My children were running wild with anticipation. It seemed like there were hordes of them. I had stopped trying to count them. The desire to go on this outing would be enough to get even the most obstreperous on the bus. Whoever said that children were angels hadn’t met my brood.

I laid the last layer of necessities in my bag and closed it up. I am old fashioned. No wheeled luggage for me. I liked to feel the weight at the end of my arm. I didn’t need it, but it set me apart from the others. I climbed the steps of the yellow bus and sat behind the driver. He was sweating in the heat, or perhaps it was nerves. He was rolling his eyes like a steer being lead to slaughter. Whichever it was, he honked the horn quick enough when I tapped his shoulder.

The children screamed with excitement and ran toward the bus. They pushed and fought to get on, then continued their battle for the best seats. I saw a grossly fat boy deliberately sit on a waif thin girl. His smug grin turned to a pained grimace, then panic. I allowed myself a smile. She must have found some tender part. The boy lumbered away and I saw her sit up and wipe her mouth. She saw me watching and gave me a cheeky grin. Clever girl; I would have to watch her.

An especially brave imp chose to claim the seat beside me. There was one on every trip who foolishly thought they could claim a part of my space. The others watched to see what I would do. I smiled and patted him on the head. He made the mistake of looking at me. They all do. His grin faded, then the rest of him until I was alone on my seat again.

The level of chaos on the bus dropped far enough that I tapped the driver on the shoulder again. He closed the door and shifted the bus into gear. I could hear the wailing of those left behind. The children always wanted to know how far it was, though they would never dare ask. The truth was that I couldn’t answer. Far didn’t have any meaning where we were; neither did long. The ride felt like an eternity because it was a piece of eternity.

Yet it wasn’t quite eternal. I felt the sudden heady pull of time and knew we had arrived. The driver lasted long enough to put the bus into park before entropy took over and he fell to pieces. The children poured off the bus into the light of the created world. Some of them couldn’t hold themselves together in the time stream and vanished. Most managed to adapt and spread out into the world to explore and play.

The mortals that surrounded us were unaware of our arrival. A couple of the most sensitive wrinkled their nose at what might have been a smell of death. Even if they could see us, they wouldn’t believe. We have been relegated to the status of fairy tales appearing in a certain class of fiction. I watched some fights break out between mortal children who had been playing peacefully. My children were quick learners.

I looked around the park and spotted the person I was looking for. They were always there; torturing themselves with their temptations. His desire oozed from his pores. I sat beside him and soaked it all in. The furtive looks, the aborted searches on the web, the fear that someone like him would find his own children, the envy of the ones who dared to act on their desires. I left him staring avidly at a little blond child who played in the sand while two bigger children threw sand and punches at each other.

While the man clenched and unclenched his fists fighting either his desire or his fear, I sauntered over to a woman eating an ice cream while she watched the children play. I stood beside her and watched too. My children had thinned out. Causing strife was easy, but once it was done, it was done. There was no real sustenance to it. A punch, some tears and then it faded away. The ones who didn’t learn that quickly faded away and learned that the trip back was much shorter than the journey here.

The real food was in the struggle to choose between desire and restraint. The woman beside me frowned as she saw one child, larger than the others, struggle to keep up. I glimpsed her view of herself in the mirror. Buried deep was the loathing for all the perceived imperfections; a wrinkle here, a bulge there. Even the ice cream she was eating tasted of both guilt and vanilla. The woman wanted to throw the cone away, but she was even more fearful of wasting food than eating it. The turmoil was delicious.

There was a disturbance on the other side of the playground. A tall thin woman was berating the man who had been watching the little girl. I could feel the waves of self-righteousness from where I stood. The ice cream woman gathered her children and took them protesting away. Her internal struggle over the sweet forgotten in fear for her children.

The waif like imp from the bus was standing to the side of the arguing pair. She saw me watching and shrugged then went back to her feast. She was more subtle than the others, but still had a lot to learn. The shouting match drew in others and I heard the sound of sirens approaching. There would be plenty of drama, but it would vanish as quickly as it built.

I walked away from the park. The tiny blond girl followed me.

“Why do you do it?”

“You know why,” I said. I wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about this. She was new, probably on her first trip.

