Archive of Our Own ^beta

From afar, the city seemed almost peaceful, ethereal, even beautiful in a sense. It shone in the darkness like the bio-luminescence of a deep-sea creature against the murky pitch black of the deep. Searchlights swayed back and forth, gently caressing the sky. There was a hypnotic quality to it, it drew in anyone unfortunate enough to have their eyes caught by its outward beauty. But if they approached, the teeth of the beast would emerge from the blackness.

They would hear the dull, constant thrum of the pulse of the city. Lights of the buildings glowed and reflected off of the dingy, smoggy clouds that hung low in the sky and bathed the streets in a sickly washed out teal hue. The air was thick, heavy, and smelled of vehicle exhaust and wet asphalt, pregnant with the cacophonous roar of car horns, foot traffic, sirens, and angry or apathetic shouts and voices.

In the dark recesses that hid on the edge of your vision were pockets and corners promising violence and misery. The people trudged along down the sidewalks, eyes trained on the ground to avoid the gaze of those around them or piercing the air with a stare so intense it was likely to set those it fell upon ablaze. These streets promised nothing. No kind words, no helping hands, not even so much as a second glance. The city of the fallen where no one will catch you.

Yet within this heart of darkness, there was a light. On a side street like any other, a girl sat within a small, dingy cardboard box. Scrawled upon it in a child-like script with black marker read “FRree WisHes!”. Though the box was not impressive in size, it still managed to comfortably house her small frame. Atop her hair, as vibrantly red as the leaves of an autumn maple, was a tall shamrock hat that was all the length of her torso. It was bent with age and wear, and adorned with a mutilated four-leaf clover and a gold coin dangling by a chain from the brim.

A smile that shone with all the radiance of the sun cresting over the emerald hills beamed endlessly upon her face. The scourge and grime of the city around her almost seeming to be repelled, kept at bay from encroaching upon her. She looked about as the people on the street hurriedly went about their business, none of them paying her any mind. One man however accidentally allowed his gaze to be diverted to the small girl in the box. Their eyes met for but a moment, but it was all she needed.

“Hello, sir!” she called out, her voice like the icy, cascading pour of a refreshing drink into a glass upon a midsummer day. “Are you in need of a little magic in your life?” The man, immediately turned his gaze back and quickened his pace, “Sir, wait! I can grant your wish! Any wish you desire, I-!”

But he was already gone, swept away by the current of other faceless, formless figures carrying themselves off to places and appointments unknown. The girls’ words caught and died in her throat, but she merely shrugged it off, her radiant smile returning back to the myriad of other passersby. She called out yet again to another man, with similar results. A woman, another woman, a teenage boy, an elderly gentleman; with nary more than a passing glance.

Time after time she would call out.

Time after time her open hand was met with nothing.

The crowds ebbed and flowed, and the world turned around her beyond the veil of smog, cloud, and smoke. A light sprinkle poured down in wispy droplets that fell more like snow than rain. They clung to the fabric of her jacket, whose sleeves were too long and torso too short. Beaded pearls of water collected and slid off in gentle rolling cascades. And still she waited, and still she smiled. Though the crowds had dwindled to mere stragglers and the streets that had seemed so congested now seemed hauntingly wide and barren.

The sound of a voice singing caught one of her pointed ears. It was an aimless sound, with no direction or reason, but it seemed believe it did. She turned and noticed a man, his shirt half buttoned up and half tucked in, walking with a crooked gait in her direction. He continued his abominable melody in a voice that traveled the distance between his head to his gut in the blink of an eye on off meters and notes as he raised a bottle-shaped paper bag to his lips.

The smile on the girl’s face steadied, as if preparing to rush from the starting line of a race, awaiting the countdown. As the man came upon her he began making his way past her without even noticing, and that is when she called out. “Good evening, sir!”

The man stopped like an overweight shopping cart before turning himself in the direction he believed he heard the sound. He looked left then right, his face scrunching up when not finding someone there.

“Hello, sir! My name is Fuyo Cloverfield, I’m your friendly, neighborhood wish-granting leprechaun! And I’m here to grant any wish you may have, anything your heart desires may be yours!” Her eyes twinkled with the radiance of an emerald facet catching a sunbeam and her voice reverberated off the brick and concrete walls of the buildings around them, each word punctuated by an exuberant flailing of her arms. The man looked down, directly into her eyes at last.

“Oh… oh, oh geez. I didn’t see ya there.” His statement punctuated by a burp he caught in his mouth before releasing it through an exhale. “Washah… whatcha doin’ down der… ya lil green thing?”

“As I said, sir, I am a wish granting leprechaun, and my name is Fuyo Cloverfield. If there is anything you desire, you need only wish for it, and I can make it come true!”

The man squinted down at her, his face collapsing in on itself in a contortion of wrinkled skin as if he were trying to read a scribbled doctor’s note.

“Wish? What in da world would I wanna wish for? I’ve already got my booze, my internet, my porn, my money; so what good is some rinky-dink little wish gonna do for me?” Fuyo stood up in her box, bringing the full force of her height up against the man, which roughly brought her up to his chest, her hat making up the remainder.

“But sir! Surely there is more that your heart desires than mere material pleasures? For you see, there is no limit to my magic! Unlike some other wish granting creatures out there, there are no conditions, bargains, petitions, or limitations! You may wish for happiness, love, contentment. You may wish for peace on earth, for the end of starvation and illness, or- if you are of such persuasions- you may even wish for the world itself in the palm of your hand!”

Every word was targeted, every gesture a synchronized partner that danced together with her words and enthusiasm in a marvelous ballet of showmanship and sales savvy. Despite that, they met the man with all the effect of a tennis ball against a wall. He stood, his face scrunching more and more with every word she spoke, as if she had been attempting to explain something as esoteric as the particulars of sand particles required for glass making. Her arms, previously held aloft to conclude her grand sales pitch, slowly lowered as the silence persisted.

“I can see you do not believe me, sir!” she said, immediately rebounding. “Of course you don’t! You are not one so easily fooled. You require a demonstration. A showcase of the caliber of my otherworldly capabilities. Well fear not! For I will allow you a small taste, a sample, a mere trifle of the magic that could be in store for you!” She pulled her hat from her head and held it aloft, as would a magician.

“My wish granting extends not only to others, but to myself as well.” She waved her fingers across the hat’s brim, tiny flecks of sparkling light falling into its maw. “Now watch, and be amazed, as I wish into existence here and now, a majestic tiger to walk out from this very alleyway!” With a flamboyant flourish, she whipped her hat to and fro until finally flipping it back onto her head, golden sparkles popping out from beneath the rim as if displaced by her head fitting into place. Finally, she gestured to the alley entrance in an expectant show.

The man peered into the dark alley, barely able to make out the inky shapes of what were most likely some trashcans nestled against one of the building sides. For a moment, an uncomfortably long moment, nothing happened. A silent breeze meandered down the street, fluttering the delicate curtains of Fuyo’s hair as a bead of sweat slowly rolled down the side of her head. The man turned to look at her as she still stood expectant of the arrival of her magical tiger at any moment. Just as the man opened his mouth to speak though, he turned his attention back to the alley. Seeing this, Fuyo’s gaze quickly followed, her eyes seeking out the striking patterns of orange, black, and white.
But there was nothing.

No powerful beast, rippling with ferocious strength, ambling into view from within the alley’s recesses. All that met her eyes was dead air, and all that met her strikingly pointed ears was the raucous drunken laughter of the man. She turned back to him, confused. He was bent over, propping himself up on his knees to keep himself from falling forward as his guffaws descended into silent miming before inhaling a strained breath and continuing on in full force.

Fuyo turned back again to see what could possibly be so funny before looking down and noticing what fueled the man’s mirth. A small orange kitten had emerged from the darkness. It’s awkward and unsure steps indicative of its fresh age, as it fumbled like a newborn doe. It looked up at Fuyo with wide green eyes, pupils like raisins attempting to suck up the dim lights of the night, and gave a pitiful mewl. The man’s laughter at last settled as he wiped the tears that had pooled at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh god I haven’t laughed like that in ages. I think I might have actually laughed the drunk right outta me. Whew boy,” the man said as he turned to unceremoniously walk away, “Well thanks for that, little green thing. Have a good one.” Fuyo turned back to the man in alarm.

“Wait sir, please!” she said, jumping over the wall of her box, reaching out and taking hold of the man’s sleeve. “Is their truly nothing your heart desires that you would not wish for me to make into a reality?”

