Here's a little short story I wrote in just a few hours, actually. It started out as a dream I had - the core plot and images I kept true to the it - so it may take some odd twists that may surprise you I hope you like it.





EVANESCENCE










What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us.

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson





Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces.

~ Sigmund Freud












0

She stood before him, alone in a beautiful park area. Behind her were scattered trees, their branches still full with luscious green birrs and their canopies blessing the scant forest with their enormous reach. The grass shone a brilliant green and the sky a luminous light blue, the colors sharpened and deepened by the blustery and chilled winter day.
She wore a fleece sweater, its turtle-neck bunched up under her strong jaw and slight chin. Warm greens and blues rippled throughout the fabric, giving her an innate connection to her background, a natural and unintended camouflage.
Her mouth was parted slightly, her light red lips giving way to a glimpse of the white teeth beyond, and the corners mildly upturned in a nearly nonexistent smirk. A puff of visible breath was expelled into the air, materializing only briefly before it was swept into the wind and dissolved away like wet tissue paper.
The brisk gusts blew her short hair across her face like writhing tendrils of brown silk. She gazed at him from behind this whisking concealment, her eyes a penetrating and stunning jade green; and in that single gaze he could see all of her great intelligence, the deep wealth of her magnificent personality, and her undying love.
In that moment, she practically hummed beauty. Invisible waves of emotion thrummed outward from her, washing over him with it’s gentle embrace. He felt at home, at peace, utterly content, complete, and humble all at the same time.
In that moment, worlds revolved around her. Time stopped and Fate itself was interrupted.
In that moment, she was everything.
“I see you.”


















1

He woke up gasping, unsure of where he was. A second later his mind cleared and he heard his alarm clock blaring it’s radio next to his ear, on the glass night stand beside his bed.
“ ...olie movie entitled ‘April Dreams’. In this ground breaking anime motion picture, its main character drawing inspiration from the actress herself, a lone woman finds herself at the center of a grand conspiracy that reaches to every part of the globe. Starring Angeli...”
John slammed his hand down on the off button and rolled over, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling.
“Damn it!”
Finally, after a few minutes of zoning out, he slid out of bed, tossing his red and black comforter to the side and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He blinked a few times and shook his head; his eye sockets feeling as if they were filled with cotton balls. Getting up slowly from the end of his bed he smoothed out his bunched up boxer shorts as he crossed his bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, bumping into his bookcase on the way.
Ignoring the pain in his shin, he snapped on the light with his finger, instantly sending a different kind of pain shooting into his eyes.
“Ah! Damn it,” He said for the second time already that day, and flipped the switch again, plunging his apartment back into the blissful darkness of early morning.
At the sink, he splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth, not quite fully awake, but not wanting to be either. His mind still rested on the dream he was so rudely awakened from; the jade green glow of the woman’s eyes and the coy, almost-not-there smile on her lips had burnt themselves onto his consciousness. He gargled a bit, then spit out the horrid tasting mouthwash, rinsing out the bowl of the sink with a brief gush from the faucet afterwards.
Crossing back through his bedroom again, this time avoiding his literary shin-catcher, John wondered who she was. Or more accurately, he thought as he opened his closet doors, who did she represent?
It was well known that in dreams everything meant something, and most images in a dream are cobbled together sights and sounds from the day before, woven together in a sweeping, however often disjointed, subconscious masterpiece. But John had to reflect that his dream had not been disjointed in the least bit; had not jumped around here and there as dreams often do; but had been extremely clear and vivid. Almost absurdly so.
John threw on his starched, white dress shirt, buttoning it up the front and moving his neck a bit to avoid pinching himself as he fastened the last small button under the collar. He grabbed his black tie from the steel tie rack he kept on the inside of the closet door, smoothing out the wrinkles he could make out in the relative blackness of his room.
If only he hadn’t woken up.
He turned and tossed the tie at his clock, missing by an inch and sending it tumbling behind the night stand. He turned back to the closet to get another and realized his others weren’t clean yet. He sighed and went to recover the tie, cursing his clock, now not only for it’s lack of consideration, but for it’s lack of width as he bent over the glass piece of furniture and scooped up the slender piece of cloth.
Finishing up with his tie and slipping the silver tie clip through his shirt and over the black men’s clothing accessory, he could still hear her voice pulsating through his head like a quasar announcing its presence to the galaxy abroad.
“I see you.”
Her voice was sweet, promising music, and just underneath it was a husky undertone, fluctuating depending on pitch, almost like a cracking voice. John thought it was indescribably cute and indefinitely endearing; he could listen to her talk about anything and still be forever enraptured with its smoky underpinnings.
He shrugged on his black pants, the second part in his three piece suit, and fastened the silver buckle on his belt as he tucked his shirt in, slipping the end through the steel rectangle and settled on the first hole. He walked out into the short hallway outside his room and straightened his tie as he crossed the kitchen to his calender fastened to his refrigerator.
“What’s the schedule for the day?” He mumbled to himself, scanning the rectangular grid for the day’s date.
He found it, and he saw that he had written in the little box in black ink: OFF.
He was off today? He hadn’t remembered...
“Damn it all,” He said. Then added, “To hell,” as he meandered back to his room.
He was already up and dressed, so it was pointless to try to get back to sleep. He stood in his doorway, his hands on his hips, trying to decide what to do.
First, John thought to himself, I’m going to have a cigarette. He backtracked to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went.
He grabbed the pack and lighter that was resting on the counter and walked through the adjacent living room, stepping through a sliding door at the far end and onto the balcony beyond. He was immediately hit with a gust of biting wind and a few flakes of snow and realized two things: It was indeed snowing outside, and he had no coat or socks on.
He shrugged and leaned back inside to light his cig, flipping the snap lighter closed afterward and slipping in his pocket as he walked to the railing of his balcony. The overhang kept the cement floor clear of the damp snow, and overall it wasn’t really overly cold out, merely chilly.
He took a long drag on the cigarette and leaned on the metal railing, exhaling the smoke out of his nose slowly as he looked out on the city beyond. Soft flakes of snow were falling gently from the sky, peppering the not-quite-light environment with a blanket of white. A couple of cars passed below, but they were few and far between, and each time they did John had to wince; the noise seemed deafening at such an early hour. A truck rumbled into his view from a side street and turned down another road, and John watched it until it faded from sight, exhaust flowing from the muffler and into the cold air, fading quickly into transparent wisps then into nothing.
The sight brought the woman back to his mind, and he shook his head, taking one last drag on the cigarette before tossing it over the balcony.
“Just forget about it,” He said to himself.
He put the pack of cigarettes back onto the counter and went into the bathroom; he was planning on going somewhere, and he wanted to make sure he was presentable.
John looked into the mirror and saw a ruggedly handsome, mid thirties man looking back. He had been told once by an old girlfriend that he had reminded her of Harrison Ford, and he certainly hadn’t been inclined to disagree. He stroked his stubbled chin absent-mindedly and reminded himself to shave sometime soon.
Hmm. Now what to do?
Well, he thought, there was a café not too far from his apartment building; only a few blocks down. They had some fairly good cappuccino, and he could grab a croissant for breakfast....
He nodded to himself and gathered his shoes from the bottom of his closet. He threw them on, the black shoes shined to a glistening sheen the night before, light folding around the leather like tattered blankets. He grabbed his wallet and stuffed it into his back pocket, scooping up his motorcycle keys as he did so. He looked at the keys for a moment, then tossed them back onto the night stand; he’d walk.



