The Park at Night

By the first night, they were already screaming at each other, bringing up grievances from before I was born and hurtling half-baked insults at each other. Man-child this, cheating whore that, failed musician this, sell-out watercolorist that. I sat as quietly as I could in my room down the hall, trying as hard as I could to ward off memories of my parents doing the very same thing when I was ten.

It was graduation week and my roommate, Janice, had come to me—unable to make eye contact—and asked me if her father could sleep in our living room for duration of the his visit in order to save some money. She explained that he was running some debts and couldn’t afford a hotel room and, even though their relationship was rather strained, he was her father at the end of it all and she wanted him to be at her graduation. I agreed almost instantly, knowing the pains of poverty and importance of family.

My parents themselves had not come to my graduation ceremony several days prior (all the graduate programs scheduled their own events independent of one another) because two plane tickets across the country and lodgings for several days wasn’t something they or myself could afford. I shook my head at my sixty-hour weeks and inadequate salary.

The next day, Janice—looking exasperated—stood in the doorway of my room and, very desperately, asked if her mother could stay in our living room as well.

“Aren’t your parents divorced?” I asked. Janice hadn’t talked much about her parents besides the fact that her mother was judgmental of Janice’s life choices while also clingy—requiring that they speak at least once a week.

“Yeah, they can’t stand each other,” Janice admitted, her eyes fell to the floor.

“And…” my mind was trying to understand why Janice would want to put these two people in close proximity for seven days. “Huh?”

“Alright, well,” I could see Janice’s shoulders rise in frustration, “my mom heard that my dad was sleeping here for the week and was hurt that I didn’t extend the same invitation to her, so now she wants to sleep here too.”

“But, she hates your dad and…can afford a hotel room?”

“Yes.”

“So, she just…”

“She feels like I’m,” Janice made air quotes, “playing favorites.”

“Wow…”

“Yeah.”

“So, we can’t…I mean…they hate each other, right?”

There was a pause and then Janice, ignoring my last comment, asked again. “So, can they stay here?”

I sighed, a feeling of discomfort rising in my chest.

Her boyfriend, Randall—a senior associate at KPMG who could arguably afford lodgings for both of these parents—appeared behind Janice and motioned for me not to press the issue. Although he was living at our apartment for free—Janice had just moved him in one weekend and refused to speak to me or our other roommate about it—I knew Randall was a well-intentioned guy, so I complied and simply agreed to let the mother stay. He thanked me quietly after she marched back into their room and told me he’d pay me back somehow.

Janice’s father arrived one night earlier than her mother and after thirty minutes of conversation, while I was cooking, he already felt insufferable. All the roommates were there: Janice, Randall, myself, and Katie—who was only stopping in to be polite (Katie and Janice had been close friends since their first year in college) before gathering the clothes and cables that she would need to spend a week at her boyfriend’s down the street.

In those thirty-minutes, Janice had made an off-the-cuff comment about how simmered shiitake mushrooms were one of her favorite Japanese dishes and her father stopped the conversation, told them shiitake mushrooms weren’t originally from Japan and thus could not be classified as Japanese cuisine, then proceeded to google the topic, and showed us that shiitake mushrooms actually originated from China—a factoid that didn’t seem to disqualify it from being a Japanese dish. I understood why this man was divorced.

I thought perhaps the arrival of Janice’s mother would quiet things down. The silent treatment was a tactic my parents were well-versed in and I saw a percentage chance that Janice’s parents could have been the same. My Chinese parents were steeped in the idea of face and the notion of embarrassing themselves in front of people who weren’t blood-related was something they could not physically understand.

I would even have accepted good old midwestern passive aggression, a concept I had been taught about by college friends, a calm, quiet incendiary deployed through rigid smiles and sharp eyes. Janice’s parents were seemingly unfamiliar with the idea of face or passive aggression and mutually agreed that this 800 square foot apartment was the best place for them to settle their decades-old injustices. I was out the door and walking towards the bus stop before I could even think of where to go.

“So, you’re taking a week off of work?” Carly, a friend from my time in undergraduate college, asked as we sat down at an unfamiliar bar that she had recommended. “Are you going somewhere?”
“No,” I said. “Just wanted some time off.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“The plan was to do nothing,” I said. “I’ve been juggling grad school and work for three years and felt like after graduation was a good time to take a break.”

“You know what I did after graduation?”

“What?”

“I took a trip to Malaysia,” Carly smiled at the memory. “Most relaxing week of my life. I ate so much food, saw all the sights I could see, and partied every night.”

