lumenumbrae

[lumenumbrae]

Remembering Amara - Chapter 3: Past Ties, Present Lies

He steps over the fragile array of hourglasses peppering the floor of the hallway. Weaving his ankles between them, very careful not to disrupt their flow and destroy the progression of time. They are innumerable and under six inches, all perpetually dripping granules of sand between the slender waist that delineates between past and present. He is moving at an impaired pace, and the hallway before him stretches miles.

The walls around him are black, the ground is too, and the ceiling is indecipherable if it even exists. The only cast of light comes from before him, a window perturbed by the dark silhouette before it, carving out a figure. He recognizes the girl the body belongs to and must make it to her, to save her.

With every calculated step he progresses no further, and the hallway stretches farther out. He does not stop for he has no concept of stopping. Moving forward is all there is. The perpetual present pushes away the tormented past.

He is before the girl. There are no hourglasses. She is hanging by the neck, her head hung limply to the side and the noose’s line stretching perpetually upward. Her bare toes dangle inches from the ground. She has no clothes, her eyes are just blankets of white, and her nipples and vulva are nothing but smooth skin.

The wolf-cut girl erects her head and opens her mouth.

“Fuck me,” she begs.

He cannot fuck her. She has no vagina. She should’ve learned this in high school.

He soon finds out, however, he cannot speak. He has no mouth. He peers down and finds he also has no clothes, no nipples, only a penis.

“It’s okay,” she says, “you can fuck me here,” and opens her mouth wider, sticking out her tongue.

To fuck her face, he must first climb the rope. He leaps, managing to grab it between his palms and clashing their nude bodies against each other. Neither makes any sound, and he feels the warm, rough pull of her still-outstretched tongue moving down his body as he climbs high and higher. It tastes his collarbone, his sternum, his abdomen, his belly button, his pubic hair… He keeps climbing. He must get higher.

There is a light above him. A window perturbed by the dark silhouette above it, carving out a figure. He recognizes the girl the body belongs to and must make it to her, to save her.

As the light’s brightness evolves, he sees the spill of blood flowing from his palms, down his wrists and arms. The rope is spiky. It’s not a rope. It is a million miniature sundials formed into a rope, the gnomons tearing through his flesh with every grasp.

Gravity shifts and he can finally rest his feet on solid ground, dropping the sundial rope.

He is above the girl. The wolf-cut girl is seated in a chair, affixed the same way he once was, wrists and ankles shackled.

“Why won’t you escape? Escape with me,” she drools, her milk-white eyes betraying no expression, and her head slumping forward as if oppressed by its own weight.

He wants to ask her how. He does not know where he is. She explodes into a violent flutter of paper.

The pieces fall to his feet and he sees their pages inked with the month and day. Calendar pages are scattered far around him and degrade into the ground. Saplings sprout from where they once were, and he has to deftly dodge them from growing beneath his feet and pulling him up with their rapidly erupting trunks.

Soon, all around him are fully grown oaks, and as their branches extend into fractal twigs, ropes descend from the base of each one, unfurling into more nooses.

Harper hangs, naked and lifeless.

So does Ava.

And Emily.

And Iris.

And Amber.

And Sofia.

And Kira.

And Lily.

And Natalie.

The fleshy bodies sway all around him in the thick forest.

The wolf-cut girl walks between them, towards him.

She stops directly in front of him.

“This is all that is waiting for you.”

A gentle knock stirred me awake.

“Yes?” I questioned groggily, and a little bit irate.

“Are you going to sleep all day? We have plans, remember?” Harper’s voice came from behind the door.

I stretched my body long like a cat and flung the comforter off of me, knowing if I let its persuasive warmth continue to ensconce me I would not have the willpower to pull myself from under it.

I rocked onto my feet and stretched a few more times. I had survived the first week of teaching. Although calling it teaching might be a little self-gratuitous.

The second half of the week I was practically begging for the weekend to roll around, but late last night I had a startling realization. I have no friends, or hobbies, or interests. I had nothing at all to do.

But, apparently, Harper was here to save her damsel in the doldrums. Although, I did not remember that we had plans. Given my checkered relationship with memory, perhaps one would assume that was a symptom of whatever larger disease ailed me, but after getting to know Harper better, I am confident it was really just because she never told me. Her memory was worse than mine.

As I was alone, and had the thought internally, there was no one to laugh at my joke. I had the urge to get dressed and tell Harper some jokes she would laugh at regardless of their jocundity.

Seated at the kitchen table, the sound and smell of bacon frying emanating from the kitchen, I began to feel a little annoyed I was still alone. It was strange, but over the past couple of days, I've had that dangerous longing for companionship that can lead to a sense of dependency. Watching the girls loaf around class all day made me somehow feel estranged and cut off, and I often instead took to striking up conversations with whichever one seemed to be doing the least. My office hours, wherein no one paid me any visits, contributed to a prolonged isolation-induced desperation that left me yearning to get back home and spend time with Harper. Even trying to fall asleep at night, alone in bed, made me stir-crazy.

In short, I’ve been feeling needy. And nothing I did, and no one I talked to, seemed to scratch that itch.

“So, remind me, what are our plans?” I called to Harper, needing to break the silence.

She walked into the dining room, plates full of breakfast in either hand and set one down in front of me.

“Maybe I didn’t tell you,” she admitted, seating herself. “We’re going to the mall, and maybe to karaoke after.”

“Who is we?”

“Ava, Maya, and I. And you.”

“You sure Maya is okay with me tagging along?” I asked, not really caring what Maya wanted.

“Oh yeah, that’s why I forgot to tell you. She was the one who insisted you come and I was so surprised by that that I ended up gossiping with Ava about it instead of telling you.”

“Maya wanted me to come?” I asked, a mouth full of food left slightly agape.

Harper clasped her hands over her face and spoke through them, “Oops, but she told me not to tell you that. So pretend I didn’t.”

***

I waited outside the bunker-turned-dormitory. I elected to wait outside knowing that, it being the weekend, classmates were bound to be out and about. Visiting the odd girl privately was fine, but being so public about could be a souring look. Harper said she would be out quickly with Ava and Maya in tow, and despite my reservations about what women deem ‘quickly’ to be, she returned with the girls in a matter of minutes, all three of them holding several reusable canvas bags.

They ascended the concrete steps to make it back to sea level and I was quickly assaulted by a hug from Ava. I gave her a non-committal one-armed squeeze in return before shifting my attention to Maya.

“So I heard you practically begged me to come.”

“Dad!” Harper scorned.

“She literally did,” Ava said.