“Good morning, Mister Mirra,” The super greeted him as he passed her room. She had the door propped open and was in the process of transporting several trash bags
“Morning, Ruth. Need some help with those?”
She shook her head and smiled at him. “No, no, I’m fine. Thanks for asking, hon.”
He said ok and had moved past her when the elderly lady took a second glance at him.
“And just where is your coat?” She said.
“Don’t need one, Ruth. Bye,” He said without turning around, and gave her a backwards wave.
He descended the stairs, saying hello to a few fellow early risers, then crossed through the lobby and out the front door. A blast of cold air hit him as the door swung shut behind him, and he wondered if that coat might have been a good idea.
Oh well.
He hurried across the street, waving to a car who’d let him past, and onto a small walkway that was nestled behind an old warehouse building that was no longer in service. The snow crunched lightly beneath his feet as he walked along the path, a sound John had always enjoyed; it reminded him of Christmas as a little kid.
He continued slowly, in no real hurry, just enjoying the fresh air and the gentle snow fall, looking around at the various small businesses and houses he passed, taking in the sights.
Then, as he was staring at is feet and wondering to himself what DVD he was going to watch when he got home, movement tugged at the corner of his eye, a glimpse of color followed right behind.
He glanced up, expecting to see...well, he didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but this wasn’t it.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
There, on the other side of the road, walking down the sidewalk heading the other direction, was the woman of his dreams. Literally.
He blinked. Impossible.
He took a few more steps forward, shaking his head, then stopped again and looked closer. It was her. She was wearing different clothes, but looking at her face it was unquestionably her.
His mind raced, unsure of what to do.
What, he thought, run up to her and say: “Hey, you were in my dream last night! Pretty wack, huh?”
Well, he could always...
Before he knew it he was crossing the street, with no plan of action whatsoever. He didn’t know what he was going to do, only that he had to do something; The coincidence was just too great. As was his attraction to her.
He hopped up on the sidewalk beside her, and she glanced up.
“Hi there,” He said, a bit nervously.
“Hi yourself,” She replied, and gave him a little smile.
God. That voice. He might as well have been a puddle on the sidewalk.
“Um, do you have the time?”
She fumbled with the sleeve of her jacket, and John took the moment to really look at her up close.
She was wearing a black leather jacket that looked about a size too big for her, the front not buttoned or zipped up but held closed by her arms that were crossed over her chest. He lower half, he was surprised to see, was clad in a red dress that stopped just above her knees. Well, knee, singular, because one half of the dress sloped lower than the other, most likely some kind of new designer dress, and looking at the side that rode higher up closer to her hips John could see she had a black skirt on underneath. The red dress itself looked silk, blown back and forth in smooth, flowing ripples with by wind.
She also wore a pair of tight boots that stretched up her leg and stopped midway up her calves. He couldn’t see any laces so he guessed there were zippers on the inside somewhere.
“It’s....” She began, trailing off as she read the face of the watch.
Her hair was the same as he remembered it; it stopped just above her shoulders with a few loose curls on the end. The right side of her hair swooped down across her eye while the other side rested straight against her cheek. She looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties.
“...4:21" She finished, and looked over at him, smiling, and re-crossed her arms, pulling the jacket closed tighter.
“Thanks. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I couldn’t help but notice you’re not exactly dressed for the weather.”
“Ah,” She said, looking him up and down with her eyes,” And neither are you.” She finished playfully.
“No, I love the cold weather,” She continued, “ I’m only wearing the jacket because I’m not entirely daft. But still,” She looked over as they walked side by side, an unlikely conversation now struck up.
“What about you? A fellow fan of this weather?”
“No,” He chuckled, “I just forgot my coat and didn’t feel like going back.” He grinned at her, and said, “A dress though?”
“Hey!” She grunted, and reached out an arm and shoved him.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” She said after a pause, grinning too. “The outfit looked good, didn’t know how the weather was until I walked out the door, so I just threw this old jacket on to make up for it,” She shrugged. “Oh well.”
“So, where are you headed, then?” He asked.
“I was actually just out for a walk. It’s nice and peaceful in the mornings.” She laughed as she looked down at herself. “ You’re right, though. Sheesh, I look like such a ditz.”
“No, no,” He said.
“Listen,” he began, and stopped walking. She did the same and looked at him, gazing into his eyes.
“I was on my way to the café just down the road, if you wanted to join me...share a cup of coffee or something, maybe?”
She looked at him some more, then slowly nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds really good.”
They turned around and head back the other way, walking side by side, their steps nearly matched.
“Oh,” He said, chuckling, “By the way, I’m John Mirra.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it firmly, her jacket sleeve sliding over her thumb and brushing John’s.
“I’m Milla. Nice to meet you, John.”
She didn’t offer a last name, but he didn’t ask for it. If a strange guy came up to him and asked him out for a cup of coffee at four in the morning, he thought he’d be cautious too.






