Without warning, Fuyo felt herself lifted off of her feet and thrown back onto the sidewalk, the ragged concrete scraping into her elbow with a hot stinging pain. She cried out before looking up at the man towering above her, his shadow blotting out the streetlight, bathing her in darkness.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” his words coated in venom and spite, “I let you play out your little show, even gave you a nice little laugh for your efforts, and you go and put your disgusting, dirty hands on me? Do you have any clue how much this shirt costs? And now look at it.” The man put up his arm, showing slight wrinkles from where Fuyo had grabbed the fabric of his sleeve.

“You think just because you’re a miserable, little worm wriggling around in the gutter you can take it out on others? Maybe if you would apply yourself you wouldn’t be out on the street peddling wares out of a cardboard box.” Fuyo pulled in on herself, instinctually putting her arms in front of herself to keep the man at bay. “But you, just like all the other parasites out there, you just want to be able to sit around, be lazy, and waste away your time with frivolous, childish bullshit while the rest of us do actual work to keep you coasting along!

“So maybe keep that in mind the next time you ever even think about putting your disgusting little hands on me again, you miserable, drugged out bitch.” As he spat the final epithet, he sent a hard, swift kick directly into Fuyo’s side. She cried out, a sharp yelp of pain that cut through the calm, uncaring air of the night like the crack of a whip.
The man stood back up tall. He took a breath and slicked back his hair before turning around and walking away. Fuyo stayed where she laid on the ground, gripping tightly to the tender area right below her rib cage. Tremors coursed through her muscles, and a hard lump stuck at the back of her throat as she held her tears at bay.

“Fuck! Now my buzz is completely gone. I’m gonna have to go and get even more wine now. Thanks a lot, tweaker!”

A loud, splintering clap mere inches away from where she sat whipped her into a panic and she curled herself into a tight ball. Hearing the sound of the man’s footsteps grow fainter, she chanced a look. She saw a small stain on the sidewalk and a splattering of broken glass pouring out of a paper bag. She turned back to the man as he walked away from her, hands on his hips and shoulders arched and stiff.

Fuyo did not move, nor get up. She laid in her place on the sidewalk, eyes shielded from the world. The lump in her throat felt as though it had grown harder while her cheeks and eyes grew hot. She sniffed as she struggled to keep her emotions in. She held her lips in a tight line; she wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t. But the pillar of her dignity lay in pieces as the chisel of shame had split and chipped it down to a pile of rubble, and she could not help it as a few fugitive tears rolled down her cheeks. At that moment, the world around her felt so incredibly big, and she found herself horrifyingly conscious of its dark corners and shifting shadows.

Then a tiny mewl pierced through the shade and pulled her like a spider’s thread out of the dark. Fuyo risked tilting her head and saw the kitten she had summoned licking at her finger. It looked up at her with the same wide eyes and nuzzled at her knuckles, desperate for her attention. Slowly, with care, as if not to upset the world itself, Fuyo lifted herself up into a low sitting position. She scooped the kitten up into her hands and cradled it close to her chest. It nestled itself into the crook of her arm, wrapping its tail around itself as it settled in, completely content.

Fuyo sniffed again as she gently scratched the kitten’s head, feeling the slight vibrations through its body as it purred. Finally she stood and walked back to her box, stepped inside and closed the flaps, blocking out the cruelty and terrors of the world for the night. As she settled into a restless sleep, haunted by the sight of the man’s snarling face, the sounds of his cruel, berating words, each one twisting her heart further into a tangled brier of anxiety and shame, the kitten slept as content as could be in her embrace.

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A young man sat at his desk on the 6th floor of an office building trudging through a tedious, dense procedure of notating data based on information he saw. Customer personal information, credit history, criminal history, bank statement deposit volume, company ownership, time in business information, web presence; a never ending stream of repeating the same steps but with different information. His eyes were glazed over, his wrists and fingers in agony from the terrible keyboard he was forced to type way too hard on, and his mind a thick fog of half-remembered customer information.

He reached over and drank from his second cup of coffee which had now dipped below room temperature. Around him, the sounds of his coworkers in their own cubicles typing away filled the air like the droplets of rain upon the pavement. Not a word was spoken. No pleasant small talk or distractions. Merely endless data entry, deal after deal, each new one beginning the whole process anew.

The sisyphean repetition was enough to drive anyone mad.

Finally, the young man clicked the button to send the offer out to the client. He leaned back and stretched out his back before taking the last swig of his coffee that had now become actively cold with a grimace. Placing the mug back down, he glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. It hadn’t been three hours since he’d clocked in.

He placed his hands into his face with an exasperated groan before standing to take his mug back to the break room. He made his way down the aisle of cubicles, following the path of dull gray carpet being harshly illuminated by the fluorescent tube bulbs stuck into the ceiling. He entered the break room, a small respite from the sound of monotonous clacking, and took his mug to the sink, washing it out. However, before he could even wipe his hands dry he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey Luke.”

He sighed internally, already knowing what to expect. Turning around, he came face to face with his senior standing before him. A stocky man, bearded, and a bemused look on his face tinged with annoyance.

“Oh boy, what did I do this time?” he asked in a manner that attempted to sound jokingly self-deprecating, but only managed to sound defeated.

“So that last deal you sent out, the roofing contractor? You marked their time in business as 2020, even though you stipulated for the applications from the other non-applying owners. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you,” his senior said, in a non-questioning type of manner. Luke merely stared at him blankly, his freshly rinsed mug dangling lazily from his finger.

“Um… should I? The merchant wasn’t listed in the annual filings until 2020.” His senior simply sighed.

“And the other owners you requested applications for weren’t listed until 2021. So why didn’t you update the time in business to match that?”

“What?” Luke balked, genuinely bewildered. “Does that matter? Why would their ownership be more legitimate for the time in business than the applying merchant’s?”

“Because their time as owners is shorter, and it changed the offer by quite a bit.” His senior’s tone immediately shifted into one akin to a frustrated coach dealing with a problem player. “Listen Luke, I don’t understand why you keep having these issues. Is it too much to ask that you use just a little bit of common sense and think a bit more? Or are you too busy being blitzed out of your mind to notice these things?”

“I don’t smoke, Brandon,” Luke replied tersely.

“So then you are just this stupid.” Another non-question.

Luke clenched his jaw, following his better judgment and holding back the response he immediately wanted to bite back with. He pursed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath through his flared nose.

“Yep, I guess so,” he replied in a constricted tone. Brandon’s shoulders sagged as he sighed.

“Well your numbers aren’t bad enough that we need to start taking any sort of remedial action. All I’m asking is you just try to actually be competent, rather than just barely competent. Do we think we can do that?” Brandon asked in a tone that was trying to mask its condescension underneath a veneer of friendliness that was as thin as the surface of barely frozen ice.

At this point, Luke had already mentally and emotionally laid down and given up on this conversation. He simply replied in a monotone, as if he were on autopilot.

“Yeah. I can do that.” Whether this was enough to satisfy Brandon was unclear, but it was enough to bring this exchange to a close. Brandon walked away, shaking his head. Luke waited until he was gone before going back to dry out his mug, his eyes unfocused, wishing very much at this moment that he did actually smoke.

---

Fuyo sat in her box, alone, dejected.

In her peripheral vision, she could once again see the shapes of people passing her by without a second glance, but in return, she now no longer acknowledged them either. The light of the streetlight overhead cast her eyes in deep shadow from the brim of her hat. Weeks had passed since she first arrived, so bright eyed and passionate to share her leprechaun magic with the humans of this world. But as the days wore on, and still no one cared to even look her way, the light in her eyes had begun to dull and the smile upon her face became ever more heavy.

She had heard the tales of humans, their ingenuity, their craftsmanship, their drive and their passion for creation. She felt herself drawn to them, a kinship even. Her kind had never understood her, her eccentricities often alienating her from them. To wish to squander her magic upon an inferior race such as humans. It was a madness they simply could not comprehend. Their magic was sacred. It was to be protected and used for the benefit of them and them alone. She had endured the years of ridicule, because she knew if she could just make it to the human world, it would all make sense. It would all become clear.

Yet after so much time and effort to finally make it here, to finally be where she had always yearned to be, the reality was quite different from what she had expected. The humans had long ago abandoned their creativity and ambition, the last of which they spent on developing technology that could automate that creativity for them. No longer did they find joy and fulfillment in the process of creation, they merely concerned themselves with the final outcome.