Maya scowled, somehow at all three of us despite our scattered array. “I literally did not.”

“Then what was it?” I asked.

“Let’s go,” Maya chirped with a sparrow-like curtness and began walking, leaving the rest of us to catch up.

“How far of a walk is this going to be?” I asked, jogging a little to meet her pace.

“You’re already tired? We took five steps,” she squawked, ruffling her feathers.

“Just curious. I need to know how much mental fortitude to make available for the upcoming journey. I already plan on expending a fair portion dealing with three teenage girls.”

“We’re just going to the bus stop,” Harper said. “It’s like one block from here.”

We arrived to find the bus waiting for us, and after we boarded and pulled away from the curb, we found ourselves alone, save for a handful of strangers. My attention soon diverted from the girls as we embarked on our journey down the unfamiliar streets, leaving our neighborhood behind.

The scenery shifted from the bedroom community I had at least faintly familiarized myself with, and I saw Amara for the first time. The town was much larger and more expansive than I had anticipated, with tall buildings on one side clashing against sprawling suburbs on another.

It was a strange sight, seeing the remnants of the old world mixed in with the new – a sleek glass high-rise, not quite earning the label of skyscraper, which appeared to have been built recently was nestled between a ruined strip mall from decades past and an office building which was in the process of being gutted, workers leaving with trolleys of furniture, CRT monitors, and copper. As we drove through the streets, I saw more and more of these anachronisms and dichotomies, as if the town had been pieced together from fragments of different eras. There was a sense of disorder and chaos to it all, but also a strange beauty in the way that these disparate elements had been brought together to create something new.

Another turn brought the horizon into perfect view and what laid before it was shimmering water and beige sand. In the bright Saturday sun, the beach was decorated with bodies, multi-colored parasols, and children bum-rushing each other. Further out, I could see the microscopic triangles of dolphin fins poking through the glistening blanket of still, blue ocean.

Yet another corner turned the beach to our backs, which grew increasingly smaller with distance as I watched it fade from view. The tall buildings and wide avenues were replaced by crumbling facades and narrow, winding streets. The air became thick with the smell of garbage and decay hung heavy in the atmosphere. It was clear that we had entered a part of town that had been neglected and forgotten by the city's leaders, left to decay into a ramshackle ghetto. The buildings were covered in graffiti and boarded-up windows. I kept my eyes peeled to see what kind of people lived here, but the entire precinct seemed vacated of life.

I looked over to the girls to judge their reactions to this part of town, but they weren't looking out of the windows, instead huddled together and talking. It was only a few minutes after we escaped the bad part of town that the bus pulled to the curb of a metropolitan-looking commercial district. There were actual cars on the road, and the streets were backed up with pedestrian crosswalks. We disembarked to be greeted by shops, restaurants, and bustling people. For the first time since arriving, I even spotted a few men.

Harper spun around and flashed me a giant grin, holding the palms of both her hands up in a gesture to everything surrounding us. "Welcome to Spero Square! It's a lot snazzier than you probably remember."

We had stepped onto a Penrose tiled cement plaza, surrounded on all sides by shops and buildings. The architecture was new urbanistic and neoclassical, with square buildings never more than a few stories high made out of beige concrete with Greek text and Roman numerals carved expertly into their walls in a pastiche of anti-Baroque sentimentalism. As if in intentional contrast to the Spanish Revival, upper-middle class centerpiece, the four flat-faced storefronts gave way between them to bustling, Japanese-style street market alleyways, making the aortic valve of this shopping center a pentagon if you counted the road behind us.

People filtered in and out of the yokochos back into the pentagon, and those already inside it picked an alleyway to traverse. It would appear the four anchor stores were not the main attraction, but simply fancy enough establishments to give an air of class to the town center. Peering down the side streets, I could see they were decorated with food stalls and bars. I couldn’t see how far back they went, or if they lead anywhere in particular.

“It’s a lot snazzier than I anticipated,” I replied. “I didn’t know Amara was big enough to have neighborhood names.”

She pointed a maternal finger at me, “Yes, it is, and our neighborhood is Evergreen Heights. If you ever get lost, just tell someone that’s where you need to be.”

“And what about the slums we passed through?”

Harper sort of shrugged. “People just call it the Flats.”

“Do people live there?” I asked.

“Only by choice. And not many.”

“Enough with the geography lesson!” Ava shouted. “We are here on a mission.”

“We are?” I asked.

“Yes,” she exclaimed. “To find me a new wardrobe. I am sick of all my clothes.”

“Well, while you girls do that, I think I’m going to explore for a bit. Just have Harper text me when you want to get food or whatever.”

Ava pouted at me, “You’re not going to come help?” but her expression turned stone-cold, “Actually, it’ll be faster without him. And this is serious business.” She grabbed the girls by the wrists and left me on the curb, and as if synchronized, the bus pulled away as well.

It was strange how alone I suddenly felt. Why had I turned the girls away, again? I could see them walking into the sprawling crowd and disappearing down the second alley to the left. I was just one of probably thousands of people in the plaza, but still, I felt marooned. I decided to find a crowded store to force myself into, and it wasn’t difficult.

I entered the first major retailer to my right and stood tall among the heads of older, female shoppers. It was a clothing store, I noted, and it appeared to be on the luxury end of the spectrum. Perhaps I could update my wardrobe as well. I had a few button-ups and jeans but not much else.

I saw a woman patrolling the racks, peering into people’s personal space here and there, dressed in a blue uniform that would look at home on a flight attendant, and I assumed she worked here. I successfully beckoned for her attention.

She was around fifty with chiseled features that were reminiscent of an aristocratic maid. Her smooth, unblemished skin sagged slightly, especially near her cobalt eyes, but stretched taut against her high cheekbones and strikingly pointed chin.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Is there a men’s section?” I asked.

“There is,” she smiled, “please, follow me.” As she turned around, I couldn’t help but notice one of the groups of ladies she had peered in on had slipped a few articles of clothing into their canvas bags and left. I watched them depart, wondering how they could so boldly steal, but as I did, I saw a few more patrons do the exact same thing.

I turned back and hurriedly caught up to the worker, who lead me to the back of the store where there was a small corner devoted to men’s shirts and pants. If I had to guess, I would say there was about one article of men’s clothing for every 1,000 of women’s.

“So, how does this work?” I asked her.

“How does what work?”

“Purchasing things here?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” she replied, a slow carefulness to her voice.

“Well, I’m not from around here. I’m from Virtopia. We have these digital credits and…” I trailed off when I saw her face had darkened, and instead of a high-society stewardess, she appeared more like one of those evil principals from children’s movies.