2


Four hours and twenty dollars worth of cappuccino later, all feelings of hesitancy and nervousness had dissipated, and John was beginning to feel as though he were talking to an old friend. Gone were the preconceptions and images of the perfect woman of his dreams, in fact the dream itself now almost faded into obscurity, and instead were replaced by the reality of the person herself: and he found her indefinably better than he ever could have dreamt. He’d heard once that true love required not with loving a perfect person - but loving an imperfect person perfectly.
He had to agree.
Also gone were the strange feelings that were left over from the dream. How had he dreamt of this woman without ever meeting her? And then coincidences of all coincidences, meet her the very next morning at a time of day where most people were still in a deep sleep? Chance? Or maybe it was providence.
Fate. Normally he didn’t like to subscribe to the notion; he didn’t like the feeling that he wasn’t in control of his life. But reflecting on his current situation, he had to submit that maybe sometimes being out of control is just what we need.
“....but they still had an affair at the end,” Milla said, bringing his mind back to the conversation. She had taken off her jacket long ago and had draped it over the back of her chair, revealing a low cut, spaghetti top underneath, and she now sat leaned back in the steel café chair, sipping her coffee.
She insisted that in a recent movie they had both seen, Bill Murray had indeed had an affair with Scarlett Johansson by the end of the film, and John insisted on persuading her otherwise.
His left leg crossed over his right, John set his coffee down on the small glass table top that separated them.
“Ah, but that’s exactly the point of the film- they didn’t have an affair of the conventional sense. If that would have been the case, at the end of the movie it would have ended with a traditional sappy cliche: they both discover they’re madly in love with one another, leave their respective spouses, and make a life with each other to live happily ever after.”
“But they had an emotional affair. Which is even worse - it doesn’t have to be physical to be cheating.” She took another sip, squinting her eyes at him and nodding with wisdom. “Ah, right, right?”
John scooped up his coffee and also took a swig, shrugging as he swallowed. “True enough. But like I said, that’s really not what it is about. At it’s core, it’s about those relationships that develop in the most unlikely of places, with the most unlikely of people - and while they may be short lived, they will last a lifetime in memory and forever change who we are.”
“Well said.” She sat her coffee down and leaned forward, this time her voice was low. “Like us, John?”
He should have seen that one coming. He also set his coffee down, and leaned forward. “Not necessarily.”
She sat back and moved the hair out of her eyes with a flick of her head. “C’mon John. We just met a few hours ago. You wanted the time, and I had a watch. We had some coffee, we talked, and now we get on with our lives.”
John was taken aback. What had she said was certainly true enough, but...
Milla smiled slightly. “But that’s not how I feel.”
“No?” Inside he was screaming with joy.
She shook her head, “No. Maybe it’s crazy - no, it is crazy - but in this short time I’ve known you..I feel like I know you.” She ended the last part in the form of a question, like she wasn’t sure how to say a word in a foreign language.
“I know what you mean.” He nodded sincerely.
“ A lot of talk about what we know. But what do we feel? That’s what really matters. That may be all that matters.”
He frowned, unsure of how put into concrete words just what it was that he was feeling.
She leaned closer and spoke again, this time it was so hushed it was almost a whisper; like it was something she didn’t really want to share, but yet hoping he felt the same.
“How long....do you think it takes for love to develop? Real, true love - not infatuation, not ‘let’s go out to the movies and then fuck afterwards’. The real thing John, how long?”
That was a tough question, and love wasn’t a word he just threw around. Four hours ago he probably would have said a very long time, several months, even years, and only after getting to know that person on the deepest of levels. But, in retrospect, there were always exceptions to every rule and he had known a couple that had met and were engaged in merely a week. And were still married to the day, twenty years later. So the true question was, how long did it take to get to know someone on the deepest of levels? Years? A week? He supposed it all depended: it was merely subjective.
John leaned in further, matching her volume and meeting her gaze, losing himself in the exorbitant jade oceans that were her eyes.
“Four hours ago,” He began slowly, not quite sure he really wanted to go where he was going, “I would have said a very long time. But...”
“But what?”
“But four hours is beginning to seem... like a very long time.”
A smile spread slowly on her face. “So great minds really do think alike,” She trailed off, leaning over the table slowly as John did the same.
He closed his eyes.
He could feel her breath on his cheek, on his lips, a gentle and warm caress against his skin.
They leaned closer...
“Damn it, find a room, would ya?”
They fell back into their seats, looking at each other with a slight blush and a sly glance.
The guy behind the counter shook his head and as he brought over their bill. “Jesus, people.”
“I swear,” He went on mumbling to himself as he walked back to the counter with Jason’s money in hand, “It’s like they’re the only ones here. I mean, have some freakin’ good sense-“
He was still talking when they slipped out the door and into the brisk morning air. It was continuing to snow, only at a slower pace, and it didn’t feel as cold.
But that last part probably had nothing to do with the weather.
They stepped down from the cafe’s entrance and onto the sidewalk, turning down the corner and began walking.
Well, John tried to keep walking, but the moment they were behind the building, Milla shoved him hard against the brick wall and moved in fast.
She stopped just short, her breath quicker now and it’s warmth made John want to scream. He moved forward the last few inches and their lips met. They kissed meekly at first, their lips gently sliding over each others, softly entwining; Then with more force, John could feel his heart racing, and could feel Milla’s as well as she pressed herself snug up against his body as she swivelled her head for a deeper kiss. Her small breasts pressed softly into his chest and her abdomen and lower body pressed in hard against his own, the heat radiating from her in waves.
He gently probed her lips with his tongue, softly parting her mouth. She reciprocated immediately, sliding her tongue across his as his hands rose from her hips and tenderly caressed her cheek. The passionate kiss continued to build until it reached a fevered pitch; and they parted tentatively, loitering a bit with her supple lips still touching his as they finally opened their eyes and looked deep into each other’s soul.
“It can’t last.” She said, in a tone that almost said ‘I know something you don’t.’
“And why not?” He replied, still only inches apart from each other and their bodies still meshed.
“We can make it last just the same as any couple. If it really is love, then we’ll find out for sure eventually. If it’s true love, it will conquer anything life can throw at us.”
“You honestly believe that John? Anything?” Again, that tone.
John ignored it and gave her a smile. “I know so.”
Milla gazed at him a minute more, then a grin slowly spread. “Yeah,” She said, nodding. “We can make it work,” She added, sounding reassured. Jut underneath was a hint of doubt and a tinge of hope.
With that they walked off together, hand in hand, into a bright new world.







