“I know what they tell us.””¨”¨“It sustains us,” I said.

“You don’t need it,” she said, “The light would sustain you.”

“The light!” I said and choked on the word. For a brief moment I felt the cloying light that permeated everything. I felt the pull to let it in, and the fear of what it would reveal.

She shook her head sadly.

“It would set you free,” she said. She reached out a hand as if she were going to actually touch me, but stopped. The last thing I saw were the tears running down her face.

The familiar darkness and fire surrounded me. Others surrounded me sensing weakness. I growled and disemboweled one while I tore out the throat of another. The rest backed away, this time.

The girl was right, the light would set me free, after it opened all the shadowed depths of my being and cleansed it of the envy and pride. The mortals think hell is fire and brimstone, but is is worse than that. Hell is knowing what I could be, and what I have chosen to become.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Vento speaking. I'm very sorry to have to inform you that we had a hopefully minor issue while we were starting the engine. We're going to go back to the gate and have the mechanics take a look. I apologize for the delay, and thank you for choosing us for your transportation needs."

There were loud groans from throughout the plane, but Frank couldn't help but laugh. He'd left his Ann Arbor apartment at 6:30 that morning. The hour-long drive had been the smoothest part of the whole trip so far—and it should have taken thirty minutes. He'd then spent forty-five minutes in line at the ticket counter trying to get his seat switched from a center seat in back to something—anything—better. That effort had gone for naught. Then he spent another half hour in line at the TSA checkpoint, only to be selected for secondary screening.

That had ended badly when they found the nail clippers in his carry-on and confiscated them. He'd tried to argue that the little folding thing was a nail file, and not a knife, and they'd given him a look that said, "I went to forty hours of in-depth training on topics such as the lethality of nail clippers, and stayed awake through most of it, so don't push your luck with me, bud," and then subjected him to an even more rigorous searching. He endured it without further argument because he thought he was going to miss his plane. As it turned out, it had been delayed over an hour by a late-arriving flight crew, so he still made it to the gate in plenty of time to sit and stew and get anxious all over again about whether he was doing the right thing by taking this trip in the first place. Would Susan react as he hoped? If she didn't, his life was over.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain again. Maintenance is sending a mechanic over from another terminal. He should be here in fifteen minutes, and they estimate they'll have additional information for us about fifteen minutes after that. Meanwhile, feel free to use your cell phones and to get up and move about the cabin while we wait. We appreciate your patience, and thanks again for flying with us."

Frank thought he'd be able to relax when he got on board, but, when the flight crew had finally arrived, they still couldn't take off: They'd had to sit in the terminal through another hour and a half of weather delays before boarding the flight to Minneapolis. It had merely been drizzling, but the plane was an ancient DC-9 that Frank figured was built before they'd invented waterproofing, which would explain why the airline didn't want it to fly in the rain.

When boarding finally began, it was painfully slow; it seems he'd somehow managed to get on the same flight with 150 passengers who were not really average citizens, but Nepalese Sherpas in disguise, and they were all carrying gear in support of an international expedition to Everest. By the time they called Frank's row, all the overhead space had been filled up with ridiculously oversized bags, and he'd had to check his carry-on. He'd been careful to take the ring out of it before he turned it over to the baggage handlers, because he was certain he'd never see that bag again.

Frank's seatmate to the right got out his Blackberry and called someone. Apparently it was someone on the other side of the planet, with a one-bar connection, judging from how loudly the guy had to talk. Frank leaned back and tried to ignore him, instead trying to figure out what he might say to Susan when he saw her again.

He'd tell her how lonely he was. He'd tell her he can't stand living apart. He'd made a mistake; it didn't matter how much better the grad program at the University of Michigan was compared to Minnesota's, not when she was in Minnesota.

The drizzle was changing to snow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Vento speaking. The mechanics have found the source of our problem, and have identified a part that needs to be replaced. They're now checking to see if they have one in stock; if they do, we'll be on our way in less than an hour. So cross your fingers, and we'll be back to you with further news just as soon as we hear it. Thanks again for flying with us."