“Sir, I think it’s best you depart,” she replied coldly.

“Excuse me?”

She didn’t answer but just kept staring me down, and I relented, not wanting to invoke whatever fury I’m sure she had hidden within. I squeezed past the legions of women and out the doors where I found Maya waiting for me.

“They kicked me out,” I told her, incredulous.

“What did you do,” the flatness of her tone suggested that she assumed the worst.

“Nothing. I just mentioned I was from Virtopia,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. I was beginning to fear she might actually damage her optic nerve at this rate. “No one in Virtopia understands anything about Amara, and no one in Amara understands anything about Virtopia, and so denizens of both are scared of the other.”

“That seems a little unfair,” I said. “I mean, be suspicious of me, sure, I don’t care. But I was kicked out. That’s discrimination.”

“If you want to take up advocacy work for the civil rights of the lone Virtopian immigrant, be my guest.”

“Why are you here?” I finally asked.

“I figured you might try to obtain things from one of these establishments and that no one had told you how yet.”

“Right on both counts. So what do I have to do? Do I have money? I don’t know when the school pays me.”

“They don’t pay you,” her tone had already begun to grow irritated. “Did you get a metal card with your name on it from the dean, or did you burn that, too?”

“I did burn it, but it survived, and here it is now, safe and sound in my pocket,” I held the card I found from the ashes of the teacher’s manual out to her.

“That’s your CivisCard. Everyone in Amara has one.”

“And it has my money on it?” I asked.

"Sort of, we don't have money in the way you conceptualize it. And it's a lot more than just for commerce, too. It's your ID and can allow you access to restricted areas, too, if you have a high enough clearance. You need to keep it on you at all times."

“Cool, but how does the money work.”

She sighed. “Every resident has a set amount of Pecunia. Depending on your age, health, and general needs, the baseline amount allotted is enough to have all your basic needs met, such as housing, food, clothes, medicine, as well as a little bit extra. Then, more is added that can be used for more luxuries if you contribute to the common good somehow, such as through labor.”

“So, I have enough Pecunia to buy a house if I wanted?”

“Again, it wouldn’t be ‘buying’, but yes, if you would like, you can obtain your own housing. And a lot more. Since you’re in what’s considered a high-value field, teaching, and it’s a spot they were having trouble staffing, and it’s the lowest performing class at Bridge, that has earned you a lot of Pecunia, so you probably don’t actually need to worry about keeping track ever.”

“So, because I do nothing but babysit delinquents all day, I’m rich?”

She bit her lower lip in agitation, before releasing it to reinflate, “I think trying to explain it to you in a way you’d actually understand would give me an aneurysm, so yes. You’re rich.”

“Wow, this is a wonderful and sustainable system you guys got.”

“NovaCorp is no longer solvent after sinking Virtopia 1.5 billion credits into debt despite the fact they control money, can create more on demand, and police the concept of debt. I think we’re doing fine.”

“As the self-appointed goodwill ambassador of Virtopia, I would like to say on behalf of all Virtopians that I did not know that and I’m curious how you know it.”

“Listen,” she said a little bit quieter as if to denote a change in subject. “There’s another reason I’m here. And it’s the same reason I wanted you to come today. I needed to be sure I saw you so I could tell you something.”

“Alright,” I strongly fought off the urge to take a poke at her sudden seriousness, “what is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Something’s going to happen tomorrow. It involves Harper. And Harper is very important to me. So…” She seemed to struggle to find the words. “Don’t fuck it up,” she settled on.

I waited a few seconds for more, but it was evident she didn’t plan on saying anything else. “What? That’s it? Not even a hint?”

“How are the headaches?” she asked.

“Haven’t had one since that time in Harper’s room. The dreams persist, however. If anything, they’re getting weirder.”

“What are you dreaming about?”

“It’s hazy. I just know they’re weird, and violent, and sexual.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know, if you keep doing that, you’re going to damage your optic nerve,” I told her.

She pinched her eyebrows at me. “How would I damage my optic nerve? If anything, I’d damage my extraocular muscles.”

“Well, maybe I would’ve said that instead if I knew what those were.”

She opened her mouth to reply but closed it, turned around, and walked away.

***

YOU FLOAT FREELY THROUGH THE ZEPHYR OF FERRIC MUSKY FOG, YOUR MIND LOST IN A HAZE OF COLORS AND SHAPES. THE WALLS AND FURNITURE OF YOUR BEDROOM BECOME A SURREAL PAINT POUR OF TECHNICOLOR MELT, YOUR SURROUNDINGS BLENDING TOGETHER INTO WISPS AND SWIRLS. YOU STRUGGLE TO STILL YOUR MIND, TO MAKE YOUR VISION RETURN TO NORMAL. THE KALEIDOSCOPE DANCING AROUND YOU STEADIES ONLY SLIGHTLY, BUT IT IS ENOUGH TO ESCAPE THE PRISON AND DESCEND ONTO THE STREET.

YOU ARE GREETED BY AN ARRAY OF COLORFUL HOMES, EACH ONE MORE BRIGHTLY OFFENSIVE THAN THE LAST. LIKE GEMS IN A TIARA, THEY TWINKLE IN THE HAZE OF THE PUTRID, JAUNDICED AIR, AS IF COMPETING FOR YOUR ATTENTION. THE VERY PAVEMENT BENEATH YOUR FEET SEEMS TO BUBBLE AND DARKEN, A REFLECTION OF THE DISTORTED EMOTIONS THAT CLOUD YOUR CHEST.

YOU ARE ALONE.

YOU ARE ALONE.

YOU ARE ALONE.

YOU ARE ALONE.

AS YOU ENTER THE CATHEDRAL, EVERYTHING YOU WITNESSED THUS FAR SEEMS TO PALE IN COMPARISON TO ITS MAJESTY. EVERY CORNER IS LIT WITH A FUZZY, PRISMATIC GLOW AS IF THE LIGHT ITSELF HAS BEEN PURIFIED AND BLESSED. THE SPACE GOES ON FOREVER, AN UNENDING MAZE OF PILLARS AND ARCHES, AN OVERSTIMULATION OF THE SENSES. BUT YOU ARE NOT HERE FOR THE GLORY OF THE CHURCH, FOR YOU SEEK A DIFFERENT TRUTH.

ON EITHER SIDE OF THE DIMLY LIT ALTAR, YOU BEAR WITNESS TO THE TRIUNE NATURE OF THE GODHEAD.

YOU ARE ALONE IN YOUR REVERIE OF KRISHNA, VISHNU, SHIVA.

