Just a bunch of chess pieces moved about by unseen hands in a universe bored with itself. And now here she was, just another pawn. Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.
“People tend to think that hate is the most dangerous emotion. But love is equally dangerous,” Will said. “There are many stories of spirits haunting the places and people who meant the most to them. In fact, there are more of those than there are revenge stories.”
Theta Knight// St Valentines Day
Ling Chan// Lunar New Year
Mabel Rose// Purim
Memphis Campbell// Easter Sunday
Henry DuBois IV// Mardi Gras
Isaiah Campbell// Halloween
Sam Lloyd// Chanukah
Jericho Jones// Christmas Day
Evie O'Neill// New Years Eve
Above their heads, a steady stream of ones and zeros trickled down like rain, which made Henry think about music theory and song structure and Ling of the Bagua of the I Ching. Whole dream worlds were born of this numerical rain: The ghostly jazz bands of New Orleans’ West End inked themselves into existence against the filmy sky. A swooping Coney Island roller coaster skated a constant figure eight, a memory from Ling’s childhood. A Chinese puppet show appeared, the sticks operated by unseen hands. It was as if all time and space were unfolding at once around them, a river without end. The borders of their selves vanished; they flowed through time, and it through them, till they didn’t know if these things they saw had already been or would come to pass. Henry had never experienced such a profound sense of happiness, of being right in his self and in the world. “To us,” he said, raising a glass. “To us,” the others echoed, and they watched the sky give birth to new dreams.