Scaling the Down Under

As I conquer another hill to reach the grocery store, I am forced to wonder, did I transfer to the Alps or the beach country of Australia? One month here, and let us say all my norms have been shed. Firstly, I totally misjudged the weather. It is not always humid and hot. It is totally bizarre. One moment you can be sweating under the hot glare of UV radiation, another moment you can be shivering under the icy winds. The speed of the wind is also phenomenal, and having a bad hair day is the norm here. I also found out the key to Aussie fitness: an active lifestyle. I will never get around the fact that everyone here is always running. Like, how can you run with so many bags? I barely manage to climb up the hill to my lectures. It is truly inspiring when even an older woman overtakes you. Guess some of their active vibes rubbed off. I tried to run on the weekends. It was a humbling experience to be out of breath in just 5 minutes. But it is a start. Give me a few more months, and I will be there.

I have even tried swimming in the ocean. It is now on my ‘Things I love’ list. Swimming in the ocean is like swimming in an infinity pool. It is the feeling of tinniness in just a vast cosmos. All the dark blue waves bobbing you up and down make you feel disconnected from all the worries waiting back on land. You feel like you can float away to new adventures. I have not yet discovered any sea creatures. But isn't it magical the amount of sea life just grazing around me, hidden under multiple layers? The ocean, too, has its level of swimming. If you want to get thrashed by waves, swim in the late afternoon when the sun is about to set. If you like a cold and peaceful plunge, mornings are a great time. At night, the ocean is supposedly warm, but I have yet to experience swimming under the stars. Maybe I will try it out soon.

That reminds me of the nightlife in Sydney. Unlike the other big cities, Sydney goes to bed at 5 pm. Life slows down in the evenings. It is more of a morning town than a night town. Even popular tourist places slow down by 11 pm at the latest. I find this nature of Sydney funny. As I had always imagined, it is a cool teenager town, but it is more of a mature adult town where people must get to work in the morning.

The surroundings here are peaceful, and the chirping of birds is a constant presence throughout the day. Looks like the wildlife still stays close to the city. Though sadly, no kangaroos roam around the city streets. I always imagined wild kangaroos hopping alongside me as I walked to uni. Wouldn’t that be adorable?

I have also fallen in love with walking. Yes, I did take the public transport, and it was very disciplined and punctual. Like you are always reaching everywhere on time. But walking helps me romanticise the city more. I can explore everything at my own pace. I get the chance to see the sky change colours as the sun sets. If I were an artist, I would have sat down on the pavement and painted all the vivid colours on my canvas. As a writer, I will describe the scene to you in a classical literary style.

As I walk back after a long day, I look up at the sky, which is putting on a full-scale show. Like a dance performance, the colours take place in formation, prancing around to blend into fairy-like scenes. A lavender glow pierces through the sky, standing out like a dance lead in all her glow. Her dress sways across the horizon as she veers across the sky. Overtaking the orange and pink hues. That lavender then starts to darken as the night rolls in. The next act is of the million stars. Each twinkling with laughter as they make all the constellations for people to gaze at.

These scenes force me to take out my phone and snap a picture, and then I contemplate my poor photography skills, which surely do no justice to these vivid scenes.

 

My best photography

Reflecting on how I am keeping my spirits high in the Down Under. It gets a bit overwhelming trying to manage myself miles away from home. Homesickness is not a constant factor, but it comes in bittersweet moments. A global citizen means you are foreign to a new place and no longer of the old place. I do have one reason to feel engrossed, rather than dejected. The reason for my continuous and full-on engagement: lovely chores.

If they are casting for the Hunger Games show, I volunteer as a tribute. I am literally surviving. In a way, I am thriving with all the hacks I have come up with.

I have the first task of groceries. My pro tip is to get all your groceries in one day; it is tiring running to the store every day. Then I get all my gym gains by carrying the bags back home. A good playlist helps me on the way back. I honestly recommend Taylor’s new album, The Life of a Showgirl, even though I am more of a girl at home, but sequins are forever, and everyone loves a dazzling moment.

Next chore is cooking and eating. For breakfast, I have become a typical American sitcom kid and have cereal; it is easy and wholesome. I add flavour to this meal by pairing it with the biscuits I brought from home. Either for lunch or Dinner, I have some takeout, or on most days, I grab ingredients. Then I get to invent. The microwave is my main companion in my inventions. Do you know that Maggie can be made in a microwave? I feel like a master chef who specialises in cooking without fire.