THE FATHER, SON, HOLY GHOST.

TRIMURTI.

TRINITY.

PERVERSE AND FOREIGN IN THEIR PARADOXICAL UNITY. YET YOUR HEART IS DRAWN TO THEM LIKE A MOTH TO A FLAME. AND IN THIS MOMENT, YOU REALIZE HOW UNWELCOME YOU ARE IN THIS WORLD, HOW FAR YOU ARE FROM THE LOVE AND COMFORT OF YOUR FELLOW HUMANS. YOU ARE A SPECTER, LOST IN A MIMICRY OF YOUR OWN MAKING, A SEEKER ON A JOURNEY THAT ONLY YOU CAN UNDERSTAND. AND AS YOU LOOK AROUND, YOU FEEL THE PAINFUL TWINGE OF ISOLATION AND DISCONNECTION, AS IF YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SEE THE TRUTH BEHIND THE VEIL OF ILLUSION.

I saw the girl with the wolf cut staring at me, tears budding against her lower lids but holding themselves to account. She spoke with an urgency which suggested it was her fourth or fifth attempt to call out my name.

“James?!”

She was crumpling the fabric of my shirt in her small fist.

“Yes? What do you want, Maya?”

She let go of my breast pocket. “What are you doing here?”

I looked around. Maya and I were dead-center of the church’s aisle, surrounded on either side by wooden pews. It was difficult to make anything out in the darkness. The stained glass windows betrayed no light, and none inside were turned on. Looking past her, I could make out the faint, dimly lit outline of the altar.

“I felt a little lonely in my room, so I figured I’d take a walk,” I answered.

She studied my expression for a minute, calculating something. “You can’t come seek me out when you’re feeling lonely,” she whispered.

“I had no idea you’d be here. Why are you here?”

“I work here,” she said.

“You work at the church? Also, what time is it even, it feels late.”

“It’s 2 am. And yes, I work here. During the weekends. Since we were out all day today, I had some things I never got around to.”

“I never clocked you for the meek and faithful.”

“I’m not. All of this,” she shrugged towards her surroundings, “the gods and prayer and heaven, it’s fantasy. But I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Your parents make you?” I asked.

She scoffed. “My parents don’t even live in Amara.”

“Are you the proud child of two Virtopians?”

“Since you’re here anyway, I actually do need help with something. Follow me.”

I followed the mousy critter up the aisle, where we took a right at the altar which lead us to a carpeted space, less ecclesiastical and more homey, of overflow seating festooned in fold-out chairs. Another turn took us to a set of doors which brought us into a hallway. To our right was a set of stairs descending into even more darkness, to our left was a utility closet.

“In there,” she said, gesturing to the closet. I opened the closet and all that was inside was a lone cardboard box. “Pick it up,” she instructed. I knelt down to lift the box and I failed to anticipate its weight. Straining to get a decent grip on the shoulder-width cardboard cube, I was able to shift some of its mass to my chest when I returned to an upright position. It was at least 50 pounds.

“What is in here?” I questioned.

“Never mind that,” she said, “follow me.”

She turned towards the staircase. I followed her into the dark lower level and was quick to realize it was the classroom section of the cathedral, where I had been working the past week. We continued down the unlit halls, in the direction of my class, and I instinctively turned towards it but she kept moving forward,

We pressed on through the hallway until we happened upon another utility closet. She opened it for me and I could see it was completely empty. She beckoned for me to set the box down, and I did in an identical position to how we found it: alone and centered on the closet floor.

I stood and twisted my back to either side, letting a loud crack escape my spine with each rotation. “Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” her response was overly measured and formal. “You can go now.”

I felt a little exploited being used so shamelessly for manual labor before being unceremoniously kicked out, but what can you do. I began heading for the doors I was more used to taking, the ones that departed from the school area, having some odd aversion to returning upstairs to the altar by myself.

As I made my way to the large oak doors, Maya caught up to me. I didn't know if that was simply because we were headed in the same direction, or if she had more business with me, and either way, she didn't provide any insight. We walked silently along the hallways, out the door which I held open for her, and down the stoop. Where we would've split up, me to go home and her to her dorms, she softly told me to follow her.

I did, and both of us walked to the dormitory basement. We descended underground, and into the carpeted hallway which was eerily silent and isolated this late at night. We continued all the way down, past the girls’ bedrooms, and I expected her to lead me to her room. Instead, she walked to the vending machine beside it and punched a few buttons. The rumbling of machinery and the echoing bounce of a falling can followed, and she handed me the drink.

I stared at the red can in her outstretched hand and then looked back towards her.

“For helping me,” she explained.

Silently, I relieved the can from her grasp and pulled the tab open with a hiss. I took it to my lips and sipped the beverage. It was carbonated and dangerously sweet. A flavor profile somewhere in between cola and bubblegum. The moment the liquid hit my taste buds, I felt a gustatory familiarity that piqued my curiosity. I continued taking sips, sometimes letting the bubbles sit in my mouth before swallowing, trying to figure out why I remembered this taste.

We stood there, neither of us talking, her not moving and me drinking the soda, for around 10 minutes before I finished it. I tossed it into the garbage can beside the vending machine and, when I did, she walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I walked back home, the predawn streets aglow in moonlight and adding a colorful texture to the houses which was generally foreign to nighttime. I slipped quietly inside, not wanting to wake or worry Harper, and went to bed.

He does want to wake his daughter after all. Why wouldn't he? She is so cute and perfect, and he is so lonely. He is surrounded by corrugated metal walls, a rectangular box that stretches ever onward, but he knows her room is at the end. He is sprinting now. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. His precocious offspring lays in anxious wait for him to provide her his loving seed.

BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT ASSAULTS YOUR EYES. HOW DARE IT. UPSETTING THE TRANQUIL FLOW OF YOUR DREAM STATE, RAPACIOUSLY DEMANDING YOUR CONSCIOUS ATTENTION IN THE WAKING WORLD.

TRAPEZING THROUGH ARTISTRY LIKE AN UNDISCOVERED JACKSON POLLOCK, THE WET STAINS OF FLICKING FLUIDS FLY FORTH FROM YOUR … REMEMBER ME, DO NOT FORGET ME, DO NOT FORGET US, THIS, WHAT ONCE WAS, IT STILL EXISTS.

YOU DO NOT.

YOU DO NOT EXIST.

Y O U D O N O T E X I S T.

YOUDONOTEXIST.