A painting, a statue, a story that said nothing because it came not from someone that wished to reach out and communicate something from within themselves, but from a machine that simply followed a code once it was assigned a task to complete.

When Fuyo discovered this, she was confused. Surely something was amiss. Surely the humans had merely lost their way. If she could just show them, remind them of what they had lost, of where they had gone astray, they would course correct. And what better way to inspire creativity and passion than with the magic of a wish. The magic of leprechauns responded to the desires of those it was used for. The stronger their desire, the more powerful and potent the result.

But there were no wishes left in this world.

The humans wanted for nothing once they had unlocked the capability to make anything they wished appear before them with a simple instruction. This was not the world Fuyo had envisioned through all those years of mockery and torment. The ridicule and consternation rang out in her mind all the louder now that she sat in her worn and dirtied box as the humans continued to pass her by, pretending they did not see her.

Through the heat, the rain, and the darkness of night she had sat there. Always in the same spot, ensuring the humans could always find her. She called out, she showed them what her magic was capable of, responding to the purity of her own desires from deep within her heart. She offered to them whatever they could possibly imagine, and still they refused her. The days wore on and gave way to weeks and months, and still she stayed. Despite so much time, so much failure and crestfallen humiliation, she found herself unable to leave. She herself could not find the reasons as to why. There was nothing for her here. No fulfillment, no joy, no sense of community or the invigoration she had always expected to feel when she could finally share her magic with these creatures.

But in the darkest, quietest, most intimate parts of her mind, she knew the answer. She knew why she could not find the will to leave. Because she could not find the will to let go of the possibility. The notion of “what if”, the hope that something would give, something might change. It was illogical, maybe even delusional. But the smallest possibility that something could change was somehow strong enough to outweigh the constant barrage of disappointment.

That possibility was what made her look up, made her look at each person that passed her by and see not inevitable disappointment, but potential. It pushed her to summon her voice from within herself, to reach her hand out with a smile in the hopes that someone might take it rather than slap it away.

Fuyo looked up. A lone man all on his own was coming upon her box, about to cross her path. Scraping at the bottom of her soul, she summoned the will to call out. “E-excuse me… sir?” her voice coarse and broken, “Sir… could I potentially interest you in some magic? Anything you desire, and it could be yours…”

The man heard her, but he did not stop. He saw her, but he did not stop. The man bore witness to her existence, and he did not stop. For him, she was a rat skittering across the pavement in front of him. A mild irritant, a distraction out of the corner of his eye. He would leave her be so long as she did not try to impose herself upon his life too much. As long as she stayed out of his way, the worst that would befall her was mere apathy.

And so as swiftly as he had come into her world, he was gone. A phantom ship in the night disappearing into the mist. Though it was dull, the rejection pierced her all the same. Like the sting of the eyes as tears fall in the rain. Fuyo’s eyes fell again, settling back into her place. Lightly, she held her hands up in front of her. Like wisps appearing from the ancient trees of the forests, small sparks of dancing light emerged from the ether. They lazily swayed and danced upon her palms like drifting particles of sand carried by the ocean current. They shined with every color both imaginable and unimaginable, so small and frail, yet their light illuminated Fuyo’s face as a fire on a dark, cold, snowy night.

The people passing her could not have cared less for her dancing lights, yet for her, they were the most sacred and treasured thing in any world she could imagine. They were her treasures, her gifts. And more than anything else she wished to share the joy they brought her with others. Despite how harshly this world tried to beat her down, in her heart of hearts Fuyo could somehow still feel a tiny pang of hope that there was someone out there that would love and cherish them as she did. And even if there wasn’t, even if nobody did care, and even if she were to be completely and utterly alone, she would still cherish them to the end of her days.

The lights faded into her hands as if sucked down a drain and she held them close to her chest, her hands softly warm. She felt renewed, invigorated just enough perhaps to carry her through one more night. Just one final night of drifting in the dark expansive sea of the world alone, tired, but ever stalwart and foolishly hopeful.

---

Luke sat alone in his small apartment, whose walls always seem to be closing in, but never shut. Images flashed across the screen that stood as the centerpiece of his living room. Bright, illuminated, stimulating images showing simulations of anything that he could ever potentially wished to see, and yet he felt nothing. His eyes glazed over, his brain retaining nothing of what played out in front of him.

He lifted his glass to his mouth, draining the last puddle of beer that sat pooled at the bottom. Once the last of the foam had slithered down his throat, he rose and made the short trek from the chair at the center of his living room to his fridge. The kitchen was momentarily bathed in a harsh cool light as he pulled out the second 25oz can before it was snuffed out by the closing of the door. A sharp crack echoed across the unfurnished walls, floors, and ceiling before he poured roughly half the can’s contents into the glass. He could simply drink it straight from the can, but on some level, he felt drinking it from a glass somehow made it just a tiny bit less pathetic.

Now with blood pumping slightly more through his system than before he had gotten up, he found himself marginally more lucid as he sat back down in his chair. At least, lucid enough to put in the bare amount of effort needed to pay attention to what was on his screen. Breathing a tired sigh, he grimaced as he looked at the two men sitting in front of some fake brick wall background. They engaged in a podcast-style discussion about something that was ultimately inconsequential to both himself and to them, but in a manner that made it sound like it was the most important topic facing the human race at that moment.

He grabbed the remote on the cushion next to him and hit the back button, vaguely wondering how he might have ended up on this side of Youtube and praying that not too much damage had been done to his algorithm. Moving back out to the main page, it reloaded a fresh batch of videos for him to continue to mindlessly shove into his brain, only to be forgotten later. He scrolled past video after video of the same images he had become accustomed to seeing. News stories and late night talk show VODs put there by corporate interests, video essays about ever exceedingly esoteric topics and viewpoints, kids reacting for the first time to media that had come out when he was in middle school; the deluge of dreck never ceased, and it also never changed.

Time and time again, day after day it was the same thing. He would come home from his demoralizing job, dealing with condescending superiors and incompetent peers, and he would just exist in front of his screen. The beer was a treat for the weekends though. The same rubbish from different people over and over. And more and more often, not even from actual people anymore. He looked around at his dingy apartment, marveling at how incomprehensibly expansive it could feel for how small it was. There was no one here with him, no partner, no pet, no children, or roommates.

He hung his head and took a deep sip from the fresh, cool glass, relishing in the warm numbing sensation it caused to ripple across his mind before the fixations upon just how heavy the weight of nothingness could be began to creep in. He let out a gasp and wiped his mouth as he settled into the satisfaction and emptiness within himself.

Clicking past more videos, he continued his search, until finally he came across something. An oddity if you will. A video from a channel that was just somebody’s name followed by an inconsequential string of numbers. It didn’t even have thirty views, was barely more than twenty seconds long, and the thumbnail was simply a random frame from the video itself. But there was something candidly poetic about it.

The light of a streetlight filled the left and middle third of the frame while the subject sat near the edge of the light’s reach. But in their hands, they held something. A small glow that illuminated their face. The thumbnail was too small to make out any finer details, but the suggestions of it drew him in. The title of the video simply read, “weird homeless girl stares at lights”. Luke clicked on the video, not entirely sure what he was going to find, which he found both exciting and frightful.

The video began as if the thumbnail had been the first frame. All the finer details that could not be conveyed through the thumbnail alone now jumped out at him in the full high-resolution video. A small girl, perhaps even a child, sat in a box and stared at what almost appeared to be stars dancing in her hands. They swayed and moved across her palms like sand caught in time, dancing a hypnotic waltz that drew him in closer.

Then before he realized it, the video ended. No warning, no words, no wind down or suggestion; just simply cut to black. He frantically grabbed the remote again and hit replay. The video began again and he felt as if he were now noticing details he had missed the first time. The way the girl’s hair shone under the light, the odd bits and bobs that adorned her clothing, the shifting and warping of every light. He found himself so captivated by each of them he felt compelled to re-watch the video again and again just to see the unique dance each one performed.

And so again the video played, the same twenty-four seconds on an endless cycle. Each viewing a new and exuberant experience, each one revealing something new he hadn’t ever seen before. With each one, he felt as if he learned more and more about both the girl and her mysterious lights. And the more he watched them, the more he began to feel a bizarre and foreign sensation welling up within himself that he had not felt in a very long time.

