his goddamn time.

“What’s your relationship with Diane Chatz?”

“Who?”

“The woman who came to visit you five hours before you regained consciousness.”

Caspian’s mind drifted back to the lady in the ramen bar. “I genuinely have no recollection of that name.”

“Very well.” The man scowled. “You are not leaving this hospital without informing us what kind of sorcery she employed to revive you from the dead.”

“The dead?” Caspian clambered up. “What are you talking about? I simply slept a bit.”

Now the man got up, as if fearing proximity with “Lazarus”. “The best doctors in Brooklyn examined you and couldn’t come to a diagnosis. From the neck below, you were withered, but your brain was lit up like a Christmas tree. And now you’re as good as new?”

“I…guess so.” Caspian touched his torso but couldn’t find any anomaly the man described.

The phone rang.

The jumpy doctor tiptoed towards the landline and answered it. A tremor leaked from the coiled cords to his hands, and then to his shoulder, before taking him prisoner from head to toe. His breaths went on a roller coaster, as if he wanted desperately to tear away from the voice on the other end but couldn’t out of some unfathomable reason.

It was Caspian’s turn to ask “Are you alright?” when he finished the call.

“No, I’m the opposite of alright,” the man spatted. In between the bushy facial hair, his skin flushed bright red. “I was just a normal fellow, content to live by patterns and routines, but your being admitted under my care has brought me nothing but misery. I never imagined that a man could be as troublesome as yourself, and by the guilt of association, I too am mired in deep trouble now.”

“I’m…sorry?” Caspian felt as if the old him would’ve accepted the accusations and begged for mercy, but his conscience was clear; he did absolutely nothing.

The man’s scoff further irritated Caspian. “How will you compensate me, Boy of Ill Fortune?”

Considering that he liked the moniker, and that intravenous lines still hooked him to the wall, Caspian did not spring from his bed and clasp his hands around that ungainly neck of the doctor’s. “Who was the call from?”

“Don’t pretend ignorance with me, Boy. Heaven knows that the gang leader just called me, at my extension number, to pay for your medical bills.”

Marcus. He had come for revenge.

“Your best friends will come to visit you this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” This time, Caspian seized the doctor’s icy hands and shook them fervently. “Now, will you check me out of the hospital so that my enemies will hunt me down elsewhere?”

The man finally registered his misconception. “...This instant, young man.” His tone flipped completely. Briskly and promptly, he breezed through all the paperwork for Caspian to walk out of the front doors at two hours past noon.

When the Lion finally remembered his pet—the little mouse who used to obey his every whim—he decided to find him. Even though the mouse could easily blend into the crowd, the Lion had binocular vision and a sense of smell that could sniff out even the tiniest shift in the air. To the mouse, it was survival; to the Lion, it was a game. When he was settled and safe, Caspian ought to find the time to type these brilliant passages up.

Marcus’s attention was a nuisance, but Caspian had to leave anyways—to find his Fairy Godmother who’d saved him yet again.

To save time, Caspian purchased a one-time luxury: a cab.

The driver’s pipe discharged a profuse amount of smoke, so much that Caspian was certain it obscured the windshield. Fanning it out of his proximity, he saw the tattoos on the man’s arm, concentrated spirals and loops, almost blending into the dark-chocolate skin.

But Caspian had already shut the door.

“Your destination?” the driver drawled.

Caspian couldn’t tell hjs paranoia apart from vigilance, but in the end, he spoke up, “The Airport, Sir.”

The man took a long drag and exhaled, fogging up the windows again. “Show me your ID.”

“Why, Sir?” Caspian was positive that his voice cracked as he forced out a chuckle. “Am I buying alcohol now? What right do you have to demand an ID from me?” He slinked into his seat.

The driver opened his glove compartment to reveal a pistol. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Caspian eyed the distance between himself and the weapon. If he could get it first. But the driver, no doubt a gang member, closed his black fingers around the grip and pulled it out. Click. Click.

“I don’t have it on me,” Caspian mumbled.

“Speak up!”

Now Caspian was certain that he gave the wrong answer. He shuffled to the seat’s edge and cranked the door handle.