“That wasn’t…exhausting?”

“Nope.”

The live band started their first song as people began filing in after dinner and I remember that I’d forgotten to eat. I sigh. “Why did we have to come to this bar anyway? I thought you hated the east side—too preppy and rich.”

She pointed to the scruffy, black-haired, clean-shaven, lanky kid with multiple lip-piercings and a full sleeve on his left arm wearing all black except for a white bowtie standing behind the bar.

“He looks like an emo-kid from my high school,” I said.

“I know,” Carly said. “He’s beautiful.”

I stare at the bartender some more trying to understand how he fits into Carly’s history of dating protein shake bodybuilders, but realize—not for the first time in my life—that attraction is one of the great mysteries of the universe. “Have you talking to him at all?”

“Yesterday, but I forgot to give him my number,” Carly sighed.

I patted her on the shoulder as I got up to order our first round: two mixed drinks and two shots of the cheapest whiskey the bar had to offer—a tradition that held over from college. Carly’s bartender stared at me with animus as he made my order. He handed me the alcohol, but before I could leave he said, “So, you and Carly—”

“Just friends,” I cut him off. “Did you get her number last night?”

He looked reassured and then checked his phone while I walked back to the table. “Seems like he likes you,” I reported while handing a shot glass to Carly, we cheered and then downed the two dollar whiskey. The liquid fire nearly knocked the wind out of me and I coughed more than I wanted to—I’ve never tried gasoline, but cheap whiskey was the closest I want to get to the taste. Carly grinned at my weakness as she looked unphased.

Suddenly, a pair of black jeans appeared next to the table, it was Carly’s bartender looking irate. “The gentleman at the far end of the bar sends his regards,” he spoke as professionally as he could before nodding in the direction of a golden-haired man in a business suit. He looked generically handsome, but also like someone who introduced himself by saying he went to Harvard undergrad. The man took his cue and nodded with an open-mouth smile at Carly.

She made an awkward “oh”, took the drink, and then held the bartender’s hand for a brief moment before he left.

“Damn,” I said, “love triangle.”

Carly was quiet, but I could see something brewing in her mind. Before I could caution her against anything, she changed the subject. “So, what are you gonna do about Janice’s parents?”

“What can I do?” I asked. “I’m just going to avoid them as much as possible.”

“Your staycation’s out the window,” she said.

“Yeah…” I sighed, then chugged my drink, then sighed again.

“Maybe go on some dates?” Carly said. “Fire up the apps.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The point of this vacation was to have alone time, meeting new people is the opposite of alone time.”

“But now that you don’t have anywhere to be alone, might as well, right?” she gave me a look as she sipped her drink. “You won’t know for sure if you don’t like new people if you never even give them a chance.”

I sat back with a sigh. I wanted to deliver a glib, jaded response, but knew it would only frustrate her.

“When’s the last time you even opened a dating app?” Carly pushed.

I emptied my drink and stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Carly sighed with a shrug. I relieved myself, grabbed another drink from the bar, then returned to the table to find my seat occupied by the golden-haired suit. He was flirting heavily with Carly and she was reciprocating.

“You’re in my seat,” I said flippantly.

“Oh, sorry my man,” he said. “I was just stopping in real quick.” He slipped a business card into Carly’s hand. “Call me.” He winked with the same exact open-mouth smile and then walked away.

“Charming,” I said as I sat down.

Carly sipped her drink and looked pleased.

“What about the bartender,” I asked.

“You know what they say,” Carly smiled. “Jealousy is one of the most important passions.”

“That seems like a toxic viewpoint,” I said. “Maybe just in this context,” I added after a few moments of thinking.

Carly shrugged and then changed the subject.

The night wore on and, while Carly was at the bar ordering our next round, I noticed the song that was playing and grooved a little in my seat—the alcohol was doing a good job of loosening me up. The bar was packed and the dance floor was brimming with energy. I thought about dancing myself, but something I couldn’t explain kept me planted to my seat. Instead, I turned my thoughts to what I wanted to do this week. Now that my apartment was too crowded and could, at any moment, erupt into a verbal warzone, I needed to rethink my plans. All I wanted was some peace and quiet.

Suddenly, I heard shouting from the bar followed by the sound of glass breaking and people around me reacting in surprise. I turned to see a fight breaking out between Carly’s bartender and the business suit who sent her the drink. I shook my head.