But we're not flying, Frank thought. We're three hours late. He stole a glance to the left; his seatmate looked to be an offensive linesman for the Michigan football team. Too small for a tight end. Probably a guard. He was asleep, which was good, but he was snoring loudly enough to pass for one of the aircraft outside, so long as it had four engines. It almost drowned out cell phone guy on the other side, but not quite. Behind him, a baby started to cry.

He took out his own cell phone and argued with himself for the thousandth time about whether he should tell her he was coming. Tonight was their phone-date night, so he knew she'd be free. His plan was to be talking to her on their phone date until he could knock on her door and surprise her, but what if she weren't there? What if she was in the library or somewhere?

The offensive lineman let loose one of those hacking, coughing snores loud enough to wake himself up, and for a split second, it was silent. Then the guy on the other side resumed his conversation about his digestive system, and the baby in back starting crying again, and the lineman went back to sleep and started snoring again, even louder than before.

This will all be worth it when I see Susan again, Frank told himself. He opened his cell phone and texted, "Thinking of you." There was no response, but he'd come to expect that on Fridays. That's when her lab class met.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Vento again. I'm very sorry to inform you that this aircraft won't be going anywhere this afternoon. We did our best, but maintenance now says that the part they need isn't immediately available. We'll be rebooking all of you on the next available flight to your final destination. Please see the agent in the terminal for your new arrangements. I apologize once again, and I thank you for choosing us today."

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. Frank realized that the odds of him getting to Minneapolis that evening were slim. Airlines were packing the planes these days, and Fridays were the worst of all. The next available flight might not be until Sunday.

As he waited for all the Sherpas ahead of him to gather their gear and leave, he realized that this sort of hassle was precisely what made living separately so intolerable. Even when he couldn't stand it any more and tried to see Susan, he couldn't. He thought about renting a car and driving to Minneapolis, but that would take all night—assuming he didn't fall asleep at the wheel. He'd been up since before dawn with the anticipation of the trip.

The trip that was now canceled.

Well, at least he'd have something to tell Susan on their phone date.

Frank followed his seat mate with the cell phone who was still gabbing on about his spastic colon, all the way up the jetway and back into the terminal. In the off chance that he was wrong about the airline's ability to get him to Minneapolis yet that evening, he got into the long line for rebooking assistance. The line trailed out into the concourse, and even with three agents at the ticket counter, he could see that it would take hours, and he could also tell from the expressions on the faces of the passengers already at the counter that it was a waste of time.

Frank gave up. He headed back toward the main terminal. As he rode the moving sidewalk toward the exit, he took out his phone and texted Susan again.

"I tried to come see you today, but my flight got canceled."

Almost immediately, the answer came.

"You were coming to Minneapolis? Why didn't you tell me!?"

"It was going to be a surprise."

"Where are you now?"

"Still at the airport."

"That's really funny!"

"What's funny?"

"I'm at the airport, too. Your airport. I had the same idea, only my flight didn't get canceled!"

Minutes later, Frank found Susan at baggage claim. Their embrace lasted for the rest of their lives.

The road stretched ahead, with a vast blanket as white as her knuckles clenching the wheel and as glittering as the new stone upon her finger. She clung to the wheel as if her life depended on it and prayed that the tires would keep an equally firm grip on the road. Trees in the distance danced in the wind, waving their icicles like clear, glittering wind chimes.

Two lonely tracks spread out ahead of her, the only evidence of where highway began and roadside ended. She directed the car down the crisp path and wondered briefly if whomever had forged this path knew the road better than she did.

Ordinarily she would not have risked driving in this weather, but her boyfriend - no, fiance - had insisted. “My family takes a trip to the ski lodge every Christmas, and if you’re going to be part of it, you’re going to follow our traditions,” he had said. In the whirlwind of yeses and bride magazines and online cake orders, she’d hardly given his insistence a second thought.

Now she was having third, fourth, and fifth thoughts.

Never before had she thought of the interstate as a lonely place, and now it was as empty and soulless as she was starting to feel. She dared a glance over in his direction, and when he caught her eye, he pounced at the opportunity to lecture her.

“You'd probably be able to go faster if you'd keep your eyes on the road.”

She glanced down. The needle of the speedometer wavered between a bold three and five. Had there not been ice on the road, she would have been pulled over for going this slow. With the conditions what they were, she’d be surprised if anyone with the authority to issue tickets would be stupid enough to be out on the roads.