3


They spent the rest of that morning walking around the city, stopping in a store here and there, and talking. They talked about everything, from favorite books to what they wanted out of life. Any and every subject that came to mind they discussed, asking the other’s opinion or listening intently to what the other had to say. By noon they had formed an even stronger bond than they had had in the morning and they found their affection for one another growing exponentially as the day went on.
They stopped into a small restaurant to have lunch, and as John opened the door for Milla, she caught his eye and gave him a coy little wink as she walked passed him; and in that moment he felt sure he had found the woman for him. He closed the door and followed her inside, his mind racing a hundred miles a minute.
As a song once said; every little thing she did was magic. She had a strong character, a stunning personality, and was blessed equally with stunning beauty. John found himself loving her for reasons he couldn’t fully describe, it seemed as though every facet of her being was one that he coveted, never wanting her out of his sight and wanting nothing more than to hold her in a perpetual embrace.
And it was the little things that said the most, the little things that John loved more than anything. The soft sprinkle of freckles on her chest, revealed in part by the low cut spaghetti top of her dress; a few loose strands of hair here and there, the frayed ends a rare occurrence amongst the radiant, lightly scented and wonderfully soft locks; the cute habit she had of covering her mouth when she laughed, the back of her hand hiding her laughter as she doubled over, the other hand on her stomach; the graceful lines of her neck and shoulders and the gentle curves of her hips; her blazing intelligence and sharp wit, her humor often sarcastic and satirical.
When it came to the little things in life, what could be bigger?













4

“Hmm,” Milla said as they walked out of the restaurant, holding hands with John,” That was great. Where should we go now...”
John thought it over for a minute. “We could stop in the mall, it’s definitely open by now.”
Simply calling it a mall was a misnomer, it’s size was so immense that it might have well had been it’s own state. About fifteen minutes later, as they walked inside, John marveled at it still, despite his years of living in the area.
It had three expansive floors, and the mall itself was a massive fifteen football fields wide at twice as long. The lower floor was lined with stores, as was any other, but it was also filled with a myriad of small counter shops and stands that spread down the center of the walkway. The center of the upper floors was removed and in it’s place stood a great hole lined with glass railings and steel balconies that overlooked the floors below, and from three stories up the view down onto the heads of the people massing below was a dizzying one. On the ceiling of the building was a gigantic glass dome that filtered in the sunlight from outside in radiant beams, like thick rays of golden liquidity.
John and Milla spent the rest of the day in the mall, shopping from store to store, looking in a window display here and there, meandering about the lounge areas and chatting. They bought a few CDs from a vender at one of the booth shops on the lower floor, and after continuing to browse the area for a few more minutes they decided to leave.
They strolled out of the mall exit, the purchases in one of John’s hands and Milla’s waist in the other. He tugged her playfully into him, like a nudge.
“You know...it’s getting pretty late.” He said. And indeed it was; nearly midnight.
Nestled into John’s side and her arms around his waist and stomach, she lifted her head and looked at him as they continued to walk.
“So it is. What did you have in mind, Mister Mirra?” She gave him that nearly nonexistent but enrapturing smile of hers.
“Well, I was thinking we could go back to my apartment, snuggle on the couch and watch Lost in Translation.” He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised in question.
She gave a laugh of surprise and brushed the hair out her eye. “That sounds absolutely terrific, John.”
She stopped suddenly and parted from him, putting her hands on his arms and looking him in the eye. “You are truly a good man. This morning I never would have...” She voice hitched and she paused momentarily to bring it back. “I never would have thought I could be so lucky.” She put her hand gently on his cheek, just barely touching it with her fingertips.
“I love you, John.”
He raised his hand and took hers from his cheek and brought it to his chest, pulling her closer to him.
“And I love you.”
They kissed then, not as fervently and needy as they had at the café, but slower, more heartfelt, and indefinitely more passionate.
After a good minute they parted slowly and smiled, pulled each other closer and then began walking again. They strolled slowly down the streets and sidewalks, in no hurry to leave the warm comfort of each others embrace and in no greater hurry to reach the future they had together that was now sure; inevitable.
And so they went into the night - Milla leaning on John, her arms around his waist and her head resting on his shoulder; his free arm behind her back and resting on the subtle curve that started the magnificent shape of her hip, and his other clutching the small plastic bag of music - and gradually dissolved from vision into the snow, the free falling blanket of white overtaking them and making them one with the chilled winter darkness.


