It compelled him, drew him like some supernatural force that had overtaken his body towards his bedroom. Rifling past the cardboard boxes full of things he never had any intention of unpacking, he reached into his closet, and returned to the living room once he had managed to grab what he had been looking for. An old guitar case, the stitched edges fraying in multiple spots, allowing them to stick up like bits of peeling paint. He unclasped the latches keeping the lid clamped down before opening and gazing at the resident inside. An old Gibson L48 his father had once given to him when he was a teenager. It was worn, the edges chipped, exposing the wood grain underneath. The strings like dried, wiry strands of hair and the sunburst finish faded into a pale memory of what it once was.

He had nearly forgotten the hours he would whittle away into the night learning how to play. The scales, the chords, the fingering and picking; days, weeks on end hunched over the body of the guitar, honing his craft. He pulled the instrument from its sarcophagus, feeling the familiar weight as he clasped it by the neck. A rush of familiar and nostalgic sensations and feelings began flooding back to him as he wrapped his arm around the body and began pressing down on different frets, feeling the strings dig into his fingers, leaving indentations behind.

He plucked the pick from where it lay trapped by the strings and brought it to the familiar position that had always felt most comfortable for him. Placing his fingers into the unforgettable shape of a G chord, he felt his hand holding the pick begin to almost shake in anticipation.
Then he strummed.

He winced at the discordant jumble of off-key notes, feeling a slight bit of mirth well up inside him at realizing that of course it would be out of tune by this point. After tuning the strings to their proper keys, he began again. He was awkward, clumsy, not unlike someone who hasn’t skated for many years stepping out onto the ice again. There was muscle memory, but the dexterity needed to do what he had once been effortlessly capable of had long since atrophied. But he kept at it. The minutes wore on, giving way to an hour, then two. The scales gradually became more graceful, the chords more coherent and uniform, and the strumming soon became more even, resulting in one luscious sound rather than a hodgepodge of notes.

After over three hours he laid the guitar down next to him on the floor. He grimaced as he rubbed his fingers against his palm to soothe their anguish. He looked and saw dark, bruised lines cut across all of them, his callouses long ago having reverted back to soft, unblemished skin. They stung, but it was a pain that made him feel accomplished, feel good, made him feel… whole.

He sat back, leaning on his hands, and simply allowed himself to bathe in the afterglow of his impromptu jam session. He felt amusement and bewilderment both well up inside of him. What had even happened? Why had he suddenly felt this bizarre urge to engage in a pursuit he had long ago abandoned, forgotten even? He then looked back to his screen, still paused on the video from before. He looked at the girl, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the lights in her hands.

He sat up upon his knees and crawled toward the screen, staring deeply into the sea of pixels at the girl’s face. Even in high definition, the darkened image began to get grainy on the finer details. But there was no mistaking what he saw. The expression on her face was a look of fulfillment. The lights in her hands, the way they moved and glowed, the feeling of them in her grasp; it was the same expression he could feel on his own face as he played. He may not have known who this girl was or what these mysterious lights in her hands were, but he knew this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

As his eyes drifted across the still frame of the video, he took note of a detail he hadn’t quite noticed before. In the background of the frame, the wall of the building the girl sat in front of was littered with fliers and graffiti tags. This was extremely common for the city, but one such tag stood out to him, one that was a bit more detailed than the ones surrounding it. It existed somewhere halfway between a tag and a miniature mural. An octopus with an angry expression and its tentacles flared out as if it were about to take flight.

The man’s brows raised as the recognition overtook him. He had passed this building before, multiple times as a matter of fact. Could the girl have been there all along? Had he unwittingly passed her by on more than one occasion and never took notice? A sinking feeling gored an open hole into his stomach. He backed out of the video and noted the upload date.

It was dated for over a month ago.

Like a sudden gust of wind, he packed his guitar back into its case, threw on his jacket and rushed out the door. Down the stairwell and out into the damp, cold night, a light drizzle falling, barely enough to be audible upon the puddles in the street. He headed off in the direction he remembered the building being in. As he walked, he noted how keenly aware he suddenly was of the world around him.

The tired looks of the people as they passed him by, the stinging, glaring glow from the lights of the signs and buildings, the droning noises that attempted to lull you into a state of mindless unease. He felt as if he were taking in his world again for the first time in a long time, and he was disturbed at how much it frightened him. The dark alleys, the sneers and glares, the steam and smoke seeming to billow out of everywhere and yet nowhere. This was where he lived, he existed in it every day of his life, and yet he couldn’t recognize himself within it at all. He clenched the handle of his guitar case tighter and wrapped his jacket closer around himself as he trudged on, attempting to keep his eyes focused on where he was going as he ventured deeper into the night.

---

Soon enough, he came upon the block where he knew the building he sought would be waiting for him. He could feel his heart beginning to pound more emphatically within his chest and he marveled at the realization that he was nervous. He had just discovered this girl’s existence a mere few hours ago and yet he couldn’t deny that he felt a sense of excitement building at the prospect of meeting her. With no effort on her part, without even knowing that he existed, she had managed to initiate such a dramatic paradigm shift within him. He knew it was silly, perhaps even pathetic to a certain extent, but regardless of whether or not it was, it did not change these feelings he had found, and rediscovered within himself. He just needed to meet her, just once, if nothing else than to simply let her know and thank her.

As he rounded the corner, he felt his pace quicken when he saw it, the box beneath the streetlight. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he began rehearsing how he might be able to approach her without alarming her too much. Various scenarios and scripts ran through his mind, dozens of approaches, and several contingency plans should things somehow go awry. He prepared himself for the worst case scenario as well. That she may be immediately repulsed by both him and his bizarre and pathetic inexplicable attachment to her. He had lived a life where preparing for the worst had been the only way he had managed to stay sane in this world. In spite of that however, he could never stop a tiny part of himself from also hoping for the best, no matter how unlikely the odds seemed to be.

But as he approached, his excitement began to shrivel and his smile melted off of his face. For as he approached the box, he became keenly aware of the fact that something was amiss. Mere meters away, he slowed his walk to a near stop, the last few steps being taken in a very cautious gait. He approached the box, hoping to see a glimpse of green or red standing out against the grungy brown of the box’s walls. But the closer he got, the deeper inside he could peer, and he felt his heart sink as he came to find it completely empty.

---

Fuyo held the kitten to her chest, finding comfort in its warmth and softness, as she walked along the streets. She kept herself close to the building walls so that she could make sure she would not end up getting in any human’s way. In the days and weeks since that man had completely shattered her senses of hope and wonder in this world, everything around her had come to feel so much more threatening. Every shadow held a monster inside, every human who passed was just waiting for her to give them an excuse to berate and beat her, and the air was just a little bit colder than she had remembered it being when she first arrived.

The kitten laid perfectly still, content inside of the nest Fuyo had created for it with her over-sized sleeves. Its purring eased the parts of Fuyo’s mind still frayed from what had happened. It was one thing for her magic to be passively ignored, by people not caring or not bothering to even engage. But for it to be so thoroughly and viciously rejected, mocked, and spat back in her face… it had been too much. It had shattered her and the broken pieces slowly fell off until they lay as rubble upon the ground.

This city, this world, it was cold, violent, and evil. All she had wanted was to share; share the gifts she had been bestowed that made her happy, in the hopes that they would make others happy too. She thought she could make their lives brighter, to make them smile, to bring them joys they may potentially never know.
But she was wrong.

This world, and the humans that existed within it, they were as irredeemable as her kin had said they were. They cared nothing for the treasures that lay beyond the veil of what could merely be seen. There was no wonder, no whimsy, no emotional curiosity or yearning. All that mattered to them was what could be placed directly in front of them with the least amount of effort, and Fuyo had at last spent all the hope of possibility within her.

There was nothing for her here.

She had failed.

And now all she could do was return to her world, broken, defeated, and humiliated.

---

Luke jogged through the streets looking forward and back, left and right, up and down, anywhere he could. He would even reach out and ask people if they had seen the girl, all of whom gave at best unhelpful responses, and at worst, verbally accosted him for daring to impose himself upon their lives for even a moment. But he didn’t care what words they may sling at him or how roughly they may grab his collar or shove him aside. Because he felt an icy feeling within his stomach, one that made him somehow keenly aware that if he did not exhaust every option available to him, he might never be able to find the girl.