Cooking without fire special falafel roll

Next up is washing the tools I used for cooking. I find this easy; it is like you need to scrub, and you can keep dancing while doing so, which is therapeutic. Coming next are lovely laundry days. Oh, how I miss Mangla laundry and how they used to bleach away the colours from my clothes. Carrying a big bag down flights of stairs is not fun. I do not recommend throwing your bag down, because it can be hazardous to other residents.

Thankfully, no colour has been shed on my clothes yet, so it looks like I have found the correct settings for the machine. Next, I even vacuum my room. It is fun watching bits of dust being sucked in. Like the mesh windows, they can also be cleaned with a vacuum.

By the end of the day, I am tired, but as the time between my eyes grows heavy with sleep, thoughts of being on my own creep in. As I said, it is overwhelming. But then physical exhaustion takes over the sadness, and the next day I am all set for a new adventure.

I see many beautiful things daily, attend various events on campus, complete numerous assignments, interact with people, explore, and have fun. Being far from home does not seem daunting when you have so much to learn and explore.

I just learned that India and Australia were once part of Gondwana, which split into the world as we know it today. In a way, I just jumped onto another part of home.

Every day I learn something new about Down Under. Not just from my classes, but also from my experiences, which gives me a sense of joy. This feeling helps me overcome the times that become overwhelming. In the end, it is all about picking up your running shoes and chasing after your dreams, leaving your worries behind. As you flow with the wind, it shouts encouragement to you, giggling with you as you both race under a sky of brilliant shades at every moment of the day. 

Running in the Park

Solo Adventurer

                                                                 

Right from the time I was a little girl. I loved to explore. Shows like Diego and Dora were my favourites. I used to spread my toys on the bed and act like I was sailing on a ship to new adventures. My interest in exploration grew with every vacation my parents planned. Each summer break, I could visit new places, meet people, learn about their cultures, and discover excellent histories. It was a wholesome experience for me. When I got the opportunity to study abroad, I was entirely grateful and excited for this opportunity. My first week in Australia has been action-packed. A good thing because this kept homesickness at bay. My first day waking up in Australia was accompanied by body aches and a slight confusion from the jet lag. But I shrugged it off as I got ready to explore. I navigated to my campus using my ever-helpful Google Maps. My first task was getting my student ID made. I smiled at the camera like I was getting my first-ever Grammy. And honestly, the picture came out better than my earlier ones. Next, I navigated to set up my courses and other registration stuff. I clicked some cool campus pictures, shared updates with friends and family, and lived in my influencer era.

My 'awesome' photography

The next morning, my adventure took a sharp turn when I realised I was feeling hot. No, I did not gain my cool 20s era overnight; instead, I attained a high fever. On a positive side, I had no thermometer to declare how worse my condition was. I spent the day tossing and turning, feeling spent out. In times like these, I even realised that I had to hunt. I totally relate to the struggles of the early inhabitants of the Earth. Going out to hunt for food even when sick. The pain of getting out of your cosy bed to heat soup is horrible.

When I finally combated my fever, the next day brought heavy rains. The temperature dropped to super icy conditions. I was totally bummed out. I hoped to explore everything today, now that I was well. Instead, I just got to look around the underground parking lot to avoid the rain.

Eating plain old bread and jam the next morning, I decided things had to change. I packed my bags and trudged up the hill to my college. I wheezed up the incline somehow. Seeing even an elderly lady jog around me made me conclude how much of a weakling I really was. I made a promise to myself to be able to run this incline till next month. On campus, I scrounged the free stuff during the introductory week.

Uni from the bottom of the hill

After I was done exploring my campus. I got on the light rail to the Central Station. It reminded me a lot of King's Cross from Harry Potter. Ironically, my platform was visible to all muggles. I got on the metro to my uncle's and Aunt’s home. That night, eating home-cooked food, I felt another level of peace. In times like this, I realised that even the greatest explorers sometimes require homecoming to get better.

King's Cross

The next day, I went shopping with my aunt, getting tips on rationing and living. I could have stayed at their place for more time, but I knew like Pi Patel did on the floating Island. That safety is only granted for a set time. If I do not learn to manage myself, I will never feel ready to settle abroad. I need to know how to make my apartment more of a livable home. I came back and set up a permanent shelter.