“Caspian Lockhart, is it?” The driver was mighty pleased with himself as he tossed a set of handcuffs to the backseat. “I don’t like to waste bullets, and I’d rather not have to clean my car, so I beg you to make the wise decision here.”

Caspian picked it up, but his fingers were so unsteady that the cuffs clinked like gongs on its descent. He froze, but the man, awfully cordial in nature, merely gestured for Caspian to try again. Caspian knew perfectly well what would happen at the end of this journey, yet surprisingly, he embraced it. Though he sweated through the front and back of his shirt, he would not let them see a single tear.

After the man checked the security of Caspian’s cuffs, he put a sack over Caspian’s head. Marcus was really true to his style.

Caspian’s only wish now was to finish his story, in thoughts if not in typed words. The Butterfly had to come back; she simply had to; otherwise, who else would turn the mouse into a chivalrous Mousling?

Carson met the Butterfly at different places: the boundaries of a tree, the top of a log or the middle of a river crossing. Each time, she’d try to land by him, but even the slightest breeze could injure her in the process. Until, one day, Carson saw her lying in a lavender field. The violet bulbs provided the natural backdrop for her wings of bronze and gold and eddies of silver.

He marveled at the ethereal scene before greeting her. “My Lady, how kind of you to finally come down.”

His mistake was apparent as she tottered up, barely supporting herself on her thorax and abdomen, but her wings were different, folded up with ghastly creases.

“No, Carson.” Her voice was as tender as before, except burdened with pain. “God unleashed his punishment. He struck me with lightning and exiled me here. Without my wings, I’m not some Lady; I’m nobody.”

Even though her proximity made all the hair on his skin stand up in ecstasy, he raged. If someone would build him a ladder, than he would go to heaven and challenge this ludicrous God for him to restore her beauty. He did not view her any differently, but it mattered if she thought so, or more critically, that she was distressed by it.

“But now you’re like me, and you no longer have to bend down to talk to me.”

“That’s true, Carson.” Just a trace of her usual delight returned. “That’s the only good thing about it.”

“We’re here,” the driver said gruffly.

“Considering that I’m the one blindfolded, would you at least come around and help me with the door?” Caspian returned with equal spite. He was at the best part of his story.

The driver not only helped Caspian out but also removed the head covering, and when Caspian tottered, he kept him upright.

Although he’d half-expected that it was going to be either a fist or a baton, the first thing that struck Caspian in the face was the sun, unyielding like the lights above a football stadium. He wheeled around in cowardice, only to see a peculiar shape in the distance; in fact, it was the only decoration over the bleak horizon. He was puzzled by the outline’s familiarity.

“That’s Brooklyn.”

“What?” Caspian doubted first his ear than the driver’s intelligence.

“Turn around, young man.” He swiveled Caspian back to the potent sun and the open airfield under its glare. “You arrived at your destination: the airport. I’m waiting for my payment.”

“Hold on!” Caspian looked him up and down; it was the same person. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m a cab driver of course.” He frowned. “Now, are you trying to dodge payment? Or are you just fooling with a honest working person?” There was actual sincerity in the last question.

“No! But” — Caspian’s eyes dropped to the scrunched, black sack in the driver’s hands.

“Yes?”

“Didn’t you blindfold and point a gun at me?” Now he was even unsure of his own memories.

The driver didn’t blink as he answered, “Did I?”

Yes, you did, Caspian yearned to scream. Evidently, Marcus had listed Caspian as wanted and given orders through the gang’s network to make sure that Caspian didn’t escape the city. If Caspian had hopped into another cab, he probably would have suffered from the same fate. After all, Marcus pretty much had the entire city under his control.

“Young man, it’s ten dollars from where I picked you up to here.” He was still going at it.

The logic behind the driver’s paradoxical actions was beyond Caspian. He took out his wallet and counted out the right amount with tips.

The driver thanked him and went back into the cab, screeching out of the airfield.

“If you changed your mind, why did you put me in the middle of the airfield instead of at the terminal?” Caspian missed his chance to ask. Maybe he shouldn’t care that much; after all, he was the one who got lucky.

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