Five minutes later, I was standing outside with Carly and her bartender as she tended to her admirer's bruised face—the business suit had friends and, even with all the passion in the world, the lanky emo-boy wasn’t going to win a 3-vs-1 fight.

Carly and her bartender eventually left in an Uber, she was going to accompany him back to his apartment and make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt. I knew what Carly was really after and she smiled at me deviously as their car drove away.

I considered going back to my apartment, but instead let my legs wander aimlessly and take in the warm May night. When I stopped, I was standing in front of a twenty-four hour Taco Bell. More out of boredom than hunger, I walked in and ordered a meal.

It was already 1:00 A.M. by the time I got my food and Janice’s parents were probably already sleeping, but the thought of returning home didn’t even cross my mind. As I ate my meal, I wondered what I used to enjoy in my free time—lately graduate school and work had consumed my life and free time had quickly become an extraterrestrial concept. I stared off into space as I finished my nacho fries and suddenly remembered that—as strange as it sounded—I enjoyed very specific parts of nature, namely running water.

I trekked thirty minutes across town to a park on the west side that had an artificial river running through the center of it. As a child, I was told that people weren’t allowed in public parks, so I always check for the authorities when entering a park after sundown. When I was sure the coast was clear, I made a direct line to the river.

I stared down at the rushing stream, watching the flowing current in the dim moonlight and felt a calmness wash over me like a perfect-temperature shower at the end of a long day. It was a confusing calm, a relationship to running water I never quite understood, but one I welcomed happily.

I walked along the riverbank, up and down, following the stream until something caught my eye. A glint underneath the water. I looked closer and noticed something different amongst the dirt and gravel, something smooth and reflective. I reached beneath the current, poked at it, and suddenly some of the gravel floated away, revealing more of its surface. I felt around until I could grab onto it and suddenly a sharp edge pressed into my palm, drawing blood, and causing my hand to jolt up out of the water. I reached down again, this time more cautiously, and pulled a gleaming longsword out of the stream and up into the cool night air.

It was like new, no rust or damage to the blade. I searched from blade tip to hilt for a “made in China” etching but found nothing in English, just an engraving along the pommel in a language I didn’t recognize.

Everything about the sword seemed real. The leather on the handle felt worn-in and high quality. The weapon itself was heavier than any prop I’d ever held and looked shinier than aluminum—more silvery than the general dull grey.

I looked around for anyone—the sword’s owner, authorities, random passersby—but when I found myself alone, a smile crept across my face. I gripped the sword tightly and posed heroically, then I swung the sword around several times, trying to imitate attack combinations from my favorite video games. The weapon was too heavy for a single hand and I dropped it awkwardly. I looked around again, still no one, then picked it back up and ran towards the nearby lawn. I positioned myself against the moon, the grass was on an incline and I stood at the top of the hill and recited what I could of Aragorn’s speech from The Return of the King. “…a day may come when the courage of men fail…but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!” My voice crescendoed as I rushed down the lawn, sword raised above my head.

I fell a few times, more than I would have liked, but I hadn’t really run or played like this in years. I returned to imitating sword attacks I’d seen in video games, slashing at the air, then at tree trunks and cutting into their bark. After I’d done that for a while and worked up a sweat, I started throwing the sword into the air and seeing if I could get it to sink, blade first, into the dirt. See if I could get it to fall down from the sky and land perfectly like it would in an epic tale of heroes and villains—I got it on the tenth try.

I played for hours alone in that park, swinging the sword at imaginary foes, talking to myself of honor and wars past. By the time I was done, the sun was rising and turned the sky a pale greyish-blue. I stared at the sword for a while, considering whether I should bring it home or not—hang it up on my wall like a decoration—but eventually decided against it. I returned the sword to the riverbed where I found it and then left.

On the bus ride to my apartment, I looked around at all the people on their morning commutes, staring intently at their phones, then down at my muddy clothes, the rip in my jeans I’d gotten after rolling down the hill a couple times, my dusty hands, and I wondered if I was dreaming.

I woke up to silence. It was eight o’clock and my room was in complete darkness. I showered and slipped on a fresh pair of pajamas expecting a quiet night, but soon Janice and her parents returned from dinner. They decided to have a loud, unending conversation about the merits of Thai food—Janice’s father was for, her mother was against—which quickly drove me out of the apartment once again.

It was only when I was on the bus headed towards downtown that I checked my phone. Messages from Carly and a coworker populated my lock screen. It was then that I noticed the cut I’d gotten from fishing the sword out of the river. For some reason, it made me smile.

I met up with a coworker who I’d become friendly with after being thrown onto his team for their current project.