“I’m going as fast as I can on this ice,” she replied, and then, just to appease him a bit, eased down a tiny bit more on the gas to bring her speed up to about thirty-seven. There was a slight curve ahead, but surely that wouldn’t be too fast, she thought.

“I should have known you couldn’t handle driving. Face it, you don't want to handle driving. You didn’t want to go in the first place,” he said.

A tear bit at the corner of her eye, and she tried to wipe it away without him noticing. “That’s not true.”

“We’re going to be late, and all because you kept whining about leaving. I bet you're driving slow to avoid getting there.”

She struggled to hold back a retort; arguing with him seldom worked. Last time she’d tried she’d ended up with a swollen lip and a diamond ring. Instead, she focused on the curve ahead. She felt the back tires lose traction, only to gain it again in the edges of the ruts she was trying to desperately to stay within.

“What, you're not talking to me now?” he asked.

“I’m driving,” she said through clenched teeth, staring straight ahead.

He reached over and gripped her chin in his hand, and jerked her head towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he spat out. As he did, she missed the slight banking to the left, and the next thing she knew, they were spinning in a wide arc.

She yanked her head away from his grip and tried to steer the car back into the pathway through the snow, as she mentally scanned driver’s ed books: did she use the brake, or not? Turn the wheel in the direction she was going, or the direction she wanted to go? She gave up on trying to remember and closed her eyes, slammed the brakes, and prayed that if she hit something, it would be on his side of the vehicle.

Trees and distant buildings waltzed around them in sweeping circles. There was a dull roar in her head, and she wasn’t sure if it was fear, or if he was yelling at her again. She watched sunlight cast prisms off the ice until she finally felt the vehicle stop moving. The sudden change in momentum shocked him into silence, and for one single moment, there was peace.

She studied the land around them. Every inch was pristine, except for the two gouges that pointed in front of and behind them. It took her a moment to realize that they were actually facing backwards. She could even tell by the tracks in the snow exactly when she’d lost control. The sun, which had been behind her, was now low in the sky, casting beams of light across the plains.

In that moment she caught sight of her finger, and the cold hard stone he’d put there. It sparkled in the sunset, as if to remind her of the choices she’d made. She looked back at the road, and the way she’d came.

A torrent of curses flew from his lips, but she did not hear them. She stared at the road and thought, for one brief moment, that she could go back, undo this trip and all the things that had led to it. She started to let her foot off the brake, and then paused, and really looked at the road ahead.

The same lonely stretch of snow and ice and challenge pointed back home. A look over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions. Either way, the path was perilous. She considered her options, and then tried not to cry as she began to turn the car around.

She might not know what was on the path forward, but at least she knew what would meet her when she reached her destination. As much as the thought of staying with him scared her, being alone scared her more.

Dillon Rage sat looking at his watch, thinking that surely time hadn’t stopped. Tick, tock. No, it hadn’t stopped but it felt like it was standing still. Knowing that time hadn’t stopped, he pushed himself as far into the back of his seat as possible.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking …”

Oh how he despised even the thought of flying! Yet nevertheless, here he was on an airplane preparing for take off. He tried to recall just how Missy had talked him into flying. He couldn’t remember -- not that it really mattered --- he was still on the plane.

“……and enjoy the flight.”

Dillon reached deep inside his blazer pocket to pull out the picture of Missy he always kept there. It was a picture that captured her incomparable beauty. He noticed a post-it note stuck to the back of it, so he flipped it over and read the note.

'Honey,
finish the job &
hurry home.
I love you
-Missy'

He held the picture against his heart, and thought what lucky guy he was to have such a woman love him.

The plane shook slightly as it began to move away from the gate. Dillon looked out the window and saw the gate they just left. He placed the picture back in his pocket, and wondered how it became that he hated flying. He used to fly all the time, thinking nothing about it. He had flown everywhere. Now all he wanted to do was to get off this flight.