The moment he found the box empty and took off running, he stopped trying to understand why he was doing this. Why he was out on the cold, wet streets of this godforsaken city in the middle of the night. It no longer mattered to him that it didn’t make sense, that it was ridiculous at best and demented at worst. It didn’t matter that something could potentially happen to himself or his guitar that he had just newly rediscovered his love for. What mattered at this moment was finding the girl, finding her and thanking her for all that she had done for him. Even if she didn’t mean to, even if she didn’t know or care that he existed.

His breath fogged like the exhaust of a steam engine as he flew through the night, the drizzling rain that fell like misty sheets coating his hair and clothing in crystal beads. He could not guess as to how much time had passed, but he vaguely noted in the back of his mind that the amount of people he was coming across began to dwindle. As time wore on, the streets grew silent and sparse of any people or cars. Now they were nearly empty, save for the occasional straggler heading home or the errant reprobate likely in search of a store blasé enough to still be selling alcohol at this hour.

The silence was chilling. As callous as the people of this city were, there was something comforting in their company, the sounds of their footsteps or droning speech to one another. Alone in the world as the gentle patter of the rain illuminated the air with a curtain of sound, everything suddenly felt much too big. Every block now felt as the length of a football field, every street was now a vast, impassable river, and the sky overhead that always felt like it was too low now stretched out like an endless gray circus canopy a million miles away.

Luke felt the hope in his heart fade as his breath began to come out in ragged gasps and he slowed his pace to a walk. The weight of the guitar in his hand felt as though it were going to pull his arm directly out of its socket, and the cold air stung his lungs like an icy pin cushion with every breath he took. Finally, he succumbed to his exhaustion and found himself unable to resist sitting down upon the curb and hanging his head in defeat.

He didn’t know how but something within him knew that wherever she was, she was getting further and further away. But what more could he do? The city was massive. In the couple hours he had now spent attempting to find her, he had probably only covered a fraction of its labyrinthine vastness. The twisting and turning roads, backstreets, alleyways, tunnels looping in and out of one another, stretching off seemingly into forever. He was just one man. The expectation that he would be able to find her was ludicrous enough just on its face.

What was he doing out here?

Honestly and truly, what was he doing? Did he think himself special? Was it really worth all this effort just to speak a few words to a girl whose only connection to him was as a thirty second long phone-camera video on the internet? He could not suppress a low, dark chuckle escaping from his throat as his breathing began to calm. He looked up, taking in the view of the empty street laid bare before him, at the empty sidewalks derelict of a single soul glistening with the sheen of freshly fallen rain.

He was just a sad, pathetic loser with no close connections, no ambitions, and just now remembered he was slightly “okay” at playing the guitar. What did anything he would have to say mean to her? What would she care to know that a nobody like him suddenly had rediscovered what could vaguely be called his passion over the course of a single evening from staring at a looping video of her sitting in a box? At best, maybe she would find it amusing. And at worst, maybe she would be disturbed.

This whole escapade had been nothing but a farce from the moment he walked out his door. Even if she had been exactly where he had expected to find her, interacting with her would have been a mistake. There was nothing for him or her to gain. It was best for them to remain not even passing ships in the night, but more one stranded ship upon the rocks gazing up at the lighthouse.

He sighed as he ran his hand through his unkempt hair, spraying off the dew that had collected from the rain. With his delusions let go, he felt as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He looked at the city around him.

The streets were empty, the air was cold and silent. But the anxiety they had given him before now felt almost as if it were a distant dream. The streets were no longer massive rivers that had to be forded, the sky no longer a vast canopy that mocked his struggle. The night simply laid bare before him, where the air was silent and the streets had no name.

He closed his eyes, breathed in deep through his nose, and exhaled from his mouth.

And with that breath, he let go of something inside of himself.

Not only his fixation, his delusional drive to see the girl, meet her, and declare his existence to her in the form of gratitude, but also something he thought he had probably held onto for far too long. Something inside of him that had apparently been weighing him down for probably longer than he would ever know.
And for the first time in he couldn’t even imagine how long, he felt an emotion he never thought he’d know again; contentment.

Here, on the dingy, wet, cold city streets that he had spent the night running through like a madman, his clothes soaked from the rain that continued to fall and having just barely dodged passing out from exhaustion, he felt like he’d rather be no where else in the world. He turned his head towards the sky, into the far distant gray void that at one time had felt so confining, then so distant and callous, now simply felt infinite, free, and full of possibilities waiting to be discovered.

He closed his eyes and felt a smile naturally crease his lips as he felt the rain tickle his face. The air he breathed in felt not searingly cold, but crisp in his lungs, and he reveled in this moment. There was nothing else, there was no one else, the world at this moment belonged to him and him alone.

Then he turned, and he gazed down at the guitar case next to him on the curb. He smiled again before reaching over and unlatching the clasps that held it closed. Opening the case, he brought the guitar to his chest and let his hands fall where they naturally wanted to. He vaguely noted in the back of his mind that the guitar would probably be ruined by doing this, but at that moment, he simply could not care. All that mattered was capturing this moment, this feeling, this experience he had obtained and expressing it.

To whom? It didn’t matter. To the streets, the rain, the sky, the world… to himself. He would dance, and no one would see. But his dance would exist. What he felt now inside of himself would now be imparted onto the world. And for him… that was enough. And so he placed his fingers upon the strings and began to play.

---

The outskirts of the city were dark, their barren landscape cloaked under the low hanging clouds and the curtain of the rain. Fuyo gazed out into the darkness and it stared back at her. She couldn’t help but feel that it was somehow mocking her. Sneering in a cruel fashion, jeering at her for her failures. Pointing and laughing at the sorry state she was in, as if asking her what she expected to happen.

Did she think she would change the world? Did she think herself so special that the humans would just flock to her and their lives would be changed forever because of her magic? How arrogant was she to believe in such a thing? She should have known to stay in her lane, to just do what was expected of her and live the way her kind was meant to. She lowered her gaze, her large hat covering her eyes and spilling the rain that had pooled on the brim. She couldn’t bare looking into the pitch black void of her failure any longer.

But she knew it was all she had now.

There was nothing for her behind her, but at the same time, there was nothing for her in front of her either. She knew the life that awaited her if she were to go back and it terrified her. The monotony, the predictable routine day after day, the dreary tedium where she would be made to fall in line and operate within the bounds laid out for her by the rest of her kind.

Beaten down and molded into the shape that was most convenient for the world, to pursue avenues and affairs that were deemed safe, respectable, or orthodox. To have what made her Fuyo, a leprechaun separate from all others that had come before or ever would come after, stripped away… that was tantamount to death.

But despite all that, even if she may die as Fuyo Cloverield, at least she would be safe and secure as someone else. Who that person was, she couldn’t know, didn’t want to know. But she knew that whoever she would be, she would never have to feel the fear she had experienced, the pain she had felt. The indignity of having all of who you are so violently rebuked and thrown back into your face as you lay on the cold ground, cowering like a beaten animal. Fuyo squeezed the kitten one last time before setting it down on the pavement and gave it one final pat on its head.

“I have to go now, kitty.”

The kitten mewled before trotting forward and rubbing its face against her boots. She placed it back and pressed down gently upon its body, until it was a loaf upon the ground under her hands.

“No kitty, you have to stay here. I can’t take you where I’m going.”

The kitten stayed this time but breathed another distressed mewl as Fuyo stood and backed away, making sure it stayed this time. She turned and gazed once again into the darkness before her. She began to take her first steps across the bridge that spanned the moat-like lake separating the city from the lands beyond its borders. As she walked, the lights of the city receded further and further away from her. As ironic as it seemed, for the city had given her nothing and taken away more than she had than when she arrived, there was a part of her that would miss it.

Then halfway across the bridge, in the twilight of the city’s lights and the outer lands darkness, a light suddenly burst forth from Fuyo’s chest. Startled, she jumped back a number of steps and looked down, beholding in incredulous disbelief at what she was seeing. Her lights were dancing a vivacious and graceful dance, bigger, brighter, and more lively than she had ever seen them before. But they were emanating from her chest, and most importantly, they were not responding to her own wishes.

A glowing tendril of light slowly projected from her lights, growing in size before suddenly looping around behind her. Fuyo looked back and watched as it made its way back into the city before disappearing beyond her gaze. More and more of her lights sprung forth from her being, traveling down the tendril as if it were a tunnel, and the light began engulfing her entire body. The warmth flowed from her core, spreading into her arms, legs, and reached up to her face.