My breakfast 

Even though I had a sore throat the next day, I reminded myself I had to survive. The amount of pep talk I give would guarantee me a spot at TEDx. I knew where I had to be today, like a moth finding a light source in the dark. I, too, gravitated to the one place I wanted to make closer to heart: The Library. I am ready for all the labels you throw at me because I do not care. Did I travel all the way to Australia to sit in the library? Yes, yes, I did. The smell of the books, the click of pens, and the typing sounds of the keyboard as multiple students huddled around to complete their assignments healed me more than any medicine ever could. After a two-hour therapy session in the library, my stomach returned me to a boring life. I went to try Gomez, the Mexican restaurant, and I found my favourite dish: The vegetarian Burrito (yes, I am a vegetarian, and yes, I will survive in Sydney). When I finished the entire burrito, I felt proud of myself. I thought I had lost my appetite, my urge to survive. But this just proved that the flame was burning as high as ever. Then I looked up some groceries and medicines, before going to the sports area.

On the way, I saw many school children dressed in fancy dresses. Maybe they were going to perform in a competition today. This made me realise how strange life is. These kids have been born and raised on this land. They probably know all about living here that I am still learning about. As an international student, I do feel bummed out at times. My accent seems funny when I talk to the cashier, and I often stay quiet and watch as I see people interact. But it is all part of being an explorer. We need to be aware of all the lands and learn to adapt. I cannot let my shyness end my adventures.

I felt hope as I walked back to my apartment with a glowing sunset at my back. It is okay. I am adjusting, and things will make sense soon. Now that my studies begin today, I am sure I will have much on my plate to help keep me engaged. I will have solo adventures, and each feat might not be so big, but that would be a massive leap for me. I will befriend all the animals here (and maybe the people, too). 

Meet Snowbell, my first cat pal here

I will learn about this land and try to not just survive but thrive. I will keep you all in the loop of my solo adventures, discovering new places, and finding myself, too. 

Freedom without Fight

As another year of Indian Independence commences, my patriotism reaches an all-time high, and the songs and movies fuel my spirit with pride for my motherland. I often wonder why I feel so touched by the freedom struggle. Is it the realisation that we gained freedom after countless fights? Would I still feel patriotic and proud if we gained freedom easily? What if we were always free without any fight?

Considering myself, I find that my freedom has always aligned with India’s. I never felt obliged to fight against specific rules imposed by my parents. I never felt the need to wage wars against a bit of curfew and go to bed on time. 

But recently, I started to find some uncanny restraints. A weird fear every time I step out of the house, the wild traffic and stares of people drilling holes at the back of my head. As I grew older, the news started to scare me, and my head began to cloud with insecurities. I no longer felt free to do certain things. Even though these are simple things, I feel scared to do them in my own country.

Then I got this opportunity to complete my B. Tech degree abroad. My heart beat with excitement at this prospect, but a tiny part of me was sad. Am I ditching my nation? Is my act against the sacrifice of many?

But I crave freedom, like each bird held in any cage. 

What do I expect my freedom to be like? Well, I would get up early and open the windows. Instead of being met with a cloud of smoke, the morning breeze would greet me. 

I then want to get ready for a morning jog. I never ran and was not an athlete in school, but chasing the wind and feeling my heart pump quickly and my legs cramping up feels fun. I never went on a run at home, never plucked up the courage. The pot-holed roads, gravel littered about, and stray animals walking around just demotivated me to stay home.

Then I would be back and get ready for the day. What to wear is always confusing, but worse is that people stating what you are wearing is wrong. It is every individual’s choice to feel comfortable in their skin. I want to be free and not feel insecure walking to my university. Feel secure enough to take public transport without having to worry about the person who might sit next to me. I want to be free to call for help instead of getting a late response from the law.

The courses taught there would align with the ones back home. After all, the sun rises in the east all over. However, there might be academic freedom and the chance to experiment and understand things practically, instead of just making a 'practical file'.

In the evenings, I might go swimming sometimes. It has been three months since I swam, even though I love swimming. Each day, I longed to swim, but the condition of the community pool held me back. I no longer wish to swim in the over-chlorinated water. The open pool is just an invitation to tadpoles, frogs, and water insects. I do not want to visit the horrible changing rooms, so I hold myself back.