The jet engines started to scream. Take off was only moments away. Dillon grasped the arms of his seat, squeezing them, waiting. Then, as if a starter’s pistol had been fired, the plane lunged forward. Dillon was pushed into the back of his seat by the acceleration of the powerful engines. He closed his eyes and quietly prayed. No sooner had he finished his prayer than he felt the wheels leave the ground. He felt the plane shaking as it climbed higher and higher into the sky and squeezed the seat arms harder and harder. Finally after what seemed like hours, the plane began to level off and the shaking almost completely stopped. Dillon opened his eyes and looked at the seat next to him, thank god it was empty. A crooked little smile came across his face, he knew how strange he must look, a big strong man who was terrified of flying.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain, we have reached our cruising altitude of 40,000 feet and I have turned off the fasten seat belt light. We here in the cockpit hope you enjoy the rest of your flight.”

Dillon thought about how happy and chipper the pilot sounded. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined how quickly the smile on the pilot’s face would disappear if his throat were sliced. Suddenly Dillon felt a little better. The thought of how he could kill the pilot made him feel better.

“Sir, what would you like to drink?”

He looked up to see a very attractive brunette stewardess standing next to him.

“I see that you have soda on the cart behind you, do you have anything stronger?”

The stewardess turned toward her cart and bent over to get into the lower compartment of her drink cart. As she was bent over Dillon noticed her shapely derriere. As he was admiring it, the thought popped into his mind that joining the mile high club might calm his flight-rattled nerves. She straightened and turned back to him with four shot bottles of different types of liquor. Dillon had a quick thought of Missy and what she would do to him if she knew he was looking at another woman.

“Sir, which one would you like? They are four dollars apiece.”

“Ma’am, money is by no means an issue, why don’t you just leave all of them here.”

With that he pulled a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to her.

“Sir, I don’t think I have change for …”

He looked up sternly at her.

“Did I ask for change?”

“No Sir. Thank you Sir.”

She turned back to her cart and proceeded to pull it up the aisle. Alone again, Dillon methodically downed all four shot bottles in succession. He appreciated the soothing alcohol, as it began to course through his veins. He no longer cared that he was flying. Relaxed now, he pulled an envelope from his pocket, opening it to reveal the job that had forced him get on this plane. If it was the pilot, he probably would do it for free. He pulled the folder paper put of the envelope and opened it to reveal the photo inside.

The person in the photo was the stewardess. An astonished Dillon placed the photo back in the folder, put the folder in the envelope, replaced them in his pocket and waited. As he waited, he watched the stewardess push her cart back past him, he turned and watched her secure her drink cart. Dillon smiled. Time for work. He stood up and walked toward the rest room, which just happened to be across the aisle from where the stewardess had secured the drink cart. He got to the rest room and jiggled the door handle, feigning an inability to get it open.

“Sir, is there a problem?” inquired the stewardess.

“I’m afraid that the rest room door is jammed, the sign says vacant but it won’t open.”

“Well, let me take a look at it.”

The sexy stewardess walked over to the rest room door and proceeded to open it. “I guess it’s just a little tricky, Sir.”

Dillon looked toward the front to see if anyone was watching them. “I guess you’re right.”

He shoved the stewardess into the rest room and closed the door behind them.

A few minutes later Dillon returned to his seat, pulled a magazine from the back pocket of the seat in front of him. He had read about halfway through when the fasten seat belt light came on.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are starting our final decent into DFW International Airport. Please fasten your seat belt and we hope you enjoyed your flight.”

Dillon placed the magazine back in its pocket, fastened his seat belt, and grabbed the arms of his seat. He closed his eyes and prepared for the dreaded landing. If this trip hadn’t been for business he would never have gotten on this flight. He squeezed the arms of the chair as the plane shook slightly and nearly broke them off as he felt the rear wheels touch down. A split second later, the front wheel touched down with a thud. Had anyone been sitting next to him, they would have heard him praying.

After what felt like an eternity to him, the plane came to a stop at the gate. He unfastened his seat belt and stood up, happy to have survived the flight. Along with everyone else on board, he retrieved his carry-on from the overhead compartment and made his way to the front of the plane to exit. As he neared the front, he thought again of how enjoyable erasing the pilot would be, but -- alas -- this was a trip for business, not pleasure. As he walked through the door to the gate, he was greeted by a stewardess.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight, Sir.”

He looked at her and smiled. “Ma’am, it’s hard to enjoy anything having to do with work.”