“You look tired,” Patrick said after buying the first round.

“Do I?” I asked, “I feel…good.”

“Must be the vacation,” he smirked. “I’m surprised you stayed in the city. Usually my wife and I go camping or drive up to my parent’s place in Vermont.”

“I’m more of a sit-around-and-sleep kinda guy,” I said.

“Those vacations are good too,” he agreed. We clicked out beers together and drank. We talked about work for a while, he complained about the lack of funding and resources for the project we were expected to deliver in two months and I tried to sympathize even though work was the last thing I wanted to think about during vacation. He seemed to pick up on this after the second hour and changed the subject. “Do you remember what you wanted to be when you were a kid?”

“Huh?” I asked, not quite catching what Patrick had said.

“My oldest, he’s at that point in school where he’s supposed to do a ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ report, you know? Research his dream job and present it to the class,” he said. “Got me wondering what I wanted to be when I was a kid,” he chuckled. “I can’t remember, do you?”

“I…” memories flashed through my mind, small, fragmented bits of my childhood, but nothing concrete about my aspirations. “I don’t remember either, but knowing me I probably didn’t really want any real job. I’d always wanted to be an adventurer or a superhero or a…a person who was rewarded for doing good deeds,” I chuckled. “As a kid, I don’t think I ever really thought about an income or rent or groceries.”

Patrick took a swig from his beer. “Yeah, all I thought about was hanging out with my friends, playing football, and chasing girls,” he chuckled. “These days,” he sighed, “we got a mortgage, doctors’ appointments, and taxes…the trappings of adulthood.”

That night, after Patrick went home, I walked over to the park and found the sword lying in the river where I’d left it. For a moment, I wondered how no one could have spotted it in the day time, but once I’d had it in my hands I was consumed by my own imagination and all thoughts of the real world vanished.

At the end of the night, as I was about to return the sword to the river, a skeletal arm suddenly burst out of the ground in front of me. Its bony fingers clutched at the ground, pulling the rest of its body above the dirt and into the night air. Armed with wooden buckler and broadsword, the skeleton took a readied stance—shield up and sword pointed forward—as it circled me cautiously.

I froze in fear, my body told me to run, but just as I began to feel my legs move, I heard a rumbling of dirt behind me and another skeleton pulled itself up from the ground. The first skeleton slashed at me, its movements slow and clunky, and I jolted out of the way—dodging wide. I suddenly remembered I was holding a sword—the undead skeleton had taken all my attention—and I swung at the monster. It jumped back and looked hesitant to approach. I swung the sword at the second skeleton and it jumped back as well. They were slow, clunky, and the sword felt light in my hands, I felt emboldened to take the offensive.

With my speed advantage, I positioned myself behind the first one and stabbed my blade into it’s skull. The monster flinched as my weapon connected and, just like in a video game, the skeleton lost all strength and fell lifelessly to the ground, shattering into several pieces. The second skeleton fell just as easily. Immediately, I backed away towards the closest lamppost and stood directly under it, waiting for the next wave of monsters. Nothing came and, quickly after, sunlight flooded the park and I could see that nothing was approaching me. I returned the sword to the river and went home.

“How’s your apartment situation?” Carly asked. We were at the same bar as two nights ago and, judging by the grin on her face and the look on the bartender’s, things were going well.

“I haven’t really been home that much,” I said while staring at my phone. There was nothing in recent news about swords, so I looked up urban legends and related topics.

“What’s up with you?”

“Huh?”

“You seem different,” she said. “More…relaxed?”

“Am I?” I asked. I looked up to make eye contact and put away my phone.

“Staycation’s going well, I see,” Carly examined me. “Something happen to you?”

“Nothing really,” I knew she would never believe that I was running around a park at night with a sword I found in a river. “How’re things with the bartender?”

Carly grinned. “Passionate.”

I nodded, not truly knowing how I felt about her jealousy love triangle play from two nights ago, but it seemed to work for her. “Nice, am I going to start seeing him around? Or is he just…a casual.”

“I don’t know yet,” Carly said with a bit of playfulness. “Even though,” her face turned annoyed. “I probably won’t be seeing him anytime soon.”

I looked over at the bar and noticed he wasn’t there. “What happened?”

“Oh nothing,” Carly motioned with her hand. “Work is just getting busy, my boss took on a bunch of extra projects and I have to start putting in more hours.”

“Oh…that sucks.”