5

John handed the bag of CDs to Milla as he fumbled in his pocket for his apartment keys, which he finally found buried underneath his lighter he had placed there early that morning.
God, he thought to himself, that seemed like such a long time ago. An eon.
Milla innocently browsed through the bag as he slid in his key and turned the lock, pushing open the wooden door as he did so.
“C’mon,” He said, smiling.
She sashayed slowly past him, hands on her hips, flicking her head up in a mock snobbish gesture. “It’s about time,” She said in a nasally voice.
John gave her a good pat on the buttocks as she passed and she cried “Ooo!” and giggled as she rushed into the room.
She stopped midway into the living area and looked around. “Wow. This is a nice place. I.....”
She trailed off, her lovely voice fading out into silence.
John shut the door and turned.
“You what, hon?”
Milla dropped the plastic bag and the discs clattered to the ground, skidding across the hardwood floor as they fell. He could see her trembling, the wrinkled and worn leather of her black jacket quivering as she shook.
“Milla, what -“
Suddenly, from what simultaneously seemed like both far away and dangerously close, a booming siren filled the air. Booming is the only adjective John could think to describe the sound, the grand reach of it; the loudness that filled his mind and all if his senses was indescribable.
The tones were perhaps comparable to that of a massive, continent sized, piano with it’s deepest key being depressed. The first tone droned on for a few seconds, then was replaced by a lower, heartier one.
The windows shook in the apartment, random lamps and loosely hung paintings and pictures crashed to the floor in brash declarations of shattering glass and dull pops as light bulbs ruptured.
The sound finally cut out, squelching at the tail end like a speaker announcement, and the night was silent again.
Milla burst into fevered motion, running here and there, muttering loudly to herself.
“Of course, of course. I was so stupid. Stupid. Stupid!”
John tried to grab her, calm her sown, but she wouldn’t be stopped.
“My God, oh my God. How could I forget? Got caught up. Wasn’t supposed to happen. Just gather, not feel. Have to leave. Have to go, I have to go!”
She shoved him away as he tried to put his arms around her. “Get away from me John! Get AWAY!”
“There’s only one exit, if that’s what you’re looking for... Milla I don’t understand....”
She rushed frantically across the apartment and reached the door, struggling with the handle and finally ripped it open, flinging it into the wall as she ran into the hallway. He reached out and grabbed her jacket by the tips of his fingers, pulling her back.
“What the hell is wrong with you!”
She looked at him, a moment of calm in the storm, and he saw a terror gleaming from her eyes he’d never witnessed before, and beyond it an unwillingness to accept what she had to do.
Then the moment was over and she shoved him backwards hard and cried “John!” Sounding exasperated; then she was running down the hallway.
“The RamRods are coming!” She cried back to him, but she was already a good distance away, and he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
“Ramrods...?” He whispered to himself, then ran after her.

He rushed down the stairs and burst into the lobby just as Milla ran out the entrance, the doors swinging violently in her wake. John didn’t waste any time and followed her out into the blustery night, sharp knives of cold piercing his body and making his eyes sting with tears.
She rounded the building, a flash of black and a flutter of blood red silk his only sign in the blowing snow. He sprinted after her, also rounding the building and as he did so, got the unsettling feeling of silence. A stillness that oozed ominous implications; a sense of foreboding heavy in the air.
Behind the apartment building was a small park area, full of trees and grass, now covered with a layer of fluffy white powder. It was the snow that confused him for a moment, masking what he already knew but had forgotten; then it hit him like a smack to the face and he stopped dead in his tracks.
It was the same park he had seen in his dream.
He saw Milla through the swirling white, disappearing into the trees, and no sooner had she done so a bright flash from the sky christened the night into day for a brief moment and then winked out; plunging everything once again into darkness.
Slowly, a thunderous rumble came from the place the light had come from, growing in intensity until the ground John stood on shook. He looked around and saw a few people standing in the streets as he did, drawn out by the light and the strange siren minutes before, curious.
The rumble grew until not only did the ground shake, but his vision shook and his body felt like it was being thrown in a blender. Then it reached a head, and the rumble stopped and was instantly replaced by a profound displacement of air as a monumental object flashed through the night sky. The oxygen was sucked from his lungs as the gigantic thing flew into the park. It moved so fast, it was over in almost a blink of an eye.
The massive object crashed into the trees, snapping through them with thunderous cracks, spraying splinters and branches into the air like so much confetti as it passed through. Finally it slammed into the surface with a thudding concussion that knocked everyone off of their feet and the ground splashed upwards like wet mud hit with a hammer. Dirt, soil, cement and loose trees were scattered violently and dispersed through the sky equally so.
Then the night was silent again, and John rose slowly to his feet, unbelieving.
The stillness could almost be cut with a knife, the tension in the air no less dense, and John and a growing crowd of other people moved slowly towards the devastated park, and the smoking hole in it’s corner.
Then, as they were midway to the de-treed area, another sound started abruptly, coming from the crater that was still partially hidden by foliage and surviving forest life; a clickity - clack noise, like gears or similar machinery.
Clickity-clack...thud. Clickity-clack...thud. This pattern continued to grow nearer, until much to the shock and horror of John and the growing number of pedestrians; the first of the machines appeared.
A massive steel beast gradually revealed itself in flashes of metal between trees as it carried itself along on thick legs that plowed into the ground until it finally came into full view, bursting through the foliage with a swipe of it’s great leg.