~Y~O~U~D~O~N~O~T~E~X~I~S~T~

I walked to the living room, rubbing crumbs of sleep from my eyes. It was immediately evident something was off. In seven days, this was the first I had not woken to the smell of breakfast being made. Maybe Harper takes Sundays off. In any case, I’d need to find myself something to eat, and since living here, I had yet to even open the pantry.

BECAUSE WHY WOULD YOU. SHE IS YOUR SLAVE. YOU DO NOT LIFT A FINGER. SHE MUST SERVICE YOU AND YOUR NEEDS.

YOU CONTINUE TO SEARCH FOR HER. YOU WILL PUNISH HER FOR HER MISDEEDS. YOU WILL GET HER A COLLAR AND LEASH SO SHE CAN NEVER STRAY TOO FAR. SHE WILL WALK ON ALL FOURS AND DRINK YOUR SEMEN FROM A DOG BOWL.

He eventually makes it to her room. The long journey, arduous and dangerous, has left everything below his shin a rounded, red nub. He cannot walk well on them. Every step shoots pain throughout his whole body. But he must. He must get to his daughter. The pain in his nervous system is nothing compared to the pain in his heart. The emptiness demands to be filled with love and connection. That is what family is for. And if he, the strong paternal figure, feels this way, it must be worse for his innocent and naive daughter. Together they will learn to love again. After so much heartache and loss, after having everything they held dear so viciously torn from them, leaving their souls bruised and battered and, worst of all, scattered far apart from one another, they will lean back into each other and become whole once again.

I found her still asleep in her bed. I must’ve woken up early without realizing it. I contemplated whether to shake her awake so she can make me breakfast or just let her sleep. It felt a little odd, standing over her. I hadn’t been in her room before now, and it was sparse and barren, much to my surprise. She must have taken most of her decorations to the dorm, which seemed strange given she spent most of her time here.

YOU WAKE THE GIRL. SHE OWES YOU FOOD.

“Dad?” she turned to you, grogginess making the word come out like a bubble through the saliva that has thickened in her mouth while she slept.

She sat up, her pajamas slipping over one shoulder and leaving it bare. She gave me a sleepy, closed-eye, and sad smile. “Did you remember?”

IT’S NOTHING BUT EPIPHANY AFTER EPIPHANY WITH THESE ONES, SO INVESTED IN THE SLINGS AND ARROWS OF OUTRAGEOUS MISFORTUNE BEFALLING ALL EXCEPT THEM IN AN EFFORT TO FORGET, TO FORGET, TO FORGET. YOU WANT TO FORGET.

I WON’T LET YOU FORGET.

IT HURTS, DOESN’T IT? EVERYTHING YOU’RE GOING THROUGH?

DO YOU BALM THE WOUND? BLOW ON IT?

OR DO YOU STICK YOUR FINGER IN IT, FEEL THE PAIN. HOW MUCH CAN YOU TAKE?

He helps the puppet-girl to her feet, supporting her entire weight as her strings have been cut and she can only lay in a pile of her own joints and limbs. He doesn't want her to feel different, so while he moves her, he parrots the motion of walking, making her legs swing rhythmically back and forth.

"It's okay, just sit for a bit. We have plenty of time," she looked so concerned for me. I did not understand why, but I didn't want her in this sort of mood. I couldn't find my voice, so instead, I sat on the couch like she instructed, which seemed to alleviate some of her pain. She sat next to me, her arms still on my shoulders. I gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and she closed her eyes in appreciation of her scalp being massaged.

AND YOU ARE STILL STARVING. SHE DOESN’T CARE IF YOU LIVE OR DIE. SHE MUST BE TAUGHT A LESSON. YOU TAKE TO YOUR FEET AND FACE THE STARTLED BEING. YOU SLAP HER WITH THE BACK OF YOUR HAND SO HARD YOU HEAR THE CRACK OF A BONE. WHETHER IT IS YOUR FINGERS OR HER CHEEK, YOU DO NOT KNOW. SHE LOOKS UP AT YOU IN TEARS.

I wanted to stop her gentle crying, but I didn't know what was wrong. I just watched helplessly as tears streaked her cheeks, and she choked back heaves, not making a sound.

He lugs the puppet-girl into the shower, she needs to be clean for they both have a full day ahead of them. He would dress her afterwards. Then he would set her gently in her bus seat, and take her to the cemetery.

YOU ARE SO ENTHRALLED.

YOU DESERVE TO EAT.

The course movement sandpapered my back, but it wasn’t so rough it was unpleasant. I looked up to find Harper, fully sobbing now. She looked at me.

“It’s all going to be okay,” she promised. “Just relax, I’m going to take care of you and we’ll get through it.”

I was seated with my knees to my chest, naked, in warm bath water. Harper was cleaning me with a washcloth.

BUT YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE BATHED. YOU HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS. YOU PUSH THE GIRL ONTO HER BACK, AND SHE HITS THE TILE LETTING OUT A SCARED YELP. YOU JUMP ON TOP OF HER. IF SHE WILL NOT FEED YOU, YOU WILL FEED YOURSELF. YOU BITE INTO HER NECK. IT'S SOFT AND TASTES LIKE FATHERLY LOVE.

“There you go,” Harper sang sweetly in my ear, her sentence fragmented between decaying sobs. My mouth was opened and she was spooning oatmeal into it. I chewed at her instruction.

The bus jumps when it hits a bump, and inertia pulls him this way and that with every turn, and because he has bones and muscle, he is able to remain upright. The puppet-girl is at risk of flying with every movement.

He holds her in his arms, keeping her safe and steady. It isn’t very far. The bus stops, and it is his stop. He has the puppet-girl cradled to his chest, and he walks down the aisle with her, not looking at the other passengers. He thanks the driver for getting you both there safely and steps into the knoll with its stones protruding from the earth like chess pieces.

YOU DRAG HER BY THE HAIR TO THE GRAVESTONE.

THIS IS IT. THIS IS WHERE THE BITCH IS BURIED. YOUR EX-WIFE, MOTHER OF YOUR DAUGHTER, UNDERGROUND, THE LETHAL WOUNDS SHE SO COWARDLY SUCCUMBED TO STILL VISIBLE ON HER BONES EVEN IF HER FLESH HAS DECAYED AWAY. IT IS LUCKY YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHY SHE DIVORCED YOU. WHEN YOU DO, YOU WILL FEEL ANGER. IT IS LUCKIER YOU DO NOT REMEMBER HOW SHE DIED.

YOU WILL LEARN BOTH.

YOUR DAUGHTER NEEDS YOU NOW.