“It’s fine,” Carly said, “but I hate it.” She stared at her drink for a bit. “I’m actually surprised I haven’t gotten more work already.”

“That’s good?” I said, unsure but optimistic. “They’re giving you some time to prepare before the long hours start.”

“I don’t know,” Carly frowned. “But tell me, what have you been up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You meet someone?”

“No,” I said, somewhat confused by the line of questioning.

“You sure?” Carly asked.

“Yeah, I’ve just been…” I looked for a plausible lie. “I’ve just been avoiding my roommates, luckily they’re usually out sightseeing during the day.”

Carly looked disappointed, but quickly smiled. “Well, I’m glad things aren’t as bad as we thought.”

The night wore on and, as the two of us became progressively drunker, I asked a question. “Do you remember playing like…” I searched for the right words. “…make believe when you were a kid?”

“Make believe? Like cops and robbers or something?”

“Yeah, like, I used to grab a stick off the ground and think it was a sword and then go running around fighting imaginary monsters with my friends.”

Carly looked at me with jokingly judgmental eyes. “You’re such a nerd.”

“You never did that?”

“I remember doing it once. My dad let me go out with my brother one time and we met up with some of his friends and fought an imaginary dragon. Eventually it just devolved into my brother and one friend fighting over some legendary sword, which hurt some feelings, but they made up after. It was pretty fun.”

“You never did it again?”

“My mom got mad when I came home and all my clothes were dirty. She told me ‘real ladies’ played house and dress-up. Boys were the ones who roughhoused outside.”

“Damn, that’s…antiquated.”

“Yeah,” Carly sipped her drink. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, well…” I stammered, looking for a plausible excuse. “My coworker was talking about some homework his kid was doing about their ‘dream job’, and I just wondered when childhood got so…rushed.”

“To be fair, I think kids want to be adults, they want to get to the part of their life where they have control,” Carly said. “But also, I think it’s just a dumb homework assignment that teachers assign to get kids to learn how to research stuff. They frame it as ‘your dream job’ to get the kids to feel some degree of personal identity with the assignment. Gets kids more excited about learning."

"That…makes sense,” I said.

“Don’t think too much,” Carly patted my head as she got up to go to the bathroom.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder as my seat swung around. It stopped when I came face-to-face with an older man—at least 60-years-old—with a darkly excited look on his face. “It’s shown itself to you hasn’t it?” I felt his hand clamp down on my shoulder stronger than I expected from a man of his age.

“What—”

“Don’t play dumb with me boy, the sword, you’ve found the sword.”

“You know about the sword?” I asked.

“Where is it now?” the man asked. “Do you still have it?”

“No,” I said. “I put it back in the river.”

“Did you speak the words? The one engraved along the pommel?”

“I saw it, but I didn’t recognize the language.”

The man looked relieved. “You’d best forget all about that sword,” he said, “nothing good will come from that cursed piece of steel.”

“What is it? What do you know about it?”

“Mortals have no business playing that blade’s games,” the man’s voice trembled. “It tempts you with that feeling, but what it takes in return…is too high a price.”

“Who’s your friend?” Carly asked, having returned from the bathroom. The man jumped at her appearance and rushed away, out the door.

“Rude,” Carly commented.

“Hey! Hey!” I called to him, but he was already out the door. I chased after him but, by the time I was outside, he’d already disappeared.

That night, after walking Carly to her apartment, I paused and stared off in the direction of the park. It felt as if the blade was calling to me, a message delivered on the wind. I considered the old man’s words, but I couldn’t stop myself. Before I knew it, I was standing above the river, staring at the glimmering steel below.

The skeletons appeared the moment I drew the weapon out of the water. A much larger number than the night before, there were at least ten in close proximity and even more waiting in the shadows. I expected them all to charge me at the same time, but it seemed, just like low level enemies in a video game, each of them were stuck to a predetermined route and seemed to have little awareness of their general surroundings. I vanquished them easily, one at a time, with a single strike to the head. Each time I defeated one of the skeletons, the sword would glow ever so slightly for a few seconds—as if absorbing energy from my fallen enemies—before returning to normal.

In the middle of the night, after I had seemingly cleared the entire park of skeletons, it began to rain. I rushed towards cover—an enclosed picnic area on the other side of the park—and a figure appeared underneath a nearby lamppost. It was humanoid in form, at least eight feet tall, clad in black, ornate plate armor from head to toe and carried a war hammer the size of a car.