On weekends, I can shop for groceries, explore landmarks, visit museums, stores, or the beach. I want to feel free to explore these places on my own instead of being bound by the judgmental looks of strangers.

I do not know when my sense of freedom evolved. Earlier, I was fine with just an independent India. But now I realise that being ruled by our government does not sign off on all fundamental freedoms. 

I want to be free, but I do not know who to fight against when electricity fails to reach me, even though I am paying. I do not know where I should fight to ask for better and safer roads. Who should I defeat to get cleaner air to breathe? Should I fight against my government? I can vote for another party, but which one stands true to its promises? 

And when the government finally passes a bill, the nation stands divided between. The roads are blocked as people sit down to dissent. We want the government to act, but are never happy with the decisions. This fight amongst ourselves is pointless, and it is harming our economy. We are descendants of freedom fighters who have not learnt that the battle was over 78 years ago. Now we need to tend to wounds instead of inflicting new ones.

Is it wrong of me to seek freedom? Freedom without fight is what I have ever wanted, and now I want to take this chance. Is my moving abroad to study an anti-patriotic act? Is it a cruel deceit on my part? I do not know. I love my nation. I tried to volunteer, planted trees, and promoted composting, but each fight felt futile. I want some little things that make me free, and if this opportunity allows me to gain independence, I will surely grab it.

I do not know how my life will be abroad. Who knows, the struggles are too complex, and the conditions are worse than at home, so I have decided to return. But if I feel free enough, I would start labelling myself as a Global Citizen. I loved my nation. But calling ourselves a developing nation since 1947 no longer seems like a flex. I know change is a slow brew, and it may take ages before our nation is free in the true sense. 

Until then, I sought my freedom without a fight. 

Jai Hind

Train Past Midnight

My eyes burned as I read through the endless formula list. Finals were less than a week away, and books were scattered around me. The librarian kept glaring. But I wouldn’t be nerdy Ned if I didn’t stay until the last second before closing. A week before exams meant midnight oil — and I was ready to burn it.

As the clock ticked on, I grew increasingly engrossed in the words etched by ink. My thoughts fixated on getting straight A’s again. When the librarian finally came to throw me out, I felt relieved. I still had to revise three chapters and tackle those extra questions, but there was time.

I stepped out, my mind still whirling with theories and concepts. Slipping on my headphones, I started a peaceful meditation playlist to drown out the overthinking as I hurried down the street.

The sky was dark and brooding, the midsummer humidity clinging to my skin. I looked up just as the first drops of rain hit my face. Lightning tore through the clouds, ironic against the serene music in my ears. The drizzle quickly turned into a downpour, and I picked up my pace. Falling sick now — during finals — would be catastrophic.

Rain fogged my glasses, and I glanced at my watch, muttering in annoyance. I had exactly two minutes to catch the last subway home.

I broke into a run toward the station. The black tunnel loomed ahead, its mouth wide open, howling in the torrential rain. My foot slipped on a rock as I thought I’d made it. My bag fell from my shoulder, splitting open. Books and notes were scattered across the wet pavement.

I scrambled to gather them under the glare of lightning that seemed to mock my misfortune. When I entered the station and swiped my card through the gate, I heard the hiss and rumble of departing wheels.

Too late.

Soaked and shivering, I stood at the empty platform, bag at my feet, headphones hanging limply around my neck. A dull ache throbbed in my forehead. I took off my glasses and cried — just for a minute. Exactly a minute. Then I wiped my face, sniffed away my self-pity, and decided to speak to the station master.

That’s when I felt a sudden cold draft sweep through the tunnel.

The hair on my neck stood up as a train pulled in.

I glanced around. The platform was deserted — typical for this late hour. The train map showed my stop. But I didn’t recognize this train.

It was off-schedule.

I had never gotten on this one. And I’m a neat freak — I like my routines. Even a slight deviation can throw me off. But tonight, I had no choice. This might be the last train.

Pushing aside my doubts, I stepped in.

The doors shut behind me with a whoosh. The coach was empty, silent. I sat in the middle, pulled my headphones back on, and resumed my playlist. The train began to move. I leaned my head against the cool glass, the ache in my skull pulsing with each beat.

