­                                         "Terry!
                                                                    ­                      Are you alright?
                                                        ­                      Did the truck hit you?"

"Yeah, m'fine.
Just... fell.
Got knocked on the head.
I'll be okay."

                                                         ­                                "You're bleeding.
                                                       ­                                       Here, sit still."

"Aaron.
Do you hear it?"

                                                           ­                                     "Hear what?"

"The music..."

                                                      ­                       "Hold it together, Terry.
                                                          ­          An ambulance is on its way."

"Aaron..."

                                              ­                                                   "Yes, Terry?"

"Would you sing for me?"

                                                           ­                                                        "...
                                                                ­          You know I can't do that."

"Why ever not?
You used to...
all the time..."

                                                       ­                                      "Stay with me!
                                                             ­                           Don't fall asleep!"

"Was it the death?
In the forest?

Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground
That now you smoke your pipe around
Has seen immortal actions done
And valiant battles lost and won.

Is that how it goes?"

                                                         ­             "It's a nursery rhyme, Terry.
                                                          ­                 I'm sure you got it right."

"What's it called?
I can't remember the rest."

                                                         ­                 "Historical Associations
                                                   ­                                                   I believe."

"Sing it for me?
I don't know the rest."

                                                         ­                                             "Oh, well,
                                                           ­                                            let's see...

                                                         ...and valiant battles lost and won.

                                                           Here we had best on tip-toe tread,
                                                                ­While I for safety march ahead,
                                                            For this is that enchanted ground
                                                   Where all who loiter slumber sound...

                                                      ­                                                       Sorry.
                                                          ­                                     I can't finish."

"Yeah, I get it.
Thanks, Aaron."

                                                        ­                                                         "..."

"You have a nice voice."

                                                        ­                     "The ambulance is here.
                                                          I­'ll come meet you in the hospital."

"...
okay."

h.f.m.

"Aaron, I have met
someone at the college.
Her name
is Naomi."

                                                        ­                                                       "Oh?
                                                            ­                            What is she like?"

"Her hair is white
like ash, the same
grey as her eyes,
though
she is only nineteen.
She is an undergrad in
astronomy."

                                                 ­                               "Astronomy? Really?"

"Yes.
And she is a poet, too."

                                                          ­                "How did you meet her?"

"I ran into her in the library
while I was researching
for an essay.
She was surrounded by books,
stacks and stacks of them,
her hair like
a white curtain
'round her face."

                                                         ­                                         "And next?"

"I walked past,
allowing her to remain focused
but she looked up at me
and pinned me with her gaze
and asked me my name."

                                                         ­                           "And you told her?"

"Yes.
Then she asked me
if I would be interested
in helping her find
the history of a certain
constellation.
You won't believe which one."

                                                          ­                                            "Tell me."

"Perseus.
He's a hero, but
his name is translated as destroyer,
and he carries a sickle-shaped sword.
The legend said he was placed in the sky
as a constellation after he died."

                                                     "What does this have to do with me?"

"The legend reminded me of you.
So much hardship,
so much blood,
but alive in the end."

                                                                  "Unlike most heroes of myth."

"My point exactly."

                                                             "I might be interested in meeting
                                                                              this 'Naomi' character."

"I'll set something up."

h.f.m.

tell me
what is your truth?
what is the truest thing about you,
boiled down, concentrated
into one sentence?

mine:
i am not here.

most of my thoughts
are in another place,
another world of my own creation
or from a story i once knew.

i stare off into space,
head in the clouds,
not really present.

there is a lingering sense
that i don't belong,
that i'm not meant to be here,
that i am supposed to be
somewhere else,
that i need to be
somewhere else.

my truth?
i am not here.
you are speaking with a shell.
a shadow, a husk,
a liminal form that doesn't matter very much.

i am not here.

h.f.m.

"Aaron, you never told me
what happened that night
since I saved you."

                                                          ­                                                     "No.
                                                            ­                     I never have, have I?"

"You were covered
in blood, and there were
so many bodies.
Will you tell me?"

                                                           ­                                          "I'd rather
                                                          ­                                                     not."

"I can't help
if I don't know."

                                                         ­                                   "I can handle it.
                                                             ­  There is no need to burden you,
                                                            ­           you don't need to help me."

"But I want to help.
I'm your friend.
It is no burden."

                                                                             "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

                                                                                             "It was a spirit,
                                                                                  called to life through
                                                                                                     sacrifices."

"Sacrifices?"

                                                                     "I was kidnapped that night.
                                                                                               Off the street,
                                                                               on my way home from
                                                                                                      a concert.
                                                                                  I had elected to walk,
                                                                              which was my mistake.
                                                                                                  I was taken,
                                                                           along with seven others."

"There were only
two other bodies, though."

                                                                                                        "I know.
                                                                        The spirit took the others."

"What do you mean
when you say spirit?"

                                                                                           "I mean spirit.
                                                                                             Demon, ghost,
                                                                                                I don't know.
                                                                                          It wasn't human,
                                                                     and it had no physical form,
                                                                   but it was called by the blood
                                                                                     of innocent people,
                                                                                and it wreaked havoc.
                                                                   The only thing that stopped it
                                                                                    from taking me too,
                                                             was the fact that you showed up.
                                                                                                          It fled."

"How could it take the others,
if it had no physical form?
Why would it leave you,
just because I came?
I don't understand
how this could be possible."

                                                                              "You don't believe me."

"I'm not sure
what I believe.
I always thought
the police were wrong
when they said it was a mass ******
by a serial killer.
It didn't seem right."

                                                                                     "Because it wasn't."

"Did you tell the police this?"

                                                                            "They didn't believe me.
                                                     Said that the trauma caused my mind
                                                  to come up with a fantastic explanation
                                                  for the pain and fear I had experienced.
                                                                            They didn't believe me."

"I think I would believe you
if I could believe
that this 'spirit' left
because of me,
but I'm not so sure."

                                                                                                      "I'm sure.
                                                                             It had to have been you.
                                                                                 What else was there?"

"...
Thank you for telling me."

                                                                      "I'm not sure you can help."

"We'll see about that."

h.f.m.