I approached the new figure cautiously—circling behind it before moving towards it. As I got closer, I could hear the wind blow in between the armor pieces—a hollow ringing. Up close, I saw that the armor was adorned with jagged spikes, it’s pauldrons were shaped like bloodthirsty wolves, and it’s helmet looked like it had been crafted from the skull of a demon. Truly beautiful design, and something that every instinct in my body told me to avoid.

Instead, I  struck at its head, trying to capitalize on the fact that it hadn’t noticed me yet, but my sword did seemingly no damage as it bounced off the helmet with a loud clang. The demon armor turned around with a speed that didn’t match its size and bulk. I just barely had enough time to jump back before the hammer crashed down and fractured the concrete walking path in front of me. The armor’s second attack was faster, it didn’t even pull the hammer back up, but instead thrusted the weapon straight at me, crushing my stomach.

The impact was heavy and painful and I was on the ground before I could think. Hacking coughs ripped up through my throat and my body didn’t want to get up, but there was no time to rest. I got to my feet just in time to block the demon armor’s next attack—throwing the sword in the path of the war hammer like it was a shield. The next thing I knew there was a searing pain all over my torso as I laid on my back halfway across the lawn. I got up and rushed the demon armor, but again, I was thrown across the green. On my third approach, I dodged around more, trying to find a blind spot, but I was reckless and the demon armor slammed me into the ground.

This time, as my body crashed into the ground, something felt different. There was a clatter of metal and my body felt heavier, but the pain from the impact was lighter, softer. Plate armor, glowing silver in the moonlight, suddenly covered me from head to toe. This one was much simpler and traditional in design, but a notable addition was a rather large kite shield that was strapped to my left gauntlet. I marveled at the upgrade to my equipment, but didn’t have much time to wonder where it came from as the demon armor pursued me onto the grass.

The fight went smoother after that. The addition of a shield allowed me to defend and press forward at the same time and eventually, after a long time of chipping away at different parts of the armor, I finally staggered the monster. I capitalized on the pause and knocked it onto its back before vanquishing it with a stab through its visor.

I got home to find Janice and her family eating breakfast. They seemed concerned by the blood and bruises covering my body, but when they asked about them, all I could do was smile and laugh. “Rugby league,” I lied. I don’t know what it was about a cursed sword and deadly encounters with supernatural monsters, but it had been the first time in a long time I’d had this much fun and excitement.

That day I slept until midnight. When I drew the sword out of the water, the armor I’d worn against the demon armor appeared as well, suddenly covering my clothes. It felt like a gift from the blade, in return for what, I didn’t know, I didn’t ask, it had saved me so many times already. Seconds later, I saw a pillar of fire light up the sky and a roar reverberated through the air, causing the trees to shake in fear. A dragon had appeared on the far side of the park, ready for a challenger.

The next night, it was a group of fourteen armors, each with their own personal weapons. The night after produced three undead giants the size of four-story buildings. On the final night of my vacation, I battled a winged demon holding a two-handed greatsword. Each battle was harder than the last, but I took things slow, methodical. The monsters each had a weakness, and all I had to do was find it.

On the last night, after the winged demon drew their last breath with my sword through their heart, I sat at the top of the hill—covered in dirt and blood—with the sword stabbed into the ground next to me. I waited to watch the sun rise, and as the sky turned blue, I felt a peaceful quiet reverberate through my body.

When I finally stood up, the sword next to me had disappeared and stabbed into the ground was a wooden stick, roughly the same size. I stared at it, smiled, and then brought the stick back to the river, where I set it on the water and watched it float downstream and out of sight.

The next time I woke up, it was Saturday morning. I charged my phone and the moment it turned on, I got a single text from Carly.

“I got fired,” it said.

I sat there for a moment and then asked her to meet me for lunch. She agreed. We ate beef noodle soup, her favorite, and then I brought her to some batting cages. She’d played intramural softball in undergrad, but had stopped after getting a job. We stayed there until she was ready to stop, walked around a park to cool down, then sat down on a grassy hill to relax before dinner.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Shitty,” she said. “I just got fired and it took my best friend like twenty-four hours to respond.” I was silent, looking for the right words to apologize, but then she laughed. “But, today was fun. Thanks.” She stared at me for a moment. “Your vacation was relaxing I take it?”

“Yeah, I ended up having a good time.”

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the least active person I know just brought me to the batting cages for two hours.”

I chuckled. “I guess, yeah, not really in my character.” I stared up at the sky. “I don’t know, maybe something, maybe nothing, but I had a good time.”

We sat there for a while longer, talking about whatever came to our minds, then went to dinner.