She basked in the incredible sensation as it engulfed her, feeling as though she were wrapped in a blanket made from the embrace of a loved one. The feelings of fear, doubt, pain, and misery were instantly washed away from her body like footprints washed away by waves upon the beach. The sparkles in her eyes, so dim and hollow for so long, now shone brightly like a bonfire in the dark pitch of a black desert. She didn’t know what was happening but she knew she must follow her lights, for they seemed desperate to want to show her something.

And so she took off running.

She ran as if she were nearly weightless, taking long, floating strides down the sidewalk. Every time her foot came in contact with the ground, a soft glowing patch of sunlight was left upon the pavement. As she passed her kitten it immediately took off after her. The tendril took her across streets, down sidewalks, through a tunnel and up on-ramps. She didn’t know where they were taking her or what she would find, but she knew that whatever it was would be something beyond her wildest dreams.

Then she heard it.

A light, gentle melody plucked on strings that sounded as if they were spun from singing silver. It was a melancholic melody, and yet there was hope within it. It called to her, and she followed, the melody increasing in volume, the lights becoming more excited. Finally Fuyo rounded a corner and she came upon him. A young man, damp from the rain and dressed in a ragged old jacket and jeans sat upon the curb and played his music.

The tendril terminated upon him and bathed him a diaphanous glow, so soft and tender, yet so strong and dazzling. His music was simple and slightly clumsy, but it was melodious and heartfelt. In her world, Fuyo had heard the angelic singing of elves in forests of turquoise and the dulcet notes plucked upon the lyres of fairies as they played in fields of anemones. And yet in this moment, all their musical blessings would be as a candle against the sun.

She looked upon his face, his eyes closed, the music coursing through him unimpeded as the running river. A smile upon his face, and Fuyo could feel this was no ordinary smile. This was a smile that had not seen the world for many seasons. It was a smile that could only come from achieving something that had long since eluded its wearer. This man, whoever he was, he had found something he had yearned for… had wished for.

She could feel the wish’s delicate nature. It was small, fragile, as delicate as the morning dew upon threads of gossamer. It was old, for it had been neglected for so long. But now it was here, and it was just about the most beautiful thing Fuyo had ever laid eyes upon. The tears came and she did not fight them. As she gazed upon the man lost in the serendipity of his wish, her tears fell upon the pavement, forever lost in the rain. She had done it. Someone, at least one person, had found the magic within them.

Finally, his playing came to an end and the lights that danced and engulfed the both of them faded into the ether from whence they came. The man laid his hand upon his guitar then rested his head atop. He breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction, as if inhaling the evening breeze of autumn billowing down from the mountains. And as she looked upon him, Fuyo could feel her own smile unwilling to leave her face, and she sniffed as she wiped her eyes.

The slight sound appeared to alert the man as he looked up and the two locked eyes. The man was frozen for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights. For several lengthy moments, neither said a word. She was still so enraptured by the feelings of bliss and joy that still spiraled like a cyclone within her, while he remained stunned at the mere sight of the girl in front of him. Several times he opened his mouth only for no sound to leave, the words dying in his throat. And finally after what felt like hours of prolonged silence, he finally found his voice.

“Hi.”

It was a single sound, no longer than the chirp of a bird. It was unsure, and flustered, but also excited and incredulous. And Fuyo could not help a small, bemused giggle from bursting forth as she responded.

“Yo.”

---

The streets of the city, even in the daylight, remained grungy and grimy. The air was thick with the hustle and bustle of daily traffic both on and off the sidewalks as people went to and from their jobs, homes, on errands, or any other form of obligation that they may be engaged in. Steam billowed from the exhaust vents of restaurants, people swept the entryways of their shops, others board or disembark from buses and subways, and a cacophony of indistinct chatter mixed with street noise impregnated the air. The wheels of the system ever turning.

And yet, among them, sat a man with a guitar. He perched himself at the back of a street corner, out of the way. He didn’t wish to impede anyone or get in anyone’s way. He didn’t wish to aggravate or accost. He merely sat upon a folding chair and played, his guitar case at his feet, open and inviting to any donation anyone may wish to impart upon him.

But he did not cease playing if no one gave anything. He gave and gave what he had inside of him, his music brought forth into the shining light of day for all to hear. Nearly everyone that passed by did not care. Some he could even see regarded him with a measure of disdain. But he simply carried on. He knew why he was here, he knew what he was doing. And regardless of whether anyone around him wished to engage with him or not, he would remain. He would endure. His music would continue to be given to the world, awaiting anyone that cared enough to receive it.

So lost was he in his musical reverie that he failed to notice a small figure approach him. It was only once he felt a cool, smooth object touch his face that he jumped with slight surprise before turning to see a pair of large sparkling emerald eyes above a smug, self-satisfied smile. Fuyo beamed at Luke, a banana in her hand, extended to him as an offering. He took it graciously.

“So how’s it going today? You catch a big haul yet?” Fuyo inquired. Luke snickered as he bit into the banana and merely gestured to his open case. Fuyo regarded it, noting the scattered coins and three whole dollar bills it held within. She turned back to Luke, her smile never fading. “Well that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow right?”

Luke couldn’t help but return her infectious smile in kind. It had been just shy of three months since they had met, and a little over a month since she had moved in with him. After everything she had told him, he felt a cardboard box on a street corner may not be the best place for such a small leprechaun all on her own in a world she didn’t fully understand. Thankfully, without too much protest, she had agreed with him.

“You know you don’t have to always come out here whenever I’m done,” he said as he chucked the banana peel into a nearby trashcan, “I’m a big boy, I know how to get home on my own.”

“I know! Don’t worry, I only ever do something if I truly want to,” she said, her hands behind her back, hips swaying to and fro. Luke couldn’t help but feel like this might be what it would be like to have a doting younger sister, and the thought reinvigorated his smile. Bending down, he gathered up his paltry earnings and dumped them into a drawstring pouch before placing his guitar back into its home. Bagging the pouch into his bag, he clamped the case closed and the two proceeded to make their way home.

They passed through the city streets, where once they traversed them alone, now they were together. The city was no less hostile, no less grungy, no more kind than it had been before they had met. But in each others’ company, it felt less terrifying. Where once the people seemed apathetic and callous, now they merely appeared occupied and put-upon. Where once the streets felt too large and empty, they now resounded with sound, presence, and warmth.

Luke looked around as the sun shined down upon this city that he called home, though it had never felt like much of a home to him. But just within the last few months he had seen more of it than he ever had in all the years he had spent there. To help Fuyo become more comfortable in this world, he had taken her to restaurants, parks, stores, historic sites, and festivals that he had never even known existed. So many experiences, foods, drinks, music, and people he never would have experienced before.

And most importantly, his music. He couldn’t keep the ideas inside of his head. It felt like every minute he had another melody, another chord progression, another lyric that sprouted into a line and then into a verse. Now he was saving up for an audio interface to help him put his music online. Very few in this city seemed to care much for his art, but maybe there might be someone out there that would.

And all the while, she was there, encouraging him every step of the way. Every time she heard a new riff, a new lick, or she heard him humming a new melody, she would come running. She would ask excitedly if it was new. Her eyes would shine like stars in the night sky as she said she couldn’t wait to hear it when it was ready. The scant few gigs he had managed to book at hole-in-the-wall dive bars or cafes, full of people who seemed to treat his music, at best, as background noise, she was the first, and sometimes only one to applaud.

He glanced down at his companion, who didn’t even measure up to his shoulder. She walked alongside him through this strange, foreign world that she barely knew anything about with a smile and a bounce in every step. Despite everything she had experienced while here, despite how much this world had taken away from her, she still found the strength and will to carry on with a smile on her face. To welcome each new day as if it would be the best one of her life. Having sunk so deeply down into the muck of despair and apathy, unable to free himself from the monotony that had been his life day in and day out, he couldn’t even fathom how she could manage. How she could allow herself to lay her heart bare for the world to do with as it wished, because often what it wished was not kind. She was a marvel to him, a ghost in the shell of the world. With a smile, he unconsciously reached down to take her hand in his own. Fuyo’s eyes went wide for a moment and her face grew bright red.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she stammered. Luke chuckled, her reaction amusing him.

“Just checking to make sure you’re real,” he replied. Fuyo, whose gaze had remained firmly straight ahead the entire time, now had her eyes resolutely glued to the sidewalk. Her shoulders pulled up to her ears and her posture became very stiff.