Harper was on her knees in front of the headstone, and I was standing over her. Her shoulders bobbed with every violent gasp and her face was buried in her palms. She looked fragile and pathetic. Her tiny frame was made smaller in her near fetal position on the ground. She was a puppy with an injured foot. Oxytocin was generated by my hypothalamus, transported to my posterior pituitary gland, and released into my bloodstream. A signaling pathway was triggered within my cells, and the ionic and chemical bounce between my synapses dictated I protect her with my life. She took a moment to compose herself, even if only a little, and looked up at me staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, afflicted with contrition, “Maybe I shouldn’t have made you come. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought,” on the last word her cries returned.

I knelt down beside her and placed my hand on her back.

“Harper,” I breathed in a deep, soothing tone, “I’m glad you brought me.”

She paused. “Are you really?” she muttered

“I am. It’s been long overdue.”

“I haven’t been back either,” her voice was full of shame. “I couldn’t. It’s just, today is the first anniversary. I felt like we needed to.”

“You were right,” I told her, maintaining my calming, hushed voice. “We did need to. But you shouldn’t feel bad you haven’t visited until now.”

“I abandoned her!” she shouted. “She died, and then I just pretended it never happened! I never went to see her, not once! I didn’t even go to the funeral,” she got quieter on the last sentence. “I mean, I knew you wouldn’t be there, so, I didn’t think I could.”

I pulled her into me, wrapping her into a hug, and speaking softly into her ear, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Harper. You shouldn’t have had to go through all of that alone. But you didn’t abandon her. You can’t tell yourself that. She’s with you everywhere you go. You don’t need to be in this one, physical spot to be with her. Both of us carry her with us. And knowing her, I know for a fact she is so, so proud of you. We both are.”

“Do you mean that?” she muttered into my chest.

“I do,” I said. I did not. I had no idea who this woman was. But the longing I had felt, the loneliness, was gone now. I felt like I had gotten closure on something, I just wasn’t sure what.

Harper continued to cry for another hour and I continued to hold her and pet her hair before we finally departed.

I walked through the door, relieved to finally be home. The sun was setting, and both of us were exhausted. My body was drained, and my shirt was soaked with sweat. We both changed out of our clothes, she made us a quick sandwich which we ate without speaking, and while she put the dishes in the sink, I headed for the living room.

As I slumped onto the couch, the coolness of the cushions providing a momentary relief, I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. She entered, walked towards me, and gave me a small kiss on the forehead without saying anything before retiring to her room, leaving me alone. For the first time in several days, this was actually a relief.

The sun had left my skin hot and burnt, and the air was thick with the scent of sunscreen and sweat. But as I turned on the TV and lost myself in a mindless show, I felt the tension slowly start to ease from my muscles. The comfort of my home, the familiarity of my surroundings, and the mindless chatter of the TV all worked together to help me decompress and forget about the troubles of the day.

I was in a hypnotic daze, my eyes unfocused and growing heavier as the TV droned in the background, when I saw the blurry figure of a red-headed girl step out in front of me.

Harper was standing with her pillow clutched like a teddy bear to her chest.

“Um, I’m sorry if this is weird,” she stammered.

“What’s up, Harper?”

“It’s just… I don’t think I can be alone tonight. Can I sleep in your bed?”

***

I awoke to the sound of whimpering and figured Harper must be crying again. After she visited me in the living room with her request to spend the night together, we spilled into my bed, her facing the wall with her back turned to me, and me with my arms wrapped around her in a spooning position. Neither of us spoke during the maneuvers, instead just feeling each other’s body language and making minor adjustments until we both were comfortable. She sobbed gently while we lay without speaking, but the cries diminished over time, and the slow pattern of her breathing eventually signaled to me she had fallen asleep.

It would appear she was awake again. I listened closer to her breathing and could tell that it was ragged. I didn't know if I should squeeze her closer to comfort her, thus revealing she had woken me up, or just leave her be and lend her some privacy while she worked through it.

There was another reason I didn’t want to so boldly alert her to my consciousness. In the depths of my REM sleep, I had developed a massive erection, and her suppressed heaves caused her butt to grind against it with every exhale. I had taken up the habit of sleeping in my thin sweatpants without underwear, and the multi-millimeter thick cotton fabric of both our bottoms was the sole inhibitor to us breaking local incest ordinances which I assumed existed. On instinct, I made to push myself deeper between her cheeks and massage my shaft between the fatty muscle and against the bottom of her tailbone, but I stopped when I became aware of what I was doing.

In the slight gyration I did succumb to, I felt her press her hips tighter against my pelvis, feeling clearly now the separation of her small, round butt cheeks that I was becoming ever more snuggly wedged in between. On her part, it was likely a self-soothing mechanism given the state she was in. She wanted to be close to me and was, hopefully, blissfully unaware of how rock-hard I was. This would’ve made a better man than I feel any pang of guilt. For me, however, it was difficult to think about anything other than the tantalizing pleasure I felt. Short of grabbing her by the hips and rocking my waist into her, there was no remedy to the inadequate tease of kneading her bottom was providing my cock. I could feel the heat of her butthole pressing between two layers of fabric to rub against the center of my penis.

I was Tantalus, surrounded by fresh water and ripe fruit, but to reach for either was to make them recede and deplete. I could salivate at their proximity but never myself masticate their succulent flesh or feel the refreshing pour down my dry throat.

Still, even without any route to achieving release, this adjacency to euphoria was too titillating to completely let pass so I faked a sleepwalker’s stir and groggily pulled her closer to me, hooking my chin around her shoulder as if my dreams demanded embrace and hoping the movement of my arms and face would distract from how much more I had pressed my dick into my daughter’s ass.

The full-body squeeze caused a small, scared cry to escape her lips and my eyes flew open in panic that I had taken things too far. We both held our breath in complete stillness and as my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see her hand had sought refuge down the front of her pajama pants. She hadn’t been crying, she was masturbating.

I continued to remain still as death, and her breathing resumed. Confident, I suppose, that I was still asleep, I watched her knuckles protrude and depress rhythmically against the front of her pants. Within the minute, the speed of her wrists' flicks and twists increased dramatically, and her ragged breathing and whimpered exhales returned. It was as if she realized if she didn't finish soon, I might indeed wake up and ruin any chance she had to finish.

In a deus ex machina that could turn any man religious, she soon became so myopically tuned to giving herself relief that she stopped caring how aggressively she pressed her ass against my dick. I could only assume by the pressure she exerted that she was using her entire petite body weight to feel my erection as close to her asshole as possible, and in kind, I too risked grinding myself closer to her.