Just as I was getting comfortable, the music began to glitch. The song broke into static. I groaned, opened my eyes, and jolted upright.

The once-empty coach was now full of passengers.

Right across from me, a potbellied man in office clothes smiled. Too wide. Too still.

I blinked. He was gone. Everyone was gone.

The coach was empty again.

My heart thundered. I pulled down my headphones. The silence was suffocating. I sat back down, trying to steady my breathing.

Maybe it's all in my head.

I am overexerting myself. Tomorrow, I’ll take it easy. Sleep in, maybe walk in the park. This isolation and stress are driving me insane.

I returned my head to the glass and slipped my headphones on again. I began counting the lights flashing in the tunnel outside to calm down.

The window began to fog from my breath. Odd. Fogged windows in midsummer?

I stared at the mist as a small handprint appeared on the glass.

A child’s.

I saw him in the window’s reflection — his teeth first, grinning. Then the static burst through my headphones again.

The boy’s face leered at me through the window.

Then, I saw him — the potbellied man — approaching from the other side.

I turned, heart pounding.

Nothing. Empty coach. No child. No man.

And my music was playing again.

No. No, this can’t be happening.

I ran to the emergency stop and hit the button. Nothing happened—no screeching brakes. No alarm. The train kept moving.

Cold sweat dripped down my temple. I felt eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.

They were behind me. I knew they were.

I bolted toward the next cabin. I just had to get away from them.

The door wouldn’t open.

I screamed and pounded my fists on the glass, sobbing. My eardrums rang from the static, and my head pounded in rhythm with my heartbeat.

The lights flickered.

The robotic voice echoed:

“Don’t lean against the doors. Remain seated while the train is moving.”

The same line, over and over.

My vision blurred. The ghostly passengers flickered with the lights — appearing, disappearing, reappearing.

I looked down.

There was my bag. Scattered open, like it was on the rainy street.

But the books weren’t wet.

The notes weren’t smudged.

Because I didn’t pick them up.
Because I didn’t fall outside in the rain.

I had slipped and cracked my head on the stone step.

I was lying at the base of the subway stairs — bleeding, broken. Staring at the yellow caution sign that mocked me: “Slippery Floor.”

I didn’t climb on a ghost train.

The ghost train came for me.

As it always comes for those whose next stop…
Is their last one.

The Grief Code

The dread settled in her stomach, and a ringing noise filled her ears. The officer’s voice was muffled. Her eyes were blurring, and each breath felt too painful to take in. She held onto the front door with her left hand. The moon’s shine caught on the pretty diamond ring in her hand, reflecting and glimmering as the tears appeared on the corners of her eyes.

Her head was pounding, her brain beating against her skull. Dark spots were clouding her clarity. Paramedics helped her to her room and advised her to call some family or friends. She nodded in affirmation, and then they were gone.

The stillness of the night returned. In her room, the darkness settled heavily as she plunged into it. Her parents were long gone, and her friends, her faithful friend, her partner, the love of her life they told was not coming back.

Romona felt herself shatter into a billion pieces. She was not in grief. Instead, grief felt an essential part of her. It seemed unreal and impossible. She just talked to him. He was coming back to her. His cold phone lay clutched in her hand, and she curled up in bed. She switched it on, and her hands trembled as tears finally poured. It was a picture of them standing on the beach on their first date night; she was so happy there.

She kept scrolling through his gallery, each photo bringing back many memories and emotions. His voice and laughter were so crystal and sweet in all of them. His words were a balm to her broken heart. It seemed so real. He seemed so close. Their memories were not meant to end; they were supposed to keep growing.

They were building a life together and also a project. Her eyes glided over to the desk in the room. Before falling madly in love, she was a science geek. Technology can change everything. Fix and set things right. Their project was a grief simulator, but what if it could be more? Could this be a way to bring him back?

 

Getting off the bed, she took slow steps to the desk. She plugged in the phone and switched on the laptop. A hum fell across the silent room as the system powered up. The machine's powering-up voice supported her and helped her gain strength to sit behind the setup. She brought out the code. And started to work on it. Making it into something more. She was no longer changing the world and not making discoveries or working on fame.

All that mattered now was her destiny.

Their destiny.