“Of course I’m real, dummy. Why wouldn’t I be?” she muttered. All Luke could respond with was a slight tightening of his hand around hers. They continued on through the crowds, one in a comfortable silence, the other extremely confused and embarrassed. The two of them together, side by side, taking whatever may come around the next corner. They were together when Luke’s first song went viral, when he quit his job and threw himself full bodied into his music, when the money was beginning to become tight.

They were together when song after song failed to capitalize on the success of his first hit, when the anxiety over his credit card debt caused him to have to vomit into the toilet all night long. They were together when he received an email from an established producer who wanted to work with him to make an album, when they were evicted from Luke’s apartment and had to record the record in his car. They were together when the streaming numbers began to steadily rise and the revenue deposits began making their way into his account.

They were together when he headlined his first real show and the crowds applauded him and sang along with the words that he had written. They were together when he bought them a house in full, completely their own. They were together for his first tour, his first award, his first major musical collaboration. Through all the ups and downs, they were always side by side. Life had thrown many challenges their way, but had equally gifted them with just as many rewards. And through it all Luke knew that if not for Fuyo by his side, he would not have been able to face them. She was his center, his rock, his lucky charm.

-Four years later-

Luke found himself reminiscing on those old times as he poured coffee into his mug in their large, spacious kitchen. The morning was quiet and dim, the sun had not yet risen, but its impending arrival painted the world in a comfortable violet. He walked through the living room, taking a deep inhale of the aroma rising from his mug before taking the first sip. He looked out onto the deck and caught a faint splash of peach-red within the inky violet depths of the morning light.

He slid open the glass door that led onto the second story deck of their home and looked out towards the sea. It was close enough that the waves could just be heard in the stillness of the early day. Fuyo stood there, staring out towards the horizon. She was wrapped in a breezy cardigan over her sleepwear, hugging it close to herself. Luke approached her and simply stood by her side, leaning on the railing and joining her in her silent gazing.

Lately, she had been coming out here often.

At first he had tried engaging with her. He’d marvel in the comfortable, joking manner they had developed speaking to one another over the years over whether she was actually thinking about something. But she never responded to him. At first he thought he might have done something to upset her, but when she would come in later in the morning, she would be back to her usual self. So eventually, after a few weeks, he just accepted that this was either some leprechaun thing, or it was some bizarre, special Fuyo time that should left alone. So he sat and listened to the ambiance of the world before it had fully awakened, sipping his coffee and basking in the cool, crisp morning air.

“Luke…?”

He jumped slightly at the sudden utterance of his name, his coffee dribbling down the side of his mug. He turned to look at her, but Fuyo’s gaze was still locked on the horizon.

“Um, yeah? What is it?” he sputtered, internally wondering why he felt so nervous.

“Have I granted your wish…?” she asked, her voice sounding small and airy. He had never heard her sound like this before, and that nervousness he at first gawked at was soon beginning to feel more justified in his mind. He blinked several times, as if trying to reset his brain into understanding her question more clearly. He searched his mind for what she might be referring to. Had they discussed the topic of wishes lately? He couldn’t recall. Their recent conversations felt as ordinary as they’d ever been.

So he tried thinking more broadly, across the days, across the years. He pondered what he could have even called his “wish”. Was it to not live alone in an apartment priced way too high for what it was worth? Was it to be a world famous musician with riches beyond his realistic comprehension? Or was it perhaps something more abstract, more spiritual. He gazed out at the horizon with Fuyo, and his mind thought back to the time before she had come into his life. Those days felt like they were a million years away now.

Days of a vicious cycle of working through a tedious and soul-crushing job, only to return home and drink himself into a sedative stupor to make the pain go away. Days of long waking up the next morning with pain in both his head and stomach, only to repeat the cycle that very same night. A tired and numb walk along a mobius strip stretched until his dying day. Until the day when, by pure happenstance, he chanced upon a video that seemed insignificant among all the others. That video, the girl in it standing right beside him, had saved him. Without any hyperbole or exaggeration, she had brought light and meaning into his life.

It hadn’t always been an easy path. There were long stretches of time when all they could afford to eat for weeks on end were a few snacks from the gas station convenient store, where they would be chased off of a private road for parking on it while they slept, where the car needed repairs that they didn’t have the capital to afford. But through all the strife and growing pains that led them to where they are now, she had never left him. In fact, she had always been there with that smile that shone like the first light of day and would reassure him that everything would be okay. Without her, there was no question in his mind that those dire straits would have pulled him back down once again, and the light that had been lit within him would have died against the cold, harsh winter winds.

Luke smiled softly as a gentle, crisp breeze brushed his face, gently ruffling his hair like a father reassuring his son. He looked back at Fuyo, her gaze never having left the spot they were fixed upon.

“Yes. Yes you did.”

Finally, slowly, she turned towards him. But though she faced him, her eyes appeared to be looking straight through him.

“Really?” she asked, her voice still faint and small.

“Yes, really. You made all my wishes come true, Fuyo,” he said, his smile deepening. And though her gaze still pierced through him to worlds unknown, her own faint smile grew from her lips like a morning glory blooming to meet the rising sun.

“I’m so glad,” she said, her voice sounding as if she were about to fall into a deep slumber. But Luke paid it no mind, and merely wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they both turned back to the line where the sky met the sea, the waves continuing to crash upon the shore.

-A week later-

Luke awoke to an unseasonably cold morning, stirred from his slumber by a force beyond his understanding. He sat up, it was still dark. The air was still as if not a breath was made in the entire house. He looked around and though everything appeared as it always had, he could feel something was wrong. A dreaded feeling stirred inside of him, a feeling as if something very important had been lost. Slowly, he rose from his bed and walked towards the living room, his footsteps cushioned by the balls of his feet, as the silence was so rigid he felt as if the air itself would shatter. He walked into the living room. Nothing was amiss, and yet at the same time, everything was. The dizzying dread continued to mount within him as the silence persisted.

Something was wrong.

Something was not right.

Luke felt a feeling rising within him that something very important to not only himself, but the world, was gone. Then he turned and saw the sliding door to the deck left ajar. He hadn’t even noticed in the utter stillness. He approached the door with the same apprehension one might approach a cliff’s edge. The deafening silence continued out into the world. No breeze drifted across the deck, no leaves rustled in the gentle morning wind in the trees, the crashing of the waves in the distance was gone, and not a creature alive made a sound. He proceeded forward, approaching the railing. And as he drew nearer, something caught his eye. He looked down and saw a lone golden coin sitting atop the rail. He picked it up, it felt cold to his touch. The coin showed a four leaf clover with one cleft leaf.

And all at once he knew.

The sensation grew like water rising all around him. His vision became unfocused and he felt as if he were floating, detached from the world. Instinctually, he grabbed the railing for support as he tried to remain fixated on the coin in his hand, but his mind was losing focus. At last he gasped, his breath sounding like a gunshot against the silence of the world. Then the weight of it all forced himself to his knees. He leaned against the railing, clutching it in a feeble attempt to keep himself upright.

His breaths hitched, choked out into staccato gasps that steadily mounted and coalesced into a steady stream of wails. It was an ugly sound, full of mourning and agony. It rang out across the gulch and towards the dark horizon. Chaotic, discordant thoughts ran through Luke’s mind like the frenzied flashes inside of a thundercloud. Questions that would never be answered, blame set upon himself, a despair wailing at the feeling of helplessness. In his mind he silently pleaded at the god that he did not believe in, begging them to make it not so.

He could feel the tears pouring down his face, the snot trailing along his upper lip and down the sides of his mouth that was dripping drool all over the deck floor. Somewhere among the flashing thoughts raging in his mind, he knew he must look a horrid sight, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was carried away by the tempest that raged within his heart and mind. And in the eye of that tempest was Fuyo’s smiling face.

Without confirmation, without any word from her herself, he knew he would never see her again.

In an instant, she was gone from this world, to lands unknown he could not be sure. But what he did know in his heart of hearts was that she was not here, and she never would be again. His cries began anew as he gripped the coin like a vice and held it to his chest. He could no longer bear to hold himself up any longer and he bent down, bowing his head to the floor, his cries blaring into the wooden planks. The world stood silent, unflinching, and unmoved by his heartbreak and grief.