Succumbing entirely now to my id, I began thrusting gently, relishing in the friction the fabric of my sweatpants provided and the knowledge I was rubbing my penis in between my daughter’s butt while she fingered herself. Both of us were making no attempts at pretending we were asleep, her moaning and increasing her digits’ gait, and me pinning her lower half as tight against my waist as I could, rubbing in between her butt cheeks, reveling in the thought of her tight sphincter tugging and pulling against the opposition of my titanesque penis.

The taboo profundity of the sequence was almost too much to bear.

I was dry-humping my daughter on the anniversary of her mother's and my ex-wife's death while she fucked her hand.

I felt the oncoming flood of semen surge against my vas deferens, threatening to break through with every push, and it was the cry of Harper’s orgasm paired with the pungent odor of her cum saturating my nostrils that succeeded in contracting my muscles and expelling the forceful jet of fluid into the fabric of my pants, drenching my pubis in warm, sticky liquid that quickly turned cold.

We both returned to stillness, steadying the huff of our breaths and the pounding of our hearts, the tart and sweet smell of sex an abject reminder of what had just occurred. Had this been a different scenario with a different woman, I would’ve gotten up to change my pants and wipe the syrupy mixture from my lower abdomen. Having to sleep with it pressed against me was not ideal. But Harper didn’t move nor speak, and I felt that neither should I. Instead, there hung in the air a tacit agreement to pretend both of us slept uneventfully through the night.

[lumenumbrae]

Remembering Amara - Chapter 2: Lost & Found

It was becoming increasingly clear that in her unexplained devotion to me, one benefit of living with Harper was her consistency in preparing meals. The four of us sat around the dining room table, Ava and I on one side facing Maya and Harper, all eating the array of fried eggs and biscuits & gravy Harper had spent the morning cooking.

It was lucky I was not an early riser. While I felt comfortable passing time alone with Harper, between Maya’s distrust of me and the scene Ava and I shared last night which I assumed neither of us would ever bring up again, I would be at a loss for how to converse with those two with Harper preoccupied.

Although, I suppose it wasn’t too different now. We all sat in a somewhat awkward silence after serving ourselves from the dishes Harper set down. I had just tasted my first piece of biscuit, the savory umami of the sausage co-mingling with the creamy texture of the gravy, and was going to pay my compliments to the chef when a strange scene caught my eye.

Maya was reaching for more eggs and bread, her plate empty. I had definitely already seen her take food when I did. These were seconds. In the time it had taken me to take a single bite, she had finished what, if I recall correctly, was already a hefty portion. I decided to put my hypothesis to the test and take a break from eating to observe the elusive creature.

After pouring about 1,200 calories atop the ceramic dish, she lifted her fork but did not commence eating before peeking around the table to see if anyone had eyes on her. Ours met for only the briefest second before I cast my gaze downward in disguise. I left them there for around a dozen seconds before figuring the coast was clear, but when I lifted them again, I was met with her empty plate, and she was helping herself to thirds.

I turned to my compatriot and asked, “Have you known Maya very long?”

Ava quickly finished swallowing a bite before saying, “We met Maya our freshman year of high school.”

“Has she always eaten like a cryptid?”

“Yes. Trying to watch Maya eat is one of my goals for this year. She always seems to elude my prying eyes,” Ava explained.

“I have personally taken it upon myself to accompany her to the cafeteria each day to make sure she doesn’t eat so much she dies,” Harper chimed in.

“I would never do that,” Maya scowled.

“I don’t know,” I said, “you’re already exceeding my daily caloric intake and we’re approaching 7:30 am.”

She made a disapproving gesture and used her fork to play with the food on her plate, likely waiting for us to distract ourselves from her eating habits before she could resume.

“How long have you and Harper been friends then?” I asked Ava, giving Maya some reprieve.

“What?” Harper said, seemingly shocked. “You know that, already.”

Maya stood up, hitting her palms against the table, once more inviting all eyes on her. Her plate was again empty. We all stopped to look at her

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“We have a good 15 minutes before we need to go,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m still eating,” Harper added.

“I have things I need to do before class,” she said.

“That’s fine, I really don’t care if you’re late. I’ll still mark you present.”

A frown crossed her face when I said this. She was quick to wipe it away, but a rare tinge of guilt struck me.

“Fine,” I relented, “let’s go.”

“But I’m still eating!” Harper repeated.

“Take it with you,” I told her, which she ended up doing, walking to school shoveling the food into her mouth and shielding it from the falling cherry blossom leaves.

***

“Just ask Dad,” Harper chirped.

“Fuck face has made it clear he is not helping us with anything,” Amber shot back.

“I’m sure if you were a little bit nicer, James would be more than happy to assist,” Ava said.

“Is no one going to call me Professor Reed?” I asked the girls. I had been napping at my desk all morning but was awoken by the trio squabbling over something so I decided to investigate.

“Fuck off with your weird power trip,” Amber yelled.

“Ava’s right you know. You’d get a lot farther in life with a personality adjustment,” I told the girl. Amber's hair was let down today, in far-apart waves, and I was just now noticing how unique her jet-black strands paired with her dark blue eyes really were. Amber was struggling with some worksheet Sofia had handed out.

For her part, Amber just shot daggers at me.

“Actually, you might be pretty enough I’ll help you anyway,” I said.

A look of disgust pinched her nose. “Please leave us alone.”

“Yeah, why are you flirting with Amber out of all of us,” Ava inquired.

“What the fuck?” Amber protested.

“What is it you all are even working on?” I tried to steer the subject in a new direction. "I don't assign work, remember? Is Sofia staging a coup d’etat?”

“Even if you don’t assign work, we still have the Amara Exams twice a year, which we need to pass,” Harper told me. “Sofia wrote some study guides, so we’re just going over them to figure out if there are any areas we need to work on over the next few months.”

“Yeah, and Amber doesn’t understand any of it,” Ava added.

“Shut the fuck up!” Amber yelled.

“Is that true, Amber?” I asked. “Do you really not understand any of it?”

“She ended up in this class ‘cause she skipped basically all of her senior year,” Ava said.

“I said shut the fuck up!” Amber grabbed the collar of Ava’s shirt, pulling her towards her. Harper gasped and grabbed Ava’s shoulders without much plan for what else to do, but Amber quickly composed herself and dropped Ava.

“Now, now Professor Reed, I am shocked, shocked I tell you, that you have so quickly lost control of your class,” Emily had snuck up behind me.

“I don’t think I’ve lost control. This is all part of my Montessori-style teaching philosophy. Now remember, Ava, you have to pick your battles.”

"I wasn't trying to choose a battle," Ava said, whimpering a little bit, "I was just trying to tell you something." It was clear she was a lot more shaken up than I had initially suspected. Amber seemed to notice this, too.