It looked like a rounded out, cylinder battle tank suspended on four trunks of steel that protruded from it’s underside. The machine stood at least fifty or sixty feet tall, and the tight bundles of wire and smooth plates of steel that made up the legs and underbelly of the thing was evident. The front of the machine was curved downward and hunched outward in sharp definitive strokes of plated steel, like a cockpit. The rear of it tapered down gradually and looked similar to a duck’s beak.
Behind the gigantic machine, John could see others like it, spreading out in different directions, each equally large but all looking slightly different. He saw one that roved along on chained treads with a metal body that rose from the covered wheels like a tower.
The thing that stood before them took another step, the grandiose cylinder that was it’s leg rose; so large it was almost as if it was in slow motion; then it hit the ground again with a boom, nearly sending John reeling off of his feet again. There were screams and cries from the numerous people, and they tried to run, scampering to and fro like ants.
A grinding, whining sound came from the machine and he looked up. The sides of the metal monstrosity slowly peeled off from the main body, folding and rolling outwards until they settled into what looked like arms. The ‘arms’ bent in the middle, like elbows, and massive gears rotated the ends down towards the people. The tips of the arms had no hands or other similar devices, but ended instead in gaping holes; the holes now slowly filling with a bright orange light. The light reached a brilliant, neon glow; then it went out in an instant, the hole becoming a dark ring once again.
The moment the light went out, a man that stood not twenty feet from John burst into flames.
He did a double take, stumbling away from the man and the machine simultaneously, and was so startled he fell backwards, his tie slapping him in the face. The man had literally burst into flames. His body disappeared and was replaced with a liquid-like pillar of fire. It was as if he was physically transformed into flames.
A whirring came from the arm, and the fire that used to be a person was sucked up into the dark hole like a vacuum slurping dust. With not a seconds pause, the arm lit up with it’s orange glow again, as did the other arm, and more people burst into flames and were sucked into the machine.
John lay there on his back, unable to move, and thought he could hear someone screaming very loudly in his ear. Then he realized it was he who was screaming. One of the arms rotated in it’s slow motion waltz, and it John watched as it settled on him.
That snapped his hypnosis and he scrambled to his feet and ran as fast as he could. A woman just a few feet in front of him who was also fleeing suddenly exploded in a flash of red and orange and a writhing puddle of flame licked out at his heels as he sprinted past, his eyes wide with terror and his mind nearly mad with fear.
John saw a downed tree just ahead, the large and full branches spilling into the road like an ocean of green, and he dove to the ground and slid under it; burrowing further into the fir with a crazed fury.
Finally he settled, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, and looked out from a small space in the splintered trunk. More men and women were instantly disintegrated into fire as they were collected by the machine, others scattering and falling to the ground here and there, desperately trying to find refuge from the genocide that was unfolding right before their eyes. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the enormous thing folded up it’s arms, turned back the way it had come, and walked back towards the crater; crashing it’s way slowly back through the trees.
A scream suddenly pieced through the air; and he immediately turned toward it.
“Nooo! I want to stay!”
He knew that voice anywhere. Milla.
He jumped out from the tree, immediately disregarding his sanctuary and all thoughts of his own safety were disbarred. He desperately tried to see through the snow and the destruction that lay before him to see where the yell had come from. He took a hesitant step towards the park, not wanting to get too close, but knowing Milla was trapped in there somewhere.
Then he saw her, in the heart of the trees that were still standing he caught a glimpse of her hair and then a flash of her bare legs.
John burst into action, hopping over downed trees and shoving overhanging branches out of his way as he ran to her, completely ignoring the machines that only a minute before he had cowered from.
He finally reached the clearing that held the crater, and immediately realized two things at once. One, that machines had come from; and were now thus returning to; a colossal metal pod, it’s rear opened like a cargo bay and it’s egg shaped front buried in the demolished soil. He watched as the machines transformed, folding up various parts of their anatomy, and rolled back inside the conveyance, gears clacking loudly and steel screeching in resounding echoes through the otherwise calm and silent winter night. And two: there was no way he could save Milla.
She was being held, suspended ten feet in the air, by two machines he hadn’t see before. They were man-shaped, with two legs and two arms; but the arms were long, spindly metal tentacles and the legs were thicker versions of the same tendril.
The machines stood about twenty feet high, and the tentacles held onto Milla tightly as she writhed and kicked about in their grasp, as if she were nothing more than a misbehaving child.
“NO! I feel! Damn you! I must stay!”
They walked back to the pod, their octopus-like legs flowing across the ground with a grace that was unbelievable; with Milla held in the air at the center of their four arms like a fly in a spider’s web.
“You vile creatures! You dirty offspring of female dogs! I -“
A tendril uncurled from her waist and smacked her across the face like a whip, rendering her unconscious; her body stopped writhing and she hung limp in their grasps. They finally reached the pod and slid inside, disappearing from view as the rear closed: all of the machines, and Milla, collected.
Utterly, utterly confused, frightened, angry, and distraught, John collapsed onto the cold ground. He hit hard, but didn’t feel it. Snow calmly covered his body and he nearly choked himself as his face became buried in loose soil and ripped up plants. He heard a rumbling somewhere in the distance, a deep growl and a loud whine, but he was too far gone to make any mental connections with what it could be. He drifted in and out of consciousness, delirious, and finally he delved into the depths of his inner blackness, while on the outside his body was covered in chilling blanket of white.






















