What are we?
We are so many things. We're the the whole universe, bottled up right here into a lifetime. We're imperfect and warm and soft like dirt. We're shimmering and bright and eternal like the moon.
What are we? What are we?
Humans.
Messy...
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•
"Ten years," she states. My eyebrows furrow.
"None of this makes sense," I shake my head, running my hands through my hair with a sigh, "None of the tests came up positive. But I can feel it."
"Hey," my head snaps back up to her, the women sitting in front of me in the darkness, the golden shine of her mask catching the single, dull light hanging above us. "Are you the oracle here or am I?"
"You," I mumble.
"Right. I saw your future. I told you what I saw. Your first kid? It's not happening for another ten years. Now that's that."
"Sorry," I huff out a breath, "it's just. I don't know. I just thought..."
Her face softens for a moment as she looks at me, "Look. You said you sense energies, right? That's your thing?"
"Yeah."
"Life forms take a lot of energy to create. Maybe what you're sensing isn't life, but the potential for life. Maybe you're just getting a glimpse before the whole picture has formed. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, actually. That does. Thank you."
I get up from the table. She holds her empty hand out, "Fifty bucks." My eyes roll as I fish the dollar bills out of my pocket and give it to her. She smiles, "Pleasure doing business with you."
My fingers find the zipper of my jacket and pull it up to my neck. I head for the door, beginning to think up lesson plans for Intro to Physics, when I hear her chair abruptly sound a harsh screech.
"Wait!" she calls out after me. I peer back over my shoulder and watch her rummage through a drawer. My arms tense when she comes closer to me, then places something into my hand, "This is for you."
I look down at the object in my palm, "What the hell is this?"
"You'll find out. Soon enough."
I narrow my eyes, "You can't tell me?"
"You're not meant to know yet."
I stare at her, long and hard. I stare at the black gaping holes she has for eyes and I fight the urge to throw what's resting in my closed fist at her game-playing, future-seeing head.
Then I head out into the rain, the cold washing over me as I examine what she gave me a final time. The last time before I shove it into my pocket and it erases itself from my memory.
What does this have to do with me?
It leaves a chill that radiates in the center of my hand. These things haven't had any value for almost fifty years. It's garbage. Practically nothing.
Nothing but a single Nazi coin. Small and glistening silver.
•
"I broke through the trees and there in the night My father's house stood shining hard and bright The branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms But I ran 'til I fell shaking in his arms" -Bruce Springsteen, "My Father's House"
Book Dedication
This final book is dedicated to all of the fans of this series, whether you've been here for three years or only stumbled upon it yesterday, thank you so much for everything that you are. Your enthusiasm, patience, and support for this series has made it all the more enjoyable to write. This story is alive because of you. Again, thank you for being you.
