"Wish I could show you these stars," I said aloud, though I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
A splash echoed from the lake—like a large fish breaking the surface. Sleep-deprived and driven by idle curiosity, I stood and walked toward the water.
Stepping onto the footbridge, I leaned over the edge and stared at my reflection. Gradually, it split into two, warping into something like a convex TV screen playing a film I didn’t recognize.
A walk through the Pink City, where the air was thick with spices and hope. I was with a girl, resting on concrete slabs stacked like staircases, watching water so still it seemed suspended in midair.
Who is she? Why can’t I see her face?
The stranger leaned her back against my shoulder, gazing elsewhere.
"Since I was a kid, I’ve loved looking at the moon."
It took me a second to recognize my own voice—filtered through my mind like a recording. It sounded alien, mismatched.
"Then," I continued, "years later as an artist, I ran into an acquaintance at a bar. He mentioned the spots on the moon are called ‘Mare Tranquillitatis.’ Know what I thought?" I studied the back of her head, her presence radiating warmth, like she already understood.
"That there’s no actual sea there?" She laughed.
"I thought… I’d like to go there," I said, staring at the sky and reaching up as if to touch something just out of grasp. "Because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that kind of peace here. But I didn’t say any of that to him. Just went home, sat on the balcony, and kept staring at that silver disc like it’d pull me closer if I looked hard enough."
A pause. The scent of her hair—warm, familiar—drifted over me.
"‘The Illusion of Tranquility’—that’s what I called the next painting. Sold like crazy that year. Guess that’s what everyone was missing."
"Tranquility?" she asked.
"Illusions," I corrected.
* * *
"WE'RE ON FIRE!"
I jerked away from the lake and spun around to see the kid darting frantically along the blazing porch. Flames surged hungrily, devouring the wooden planks.
"Why are you just standing there?!" Oscar shrieked. "DO SOMETHING!"
I lunged toward him—then my foot caught on a rope stretched taut across the footbridge.
Since when was that there—?
The world upended as I crashed into the water like a sack of bricks. Darkness swallowed me instantly. The last thing I saw was Oscar standing at the edge of the footbridge, arms crossed.
Always judging me…
Then the lake pulled me under.
* * *
"Seriously, man," Oscar tapped his yellow boot against the footbridge as I spat out lake water and tried to shake slimy algae off my shoulder. "First you shamelessly steal Grandpa's cigarettes, then you toss a lit butt into dry grass. What the hell were you thinking?"
"Sorry, kid," I wheezed, still catching my breath after my inglorious backflip into the water.
"Say that again?" He cupped a hand to his ear, stepping closer with exaggerated interest.
"I said I'm sorry, okay?!" I snapped. "My bad for screwing up and almost burning your house down."
Then I remembered the fire. I scrambled to my feet—only to find the porch completely intact, no signs of flames anywhere. The world was bright as midday.
"W-what the…?" I stammered. "Where's the fire?"
"Already put out," the kid said, rolling his eyes. "Not like we could count on you. Even a stray dog’s more useful."
"B-but why’s it so light out?"