If you love something, set it free. If it comes back it was, and always will be, yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with.

~ Unknown

















0

When he awoke, some unspecified and unknown time later, he was a bundled mess of confused emotions. Vaguely, through his mental haze, he realized that he was being asked questions by men in blue uniforms, while others wandered through the park, taking stock. He couldn’t hear them, but their lips moved.
A blanket was around his shoulders, and he was being led to a big car with flashing lights on it. He looked around, but there was no one else with blankets around their shoulders. It was only him and the uniformed men.
Almost instantly, his mood shifted. His confusion shed and his previously terror dropped - and unable to understand why he had been afraid in the first place. He felt like an ordinary citizen. Certainly what he thought had happened couldn’t have. It was too horrible. Surely he was imagining things, out in the cold too long.
Surely.
The police officers loaded him into the back of the ambulance and shut the doors.


* * *

Three months later, John sat alone on his couch, gently drawing back the slide of the handgun he held in his hands. A bullet rotated up into the breach with a click, and he let the slide snack back into place.
At the hospital, all those months ago (but seemed like eons) he had woken from his denial and remembered what had happened. He dared not tell the police, lest they think him insane and lock him in an asylum somewhere. They questioned him, of course, but he told them he didn’t remember. He had stated he had been walking along when suddenly he blacked out and awoke to the cops crouching over him.
No one else had been at the site, and curiously, no one in the entire city reported hearing any loud sirens that shook their houses, any loud crashes or booms, and certainly no screams from terrified people as they were taken away by colossal machines who had crashed to Earth in a metal pod.
It was as if nothing had ever happened. One morning the park was fine - the next a crater lay in the upper corner of it. It was theorized perhaps a small meteor crashed, but it was still unexplained why no one reported hearing anything out of the ordinary.
It was also curious, John thought, how no one had reported any missing persons, even though he saw with his own eyes men and woman turned into raw flame and then taken away.
Maybe he had imagined it all. A massive hallucination. All of it. He had left his apartment without his coat that day, and it was quite cold out. A few hours walking around and he had simply gotten hypothermia and collapsed.
He would have let himself believe that if it wasn’t for Milla.
After a month or so, he had almost had himself convinced it was a hallucination, that he had even imagined her in some fevered state of shock as he lay shivering in the cold. But it was impossible.
She was real, he knew it. He knew what had happened, he had seen it with his own eyes - even if no one else had.
He had loved her, and she him. That had been real.
He couldn’t explain what had happened that night any more than he could say with any certainty that he knew the mysteries of the cosmos. But as unbelievable as it was, it did happen. And she was gone. Taken.
Milla was gone.
He slowly raised the gun to his temple, resting the small protrusion of the barrel just beside his eye, and tightened his grip on the handle.
The woman he had loved had come and gone. Disappeared and removed by forces that he couldn’t explain, and according to everyone else, had never happened. It was as if she existed only to him, and living with her absence had driven him to the edge. It was just too much. All of it.
He closed his eyes and began to tighten his finger on the trigger, the cold of the steel piercing through to the bone. His hand trembled.
“I see you.”
He dropped his arm with a cry of relinquishment , letting the gun slip through his fingers and drop to the ground with a thud. John cradled his face in his hands and sobbed.
After a few minutes he dragged himself out of his despair and gradually the tears began to slow, and his hitching breath slowed to a more normal pace. It was then, as his apartment grew silent again, his cries of sorrow banished, that he realized that he had heard those words of Milla’s with his ears; not a voice in his head.
He removed his hands from his face with a deliberate, crawling pace, and slowly turned to look over his couch.
He gasped and started suddenly, backing away and nearly tripping over his coffee table.
“Jesus!”
There, standing in his kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of light from the overhead bulbs, seeming to give off an otherworldly gleam of beauty - was Milla.
She was dressed as in his dream so long ago; a fleece turtle neck sweater of earthly greens and blues that drew out the brilliant jade in her eyes. Brown slacks completed the outfit, and as he looked upon her, unbelieving, she took a step toward him.
“Your door was unlocked...I didn’t think you’d mind.” She smiled hesitantly, easing her hair behind her ear.
John couldn’t speak at first. He stuttered, unable to finish any of the millions of thoughts he had racing through his head.
Finally a suitable one stuck: “You were taken. I saw you. You should be dead.”
He shook his head and blinked his eyes several times, rubbing them insistently, “ You are dead. Gone. Just imagining this, just -“
”Stop it, John.” Her voice was firm, and he obeyed.
He looked up slowly, tears freshly stinging his eyes, as if truly seeing her for the first time.
He took a languid step forward, then rushed across the apartment and drew her violently into his arms, embracing her tightly. She threw her arms around him as well, burying her head in the nape of his neck, and he felt a wetness there and he knew she was crying as well.
“Milla!”
“I’m here, John. For ever after, I’m here.”
They held each other that way for several minutes, both not willing to trust themselves to speak. Finally he backed away, reluctantly.
“What...happened?”
She backed away as well, and lowered her gaze, a depressed smile on her face amongst the stains of salty tears. She shook her head with a grand stroke, her hair flowing this way and that.
“You wouldn’t believe - “ She broke off, then started again. “You see I’m not - I’m - “ She choked on her words and simply shook her head agin, her eyes welling with wetness anew.
“If I told you, you would never love me. I disgust even myself sometimes, and perhaps I was foolish to think I could feel for someone so.”
“I saw those machines, Milla. I was there, after that there’s a lot I’m willing to believe.” He looked her in the eye, unwilling to break the gaze.
Finally she submitted, nodding.
She took a deep breath, “I...” She began, and let all the air out again. “Where to begin?”
“Okay,” She took a step back and rested on the kitchen island.
“I’m not human.”
John couldn’t think how to react to that.
“Well, I am, technically, you see” She stammered. “I’m the child of other people that they’ve collected before, other people like you saw being collected that night, John. So I am human, but with a bit of genetic tampering and crossbreeding. Made better than human, you could say” She smiled nervously.
“Collected? I saw them killed. They burst into flames and-“
”No, no,” She explained,” In order for the journey, human tissue has to be transmuted into something more compatible with their means of travel. Fire works quite well. The science is way beyond me, but when we get back they’re reconstituted to who they were before - no harm done at all.”
John was having a hard time following.
“So...”
“Once they’ve collected their sample demographic and shipped back to the Station, the people are reformed and put in cages, more or less, where they are then studied and examined.”
John sat on his counter, gazing dumbly at her, trying to understand.
“And who are they ? These machines that do this collecting and studying and genetic crossbreeding?”
“The machines are just transports they use, the pod like a plane, and the collectors are like cars, just a means of getting around.”
“Then who- what drives them?”
“Beings evolved far beyond us.” Milla replied.
“Aliens?”
“Well, that’s rather blunt, simplistic and otherwise generalized view; it doesn’t really encompass fully what they are. But in concept, yes.”
John shook his head slowly, rubbing his tired eyes a few times.
“So why did they want yo...wait...you were created by them. You work for them?” His eyes became accusing.
“Please,” She said, pleading,” Let me explain.”
“I used to, yes. That’s why I was here,” She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the marble island.