He turned and walked up the ramp and out of sight, knowing that his job was done

Wow. Here I am. I never thought I would have this time to myself. Breathe deep. I’m absolutely away from it all. After working so hard, and doing so much for others, I finally have some me time. This is great! What should I do? I wonder if I have had any text messages. Let me check my phone. Nothing. Of course I’m not going to have any text messages; everyone knows not to contact me now. Silly me. Maybe I’ll play a game on my mobile. No, it makes too much noise. Besides, it’s nice and quiet here, why disturb that sweet silence. I think I’ll just sit and think a bit. Then, maybe a quick nap.
It would be fantastic Io take a walk on the beach, the sun’s warm rays in my face, an ocean breeze so invigorating that I greedily breathe it in as though it is going to run out. The soft, warm sand; those tiny grains between my toes. The sounds of the ocean are hypnotizing; waves whooshing back and forth, lulling me into a trance. Maybe I’ll stop at a cabana and order an exotic drink that tastes like the pacific and candy.
Then maybe I’ll fly to the Big City. I’ll stay at the finest hotel in the artist’s district. Get lost in the rumors of celebrities who have stayed there, all told straight from the mouth of the bell boy, who has seen it all, first-hand of course. Then I will go to the most trendsetting stores, shop to my heart’s content, and not give a second thought to my budget. Yes, then after shopping, I’m sure I’ll be hungry, so I think I will stop at that posh restaurant and grab a bite to eat, accompanied by a very indulgent wine of course. I’ll go back to the hotel and get ready, because at night begins, so does my second wind. I’m going to grab night by arm, and seize all the adventures it has to offer. The moonlight will be my only date, and she’ll be my most faithful companion until daybreak. I’m going to go to the most exclusive, red rope hotspot. I know I’m on the list, this city loves me.
“Taxi!”
Wait. What’s that? Oh look! That man is selling souvenirs! I need to get one, it’s not every day you spend time in the Big City, I need one of those shot glasses to commemorate my night out.
“One shot glass, please, the one with the skyline.”
“I’m sorry, we do not serve piña coladas in shot glasses, just in these fancy colada glasses, would you like an umbrella in your drink?”
“What? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize..”
“That’s quite alright, so tell me, how would you like your drink? Extra sweet, or with a bit of a kick to it?”
“Strong please, I’m on vacation.”
“Strong it is! Is this your first time in our beautiful island?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact it, is it that obvious?”
“No not obvious, but I can always tell when I am standing in front of a newcomer, they have this look of absolute , eh, how do you say, youforic.”
Euphoria.
“So, my friend, how about that umbrella?”
“Sure, I’ll take the umbrella.”
“Good thing too, ya can neva be to ca’ful ya know! Da weatha’ he’ah is nuts I tell ya, just nuts. Maybe it’s all da pollution dat messes up da weatha’ I dun know fo shu’ah, but one day you got nuttin but sunlight beaming through dem buildings, and da next da sky looks just as grey as da concrete yer walkin on…hey, yer not from dees parts are ya?”
“No, I can’t say that I am, is it that obvious?”
“Shu’ah is, I can tell jus by da way yer lookin out da window, like any minute you’ll see some one get shot, or maybe someone famous cross da street. Makes no big difference ya see, not he’ah. But to cherries like you, well it just frickin’ thrillin.”
BANG BANG BANG!
“Haha, don’t worry, das nuttin, it’s da sounds of da city.”
Louder. BANG BANG BANG BANG!
“You know, just take me to the beach please, it was much quieter there.”
“Da beach! Hahaha, you gotta be kiddin me kid, da only beach around here is somewhere you don’t wanna be this time at night…”
BANG BANG BANG BANG
“Come on kid, hurry it up, some of us don’t got all day!”
“What?”
“Ya heard me.. get out.”
Whoosh, the waves. BANG BANG BANG.
“Come on, we’ve been waiting over ten minutes, are you ok in there.”
Whoosh! The water sounds so hard and so loud!
“Sorry, I’ll be right out!”
So much for me time, I get a fifteen minute break and waste it away asleep on the john! Back to the office. Pathetic, the least I could have done was had a good dream. Man, I need a vacation!