---

It came in waves, fits of agonized wailing broken by stretches of silence save for Luke’s exhausted breaths. For god only knows how long, he laid there, tormented by his cycling thoughts and emotions, racketed back and forth between feeling emptiness and agonized sorrow. His thoughts at once telling him it wasn’t real, that it was a misunderstanding, that he was blowing everything out of proportion, raising his hopes up above nothing. Then all at once, they would come crashing down, triggered by an errant thought or emotion, forced down into the dirt and the tears would start anew.

---

An unknown time later, the sky began to grow faintly light behind the canopy of clouds that hung low in the sky. Luke lay on the deck flooring, the planks around him wet from tears, snot, saliva, and sweat. His hair was disheveled and wild, his eyes empty and his breathing hoarse. The pain in his heart had quelled to a dull throbbing, a sensation he hadn’t felt since his days alone in his apartment all those years ago. Days he recognized he would now be repeating once again. The tears still flowed, but he could no longer feel them, his eyes red and numb. All he could feel was a slight itching followed by fresh wetness roll across his face. While his body lay still his mind raced with questions and presumptions.

Why did this happen?

Could he have prevented it?

Did she hate him?

What had he done wrong?

Was he being punished?

Could it be a misunderstanding?

Would she ever come back?

Was this the price he had to pay for his past mistakes?

He had no answers to any of these questions, and likely, he never would. So his mind latched onto presumptions, scrapping together all the limited information he had and sculpting them into monstrosities that only tormented him more. Truths built upon lies he convinced himself were real. Ghosts in the night and demons in the dark.

Thunder rumbled overhead and soon the rain began to fall. It splattered upon the deck flooring, droplets jumping up into Luke’s face, but he did not so much as blink, trapped as he was within the foggy labyrinth of his mind. The hours dragged on, the rain came and went, then came again. The darkness crept in as the sun, wherever it was behind the clouds, fell from the sky behind the horizon. The night was warm, humid, and dark. The world was still silent as the dead, and Luke remained among them where he lay.

---

His mind had long ago given out, no longer able to continue its endless cycle of questions with no answers. Interrogating every gesture she had ever made, every word she had ever spoken, blaming and hating her, blaming and hating himself. At last, when it could take no more, his mind and soul shut down into a fugue state where no more cognizant direction existed and he drifted in and out of consciousness. There was no up or down, no inside or out, nor awake or asleep. All senses that attached him to the world had faded into oblivion. He did not know where he was, who he was, and the pain that wracked his body was as the heat of a far away fire.

Then within the dark cave of his soul, a light shown forth, like the lantern of a shepherd coming from within the night. Luke’s mind wandered towards it, as a poor soul pitched into the sea may reach out for a life-preserver. Slowly the world came back into view, his mind latching onto the light as his true north. As his vision focused, he saw the details of the world fade in; the blue hour bathing the world in a soft cerulean, the slits in the planks of the deck floor, and the golden coin laying in front of him, lights wistfully dancing upon its surface.

In the cold azure of twilight, they danced a soft and elysian waltz, as delicate as dandelion seeds aloft on the wind. Luke watched them, his mind fixating upon them, tethering him to this moment, this world, refusing to let him return to the dark, stormy seas of his mind.

He forced his arm to move.

It felt as if the very gravity of the world were pulling it down, dragging it to stop it in its tracks. But he pushed. With choked, croaking groans he reached for the one light left in the dark. He could feel a gentle warmth tickle the tips of his fingers as he pushed his hand further across the wooden floor, until finally he brought his hand down upon the coin.
Like a lit fuse, he could feel a gentle warmth enter his palm and travel up his arm before settling into his chest. From within, he could feel the warmth radiate outward and envelope his body. Suddenly within his mind, where once there had only been cold, dark thoughts filled with hurt, confusion, resentment, and misery; every slight she had made against him, every bitter word exchanged between them, and every instance she had failed him were now gone. Replaced now instead with every smile she had sent his way, every standing ovation she was the first to start, and every embrace they had ever shared.

They came as a flood, memory upon memory, and unlike the terrible memories that had eventually circled and repeated, these new ones never did. Every one of them was unique, every one was fresh and distinct from the rest, none identical to one another. And they only grew, higher and higher the waters rose with no signs of stopping. The warmth inside him at last reached his extremities, his entire being bathed in the gentle embrace of his time with Fuyo. Deep down beneath the bitter snows they reached for the seed that with the sun’s love would blossom into a rose.

Luke breathed in deeply.

Then released a long, shaky breath.

And just like so many years ago, something left him along with it.

As if expelling a toxic specter, he suddenly felt clearer, lighter inside. The light that had engulfed him sunk into his skin, as if water upon dry and barren soil. With herculean effort he lifted his head and forced himself up. His body creaked and groaned like a metallic structure long set and rusted. Finally he stood on legs more unsure than a newborn doe’s before he he awkwardly lumbered toward the deck railing, leaning his weight against it, but still standing.

Then he felt the wind upon his face, the breeze gently caressing his sloppy hair and it felt soothing against his swollen, damp eyes. He breathed in the gentle zephyr, the cool air filling his lungs felt as invigorating as a dive into a brisk mountain lake. Then he looked down at his hand, at the golden coin resting against his palm. It shone with an otherworldly luster that he had never truly appreciated before. He rubbed his thumb along the mangled clover embossed upon its face and smiled as he recalled a particular memory.

“Why are one of the leaves on the clover on that coin of yours messed up? Wouldn’t that kind of negate its luckiness?”

“The point of this clover isn’t luck, silly!”

“Then what is the point of it?”

“It’s a reminder. That even if things are tough, even if things don’t go exactly as you planned, even if life beats you down and leaves you broken, you’re still worthwhile.”

“… You’re so full of it.”

“Well, maybe I am. Because more so than any clover, you taught me that lesson best of all!”

Luke grasped the coin tight and held it to his chest, feeling the warmth inside him strengthen just a bit when he did so. And as more and more happy memories from times long gone continued to flood his mind, he breathed in deeply and evenly. More likely than not, he would never get the answers he desired. He would never know what it was that made her leave. Perhaps she had grown exhausted of him and needed to escape. Or maybe their relationship no longer gave her what it once had in the beginning. But regardless of what it was that spirited her away, Luke knew one thing for certain.

The time they had spent together; the laughter, the tears, the good times and the bad, the ones they had faced together and came out the other side all the stronger, they were real.

What they once shared was sincere and genuine, and even if for whatever reason she hated and resented him now, those moments when she didn’t were real, and they were his. Nothing could ever take them away from him. Not her, nor anyone else. Those days, those moments, they meant something to him, they molded and shaped him into who he was now. Without them, he would still be alone in his apartment, wasting himself away into numb oblivion. And while he would now be alone once again, he was no longer that same man he once was. He had changed too much, had come much too far, and had grown beyond the reach of that man from long ago.

She had changed him into who he could always have become, but had never had the will or drive to do so. She had been there for him when no one else had been. She could have left whenever she wanted, but she didn’t. She stayed with him until the time when he was able to stand on his own, and now that time was here. Because of that, he chose to believe it had all meant something to her as well. He had meant something to her as well. Whatever reasons may have taken her away from him, they had to have been bigger than either him or her. Far too grand for her to have ignored. He chose to believe that she wanted to stay, wished with all her heart that she could, but she couldn’t. And that if she didn’t go, both she and he would have been worse off for it.

He was not being delusional.

When two paths lie in front of you, it is not delusion that leads you down one or the other, but choice. And so he chose his path, knowing full well the existence of the other. If the alternative was to live out his days as he had for the past unknowable amount of time wallowing in misery, despair, self-loathing, and resentment, then he would choose this path. He would choose joy, nostalgia, and love. He would not falter or break, for her sake as well as his own. To live up to the ideals that she had once told him she had been most proud of him for.

And as his resolve solidified and a serene smile came across his face, he felt the warm touch of the sun’s rays shine upon him as it crested over the horizon. He opened his eyes to welcome the dawning of a new day, of a new life. He looked down when he felt something soft brush against him, and found their cat Pablo nuzzling his arm. He pet his head as the cat purred and accepted his affection willingly, deepening his smile. The sun had set on his days with Fuyo Cloverfield, but in their place rose the dawning of a new era, with endless possibilities both ill and fair. The winds of change flourished and rose like a swirling crescendo, the lark ascending atop the gales. Despite it all, he would be okay.

And wherever she was at the end of the rainbow, he would only ever wish for her to be of good heart evermore.