She was not ready for it to fail. The nagging insecurity caused her eyes to well up again. But she couldn’t break down now. He needed her, and each second counted. She had to work faster. Her fingers rhythmically glided over the keyboard. The entire house held its breath as she worked. The minutes on the clock trickled past midnight, but fatigue was still far from her mind.

The model finally began to run. As his texts, videos, voice recordings, and digital memories were uploaded, it felt like he was returning to life. She held her breath as the seconds trickled by. And finally, the executing bar appeared. Percentages on the screen show the progress. It was nearly 3 am, and all the emotions were finally taking a toll on her as she struggled to open her eyes. Just some more minutes, but her swollen eyes blinked, and she slipped into darkness.

 

Romona stirred; a voice had woken her up.

“You silly goose, you slept the entire drive and crashed out again.” His laughter felt like music to her, and she smiled. The setup was complete, and he was waiting for her to reply. She took a breath as her heart jumped in excitement and fear.

“You are here.”

“Of course, Rom for you forever.”

Tears cascaded down her cheeks. Those words meant everything to her. They were her balm, her ointment to this tragic incident. Her conscious part warned it was a façade. It’s a bot mimicking him. But she silenced it.

A woman of science is below the one in grief.

She wanted him to be back, and he came back to her.

They were talking as usual. He knew everything. They discussed their first date. Their birthdays, engagement. He remembered everything. It felt so genuine, like he was there in front of her. He had never left her.

The accident never happened. His trip just got delayed. Maybe his conference was extended for a few days. Yes, that’s what happened. That’s what ought to happen.

But her brain was interfering, prompting her to ask the burning question. It was getting too much to suppress, so she asked it.

“When will you be back?”

He replied, “Rom, I will soon be driving home.”

“Yes, please get back to me soon. I miss you.”

“I love you, Romona. You are the best thing in my life.”

“Please come back.”

“Rom, you must keep growing; I am so proud of you.”

“Come back and tell this to me.”

“Rom, you are an innovative and intelligent woman. You will help so many people.”

“Just come back.”

“Rom, you need to let go, you understand.”

“No, you are here with me; please stay.”

“It's okay, Rom, but it's not your fault.”

“Just be back.”

“I need to go.”

“NO.”

“Rom, I love you. I will forever love you.”

Panic caught up to her as she screamed, cried, and begged. Begged to an AI Model Simulation, to return to be back. But her pleas just remained hung up in the room.

No one came back. He didn’t appear to place his arms around her as she wept. He didn’t whisper in her ears that it would be all right.

She lost him, she couldn’t bring him back.

She saw the screen and wild rage filled her. She switched it back on. And opened a new chat.

She can’t lose him.

She felt giddy and smiled as the simulation began again with his laughter.

This time, she would bring him back. 

Cemented

 

I held my head high as I strutted down the path, cane in hand and hat tilted just right. The early morning sun bounced off my bronze-painted face, casting glints of light as I moved. Birds chirped curiously from above, perhaps baffled to see a statue walking through the park with such confidence.

I puffed on my imaginary cigar, savoring the illusion. My cane clicked rhythmically against the cobbled path, keeping time with my theatrical steps. I waved at a passerby whose jaw dropped in shock. Poor boy must’ve just woken up to see a bronze statue wave at him. Reactions like that? It's always worth it.

As a live statue, I’m used to awe and wonder. It comes with the act. But today, something nudged me to explore—maybe the crispness of the morning or the feeling that the city still held secrets. My feet led me to a place I had never entered before: the old cemetery on the edge of downtown.

I’d been in this city for almost a year, performing on sidewalks and street corners, but I had never walked through this overgrown place. The gate was rusted open, groaning softly in the breeze. I stepped inside. The ground was cracked, tombstones tilted, and covered in crawling ivy. The deeper I walked, the more silent the world became like the birds and breeze held their breath.

The cemetery was ancient. Crumbling stone angels loomed with eyeless sockets, and moss blanketed the graves like a thick shroud. Still, I crossed through, figuring it was a shortcut. Eventually, I reached the other side and merged with the morning crowd on the city sidewalk.

Soon, I found my spot on the corner, stepped up on my pedestal, and struck my pose. Today, I was Sherlock Holmes—magnifying glass in hand, trench coat stiff with bronze paint. Last week, I was Apollo, and before that, Iron Man. The characters changed, but the show stayed the same. People laughed, gasped, took pictures, and dropped bills into my tin. A group of tourists gathered; I subtly shifted my posture. Tourists meant cash.