“You see, in all the people they had collected and studied, in all the years of biological and scientific study, of anatomy, the mind, you know; there was a single anomaly which they couldn’t account for. After time in captivity, they began to notice that certain men and women began to develop profound attachments to each other. They couldn’t explain it; there was no scientific explanation for one man to favor one woman over another, no biological patterns that made them compatible, so they decided to send someone to find out what this anomaly was, from the source, as it were.”
John saw where this was going, and he didn’t much like it.
“Love,” He said.
“Yes. Love. My ‘mission’ was to find out what love was, how it worked. I was to find out if it was possible for someone to fall in love anywhere, at any time. You see, because they thought it was something that developed only in captivity: like a virus.”
She removed herself from the island and came closer to John.
“But as I soon found out, during that time in the café, I found out what love truly was. It couldn’t be defined in a textbook answer, couldn’t be studied and examined in a lab, and couldn’t be created artificially like some experiment. My mission was to understand love, and in the process, I fell in love.”
She came closer, putting her hands on his chest, but he still felt uneasy, confused.
She continued, “That wasn’t part of the plan, and as it became apparent that I’d become ‘corrupted’ by my subject, they felt it necessary to take me back. They came, they took me, they collected a few extra people to study, as always, and then they left.”
He slowly pushed her away, and started to pace the kitchen, but stopped himself, still trying to get his mind around this orgy of information.
“But no one remembered anything. No one remembered the sounds, the machines; and the families of the people who were collected, they never reported anyone missing.”
“Yes,” She said, nodding. “Brainwave pattern disruptions, standard procedure. They, in effect, erase certain portions of memory and experiences. That was that loud siren we first heard in your apartment: it planted subliminal ‘seeds’ in the minds of all those who heard it: Like a marker, and then broadcast another signal as they left, erasing everything past the marker. You see? Again, the science is beyond me. And about the families, they simply removed those people who were taken from their memories, as if they never existed.”
“But I remember. I mean...I heard the marker, as you call it, and I still remember everything as if it happened yesterday.”
She smiled slyly. “That’s because you were special John, it was you who picked up the initial transmission we sent. You were chosen, so to speak.”
John was about to disagree when he thought again. “The dream.”
“Yes, the dream. It was a selection device, whoever received it would be the one I was to evaluate. You were chosen, so to speak.”
“So,” John said, thinking. Then he looked up, realizing. “So it wasn’t a coincidence I saw you that morning.”
“Far from it.”
John shook his head and scoffed. “So I was chosen for you to love me? Is that what it was, then? An experiment? Was that all I was to you, a fucking test subject!?”
Milla moved toward him, eyes wide. “No, John! You were chosen to love me, see the distinction? It started as a test, but it became something else, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It became a test for me: I tested myself and failed; I fell in love with you. That was never supposed to happen.”
He shook his head again. “It was an illusion, we never loved -“
Milla rose her voice to a shout, “Yes we did! We loved each other, and I still love you! Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I escaped them!?”
John’s anger faded slowly. “Escaped?”
“Yes, dammit, and if they ever find me they’ll kill me. Will all the information I know...” She shook her head, indignant, “I’m dead.”
She moved closer to him, and this time he let her.
“I’m willing to risk that for you. In a heartbeat, I decided I had to come back, no matter what it could mean. I love you.”
She backed away again, “So there’s one more thing I have to tell you.”
“What?”John wasn’t sure he fully accepted this. Any of it, but she seemed sincere; truthful.
“My genetic tampering...the crossbreeding. I’m not fully human, no, but from birth I was ‘designed’ after a specific human.”
“Huh?”
“They do a lot of monitoring of human transmissions; TV, movies, radio, anything and everything. Plus, they’ve accumulated information from those who’d been captured. That was how I was taught; in ‘schools’ that showed me all of these transmissions and gave me all of this information. But physically, I was chosen to look and sound like a specific woman who was in some of these hijacked broadcasts. An actress. I took her name, her looks, her voice and mannerisms. It was more or less encoded into my genetics.”
“Why?”
“Just to see if they could, I guess, she was chosen at random. I even wore the clothes she had worn in one of her films. And I admit, even the dream was based solely on a publicity photo. I’m surprised you never caught on, you the film buff you are.”
“Milla...” Testing her name, thinking. “That’s why you never gave me your last name.”
“If I did, I knew you’d catch on, and I thought it would distract you, maybe thinking you’d found a celebrity. It had no bearing on the experiment anyway, like I said, they did it merely on a whim.”
“Milla...Jovovich.” He looked at her more closely. “You’re right, I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“I hope this doesn’t change -“
”No it doesn’t change anything. I know who you are. You’re Milla, my Milla. Genetic crossbreeding be damned.”
She looked confused for a moment at his change of heart. From disbelief to acceptance. “So...you believe me? About everything? I understand it can be hard to swallow-“
” Nearly impossible to swallow. But after what I saw that night, I can believe it. As impossible as it may seem, as crazy as it is, I believe you. I believe you about everything.”
He moved closer and took her in his arms. “ I believe you....because I love you.”
“I still have many questions, though,” He added.
“Understandable.”
“One I have to ask now...is it possible for them to find you?”
“Not likely. I hijacked one of their smaller pods; my tissue doesn’t need transmuting since I’m genetically altered; and I crashed it a long ways from here. They’ll come to correct the collateral damage, of course, memory wipes. But as for actual tracking, they’re no better than you or I. They’re not omniscient.”
He was satisfied.
She smiled slowly, “We’ll have to do something about my name, though. I can’t be mistaken for-“
”That,” He looked her in the eye, “Won’t be a problem.”
“No?”
“No. Because Mirra sounds nothing like Jovovich.”
She grinned, realizing what he meant, “Yeah. I suppose your right.”
They kissed then; a passionate embrace that said everything they felt in a single gesture. It held a certain weight, a heaviness of emotion that said things to each other that they could never communicate in words.
It was strange, he reflected; crazy even; that three months before he had been a lonely mid-thirties guy with no future and had never felt the tinge of love on his soul. And now, here he stood, kissing the woman he loved with all his heart, the woman he wanted never to be a second without; and she feeling the same about him; and as it turned out, here he stood with a woman who wasn’t even really human at all.
Better than human, as she put it.
Wasn’t it strange how fate worked? And wasn’t it stranger how love worked? Love had no discriminations, had no distinctions or prejudices between people; between girl and boy, man and woman, and even man and something beyond him. It was simply love. It crossed all bridges, spanned all boundaries and had even the power to reach from the depths of space to here, Earth, right there in that very apartment.
Love was crazy. Out of control. But there, as John parted from the kiss and looked down into those deep jade wells of beauty, he reflected on his current situation and had to submit that maybe sometimes being out of control is just what we need.



~ Ende

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*crickets* No replies. That's cool.

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I'm going to read this tonight *makes a mental note* I don't really enjoy football all that much to be sitting for 3 hrs watching it anyway...

::heart emoticon:: NLO

Well...have you read it yet??

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WOW! Powerful stuff right there. Moving and inspiring. That you described love so perfectly was just wow. A little weird at times, but I suppose that was the dream coming through. A true testament as to how dreams can be a tool of a writer. There were some errors, but otherwise a great short story.

Is that a nice enough comment?

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