Edith Wharton

“There are two ways of spreading light:  to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”

Which are you?




This is a dream I had once that I have embellished.

I am running again; this time through a large house. It’s obvious no one has lived here in a long time. Boards are broken and strewn on the floor. It has that old wood smell that clings to everything, even the air. The thick red Berber carpet on the stairs has mold growing in the corners and sides. The house had belonged to some rich grandfather before he died and it went to waste. Now I’m just running for my life from two massive thugs who aren’t in this for the fun and games. I speed down the moldy staircase, taking the steps in threes. Reaching the front door, I resist the urge to spin around at the sound of Jason and Curt hurling their bodies down the stairs at me. Once outside on the front porch I look around for an exit, an escape, anything. A gun clicks. Shifting my eyes I see Jaz, or as the rest of the world call her, Jasmine Livingston, my walking nightmare with all her pencil skirts and up-do buns and at this moment a 44 Magnum revolver in her perfectly manicured hand. The gun’s barrel is staring me in the face. However, she isn’t going to shoot me. I had figured that out the last time I encountered this mad woman. I’m too valuable.

Last time I saw this woman I wasn’t running. I was strapped down to an examination table, trapped with a gun pressed against my temple. She was explaining the procedures that I would endure; all of the surgeries and physical restructuring.

“You really should stop these running games Experiment Leto,” she smirks, her condescending tone working its way to my ears. “You have nowhere to hide. You are a fugitive, an expensive possession with an even bigger prize on your head, and might I add, a large giveaway with those eyes,” her comment about my eyes triggers a memory, but I push it away hastily, trying to focus on my exit route.

I hear her two thugs making their way to the other side of the porch, their weight causing the old boards to creak. The woods are just a few yards from the end of the porch. If I can just reach the thick foliage I can bolt. These guys are fast but I am a much slighter build. With one last glance behind me, I quickly shift my weight and shoulder into Jaz’s chest. Bolting to the opposite end of the porch I vault off the railing and down three feet onto the grass.

“Hurry you idiots!” Jaz shouts, her annoyance punctures each word. Without another glance I run for the tree line. In seconds I’m crashing through branches and briers. Scrapes appearing on my face and arms, but I don’t dare slow down. Once I get far enough that I don’t hear them I will slow down, but for now, I run.