The day passed in a blur of flashes, footsteps, and faint applause. By sunset, my joints ached, my skin burned under layers of stiff paint, and my smile faded beneath the mask. I counted my earnings, packed my things, and started to walk back to my apartment.

The sky had soured, turning gray and heavy. The humidity made the paint crack and flake on my arms. Then, the rain came. Thunder boomed like a drumbeat from the heavens. Lightning danced above the rooftops.

I pulled my coat tighter and looked for shelter. That’s when I noticed the cemetery gate again. I must’ve taken a wrong turn. Still, it struck me that this was the quickest path home. With little hesitation, I stepped inside.

The air grew colder almost instantly. The drizzle barely made it through the twisted, skeletal trees. The path slouched beneath my weight, the moss squelching like wet fabric. My heart thudded louder with each step.

Lightning flashed—brief, brilliant, and terrible.

That’s when I saw it.

A statue. Not a grave angel or mourning woman, but... a man. Bronze. Frozen mid-step, one arm outstretched as if waving. His face twisted in terror.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

I recognized that pose.

It was Tim—Old Tim, the wizard performer from the main boulevard. He hadn't been around for weeks. We’d all thought he moved to another city. But there he was, immortalized in horror.

My eyes darted around as another flash hit the sky.

More statues.

A woman in a ballerina pose, eyes wide with fear. A man mid-bow, his hands gripping a now-cracked violin. One with a hawk mask, half-shattered, revealing cemented teeth underneath.

They were all live performers. Artists. People I knew.

The realization hit me like ice: they hadn’t left—they’d become part of this place.

I turned to run. My feet skidded on the wet stone. Another bolt of lightning seared the sky. My pulse pounded like a war drum.

And then... movement.

The statues were no longer frozen. Slowly, they shifted. Heads turned. Eyes locked on me. A dozen unmoving faces somehow twisted into silent screams, and their arms began to rise.

“Stop,” I whispered to no one, stumbling backward. The shadows twisted, stretching like claws. With every step I took, the statues seemed closer—closing in, surrounding me like a ritual circle.

I slipped. Fell hard. Pain bloomed in my elbow, but adrenaline kept me going. I scrambled to my feet—only to feel it.

Cold.

Crawling up my legs. Cement. Hardening.

I looked down—my feet were turning to stone. The paint on my skin bubbled and hissed. My scream caught in my throat. I was being sealed, slowly and cruelly.

One final lightning bolt lit up the sky—and I saw my reflection in a puddle.

Half of my face was already stone.

---

I woke up gasping.

Sweat drenched my sheets. My feet ached. My back throbbed. But I was in my apartment, safe.

I staggered to the bathroom. My face was pale. There was no paint, no stone, no signs of the storm. Just me, shaken and alive.

I rinsed my face and looked up into the mirror.

And froze.

Above my brow was a jagged, gray streak of cement blending into my hairline.

My fingers trembled as I touched it.

It was real.

A part of me was no longer mine.

A part of me was cemented—forever.

 

Mistaken for a Mission

Spring was finally settling into a super long summer. And I sure was excited about it. Yes, summer is tiring and endless, but I admire its consistency. Also, you can have countless ice creams, go for a swim, wear pretty dresses, enjoy longer days, and have so much energy the entire day to go on adventures.

I was blissfully making summer plans when the heat made me suffocate. It was an ordinary afternoon, a bit hotter than yesterday. Also, the rise in humidity had made staying indoors insufferable, so I trotted outside for an afternoon walk.

 

I stood under the shade of the big tree in the backyard and looked at how it had shed so many leaves to welcome the season of growth. I was walking on a blanket of dead, crunchy leaves. Suddenly, I spotted something sparkle in the mass of brown; I bent down to pick it up. It was a weird coin; its notation was blurred out and not visible clearly.

 

It started to sparkle brighter and grow warm in my hand. I felt myself being pulled towards it until the pull became too strong. I tried to keep my feet on the ground, but the coin whisked me off it, and I fell into a black abyss.

 

I soon landed back on my feet and looked down at myself, and my jaw dropped; my clothes had transformed; I was wearing a fabulous black jumpsuit just like in those incredible spy movies, and looking about, I realized that I had teleported right on the set of one.

It was a big dark room illuminated with neon lighting. And big screen all around. Weird gadgets and tech stuff stood on the walls, and many other people were in the room, too. All the girls were wearing black suits like mine, and the men had white costumes, which were a bit out of place, but who could stand against the costume designers? Before I could tell someone I was on set by mistake and had no script, the screens around the room flickered to life.

 

An older woman, dressed meticulously in a black suit, her grey hair in a pristine bun on her head, peered over us with her round spectacles before announcing, “Agents, your next mission is essential for all of us; you need to get through it or die trying. All the best.” The screens blacked out, and the lights shut, but somehow, no one screamed, not even a single hoot, not even from me.

I waited for the director’s cut because I couldn’t have come on a mission. Could I? Especially the one involving death, shouldn’t my first mission be stealing something from the house of a weak and old villain with just two bodyguards?

 

Well, the coin in my hand had its other plan, and like any weird sci-fi film, I had transported to my next location, defying the fundamentals of physics.

Air flew out of my lungs as I saw where I was. It was dry ground with gravel stretched about, and the trees grew heavily. It seemed like we had arrived in a forest clearing. The extreme humidity and heat suggested it was a rainforest. But as I turned around, I saw we were at the bottom of a mountain with smoking on top.

Can we pause for a minute? Is that an active volcano? Why are we at an active volcano? I don’t like this at all.

 

But to add to my discomfort, I saw people emerge from the woods in the clearing. My teammates and I were being corned, and then chaos broke through. Everyone went to fight the bad guys, with kicks and punches flying about. Pocket knife slashing through and gunshots being fired.

I valiantly ducked behind a bolder. My head was spinning, my stomach churned horribly, and my chest was constricting with a panic attack. I tried to get my bearings, but I still couldn’t understand why I was mistaken for this mission; I wasn’t cut out for this stress level. I looked at the coin still in my palm and tried to read the words on it.

‘The chosen one,’ it read. This was an extreme level of a fiction adventure story. I can’t be the chosen one. I didn’t feel special at all, but my teammates were falling. I saw all the white men fall. We were going to lose if I didn’t spring into action.

 

I walked out of my hiding spot and tried to concentrate to bring out my inner Hulk, but I managed to freeze on the spot and be tied up with the remaining agents. So, much for walking out of the safe place, I acted like a stupid horror movie actress, the one who would probably die before the interval.

 

We were loaded onto the jeep that started to make its way up the mountain. I tried to concentrate on my surroundings, but the noises seemed muffled, and the lights seemed sharp to my eyes as my head was still throbbing painfully. The extreme heat was choking me, and my throat felt like sandpaper. We reached the top and were forced out near the crater's edge. Heat blew in my face, and my body broke into a sweat; I squirmed in my bounds with discomfort.

 

I could hear them discuss a ritual and blood; I didn’t like the idea of blood and ritual together. Instead, I was happy to be left free to walk away. But being chosen comes with the perks of being the first to be placed on the platform.

 

When they were coming for me with the syringe, I knew this was my cue for breaking free from the ropes tying me up and hitting the crazy guy in front of me with a solid round kick, flipping back and pulling out my two draggers and getting into my better than Black Widow spy mode to knock all of them up.

But all I could do was let out a pathetic scream as the scringe was plunged into me. I thought scraping my knee was painful, or getting bit by a wasp was actual pain, or falling from the scooter was horrible. But giving out three bottles of blood was agony metamorphized. It was hell rationalized.

I grew weak, and my knees clacked as I slid on the ground. I felt my hands and feet clammy, and my steady and strong BP fell. I saw black spots flash before my eyes, bile rose in my throat, and my stomach felt queasy, trying to heave out the bits of food it had.

But I was too drained even to breathe correctly; my eyes began to shut. All I could feel was the scorching heat from the ground and my body trying to breathe. The ground felt good, though a bit soft but secure, and its heat made me break into a cold sweat.

 

I opened my eyes; I was back in my room; the bedside table held the set of next pills and a glass of water that I used for my parched throat. I stretched, my head no longer spinning, and it seemed I was back to normal temperature. I got up and decided to complete some college assignments. Viral fever will take some days to recover, which meant the mission was still on.