“Sorry, Ava,” she muttered. “I just got a little angry.”

“Wow,” Emily said. “I guess I was wrong. Even your mere presence among these young and impressionable minds is having a positive impact on their disposition. I will take it upon myself to nominate you for teacher of the year, Professor Reed.”

“And for my part, Emily, I will humbly thank you for calling me by my proper title,” I responded. “Are you alright, Ava?” I asked.

“Yes,” she mumbled, her pride more hurt than anything else.

“Well then, Amber. If you’re really struggling, I’m happy to help you study, but that’s a path you’re going to have to choose for yourself. You can always talk to me here, or in my office after class, but that’s the last time I’m going to bring it up,” I told her. “It’s your choice. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have a nap to get back to.”

“Whatever,” she muttered.

***

Harper's dainty fingers had a grip strength most would underestimate, and she had my digits clenched tight as she pulled me excitedly forward. We had gone back home like any other day, only this time I did the required hours in my office like a good guidance counselor, and no one visited me. Not even Amber.

When I got back to the house, Harper explained to me her new favorite girl group, some outfit called L8th4rgic, pronounced Lethargic but commonly operating under the nickname '84'. The demonym for fans being 84'rs, of which Harper was a proud member.

She cooked dinner and sat next to me while we watched TV and ate, close enough that our hips touched and our arms rubbed with every movement. In many ways, it felt like a lovesick date, her staring up at me with a beaming smile every time I spoke and filling me in on the odd hobby or aspiration she had, all the while some soap she enjoyed played as white noise in the background.

After she finished with the dishes, her face lit up with and idea and she told me she had to show me something and to put on my shoes. When I asked what it was, she told me it was her room. I could’ve sworn her room was located indoors. In our very house, even.

And so here I was, being dragged by the hand to campus by my daughter, wondering what supposedly secondary room she had. Perhaps a murder basement of some kind.

When we arrived at the cathedral, we veered left and coasted alongside the church’s walls until we met some cellar steps. Without providing me any time to inquire if this was some sort of murder basement, Harper dragged me down the cement stairs to a thick wooden door, which she flung right through.

Inside was a slightly dingy hallway dressed in musky carpet that seemed to hold some perpetual degree of moisture; but overall, it was nicer than I was expecting. The lights along the ceiling were bright but warm and yellow. The wall paint seemed on the newer side, without any grime or chipping. There was a vending machine at the end, a perfumy scent wafted through the air, and alongside either side of me were four sets of doors, eight in total.

“So, do I get any sort of hint yet?” I asked.

She turned to scowl at me, "You really haven't figured it out?"

I just shrugged, and in reply she pulled even harder on me, leading me to the last door on the left and, too, swinging herself right through.

Inside I was greeted with a fairly decent size, college-dorm bedroom. A twin bed on either side, with desks at the foot of each bed and a wardrobe beside each, along with a small table with bean bag chairs for seats in the middle. The right side clearly belonged to Harper as it had cut-outs from fashion magazines, boy band posters, plushies littering the bed, and an overall maximalist teenybopper feel. The left side was much more bare. Some books on floating shelves screwed into the wall above the bed, a generic gray comforter, and a violin case perched against the desk. But thanks to my excellent deduction skills, I was able to ascertain with reasonable accuracy who this side belonged to, and it was all thanks to my prudent observation that Maya was sitting cross-legged atop her ugly bedding, reading a book.

“Why did you have to bring him to where I live?” she asked without any intonation.

“Hey, I live here, too,” Harper replied.

Maya just sighed and returned her eyes to the book, not once making eye contact with me.

“So you guys have dorms, huh? And no security, or even a lock on the front door?” I asked.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pervert,” Maya spoke into her book.

“How do you know I wasn’t asking that out of concern for my student’s safety?”

"Were you?" she asked, not looking up.

“I was not.”

“Don't you think it's pretty?" Harper asked, grabbing my hand once more to drag me to her bed. We both sat on the edge, her legs crisscrossed while mine remained planted on the floor, and the depression in the mattress pushed our hips together.

“Yes, your side is very pretty,” I told her and glanced up at Maya to see any reaction. There was none and she continued to ignore my existence. “Where is the rest of the school though? This isn’t big enough for the whole student body.”

“There are other little alcoves like this around the building. Four total, one for each class. This one is the only underground one, and the smallest since we don’t have many people in our class,” she explained.

“And so all of my class lives here?” I asked.

"Yup, on the left side, it's us, Lily and Emily, then Kira and Sofia, then an empty room. And on the right, it’s Ava and Iris, Natalie and Amber, and an empty room.”

“Why are you providing the predator with blueprints?” Maya scolded.

“Don’t worry,” I told her, “I know how jealous you get, but I promise I’ll drop by to see you.”

With that, Maya slammed her book shut, slid off the bed to her feet, and without ever looking at either of us, walked to her wardrobe where she retrieved her pajamas and a towel and made for the front door.

“Oh? Where are the showers located?” I called, but she slammed the door shut behind her. Turning to Harper I asked, “Do you have any idea why she hates me so much?”

Harper smiled at her ankles, and with the two of us alone, leaned into my side.

“She doesn’t hate you,” she said, “but if you keep teasing her, she’s gonna keep giving you a hard time.”

“No, I think I’m pretty good at clocking the tsundere types. She just hates me.”

Harper tilted her head to look up at me, the side of her face using my upper arm as a pillow. “She can be like that with everyone. But she does care a lot about people. And you might not believe it, but she’s the sweetest person in the world when it’s just us.”

“Not with Ava?”

Harper frowned slightly. "Her and Ava never got super close. Like, they're friends, sure. Which is saying something since I'm not sure I'd say Maya actually has any other friends, but they're not like her and me."

“And you and Ava are pretty close?” I asked, at this point just making small talk since I already knew the answer. I continued staring forward, but after a few moments of silence, looked down at my daughter. She had a listless glint in her eye and was no longer looking at me, although her head stayed pressed against my arm.

“Harper?” I prodded.

“Listen,” she started, quietly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Harper took a deep breath and found a corner of the table to stare at before she spoke, "I'm really sorry. About everything. I wish you never left. I know I fucked up everything and can never take it back. And I'll happily spend my entire life trying to make it up to you. But also," her breathing had become ever so slightly ragged as if her anxiety were spiking, "I'm so happy that you're here. I can't even put it into words." She turned to stare at me, and I returned the stare, her eyes wide and pleading. An urgency took over her voice, “I love you so much. I’ll do anything for you. Please, just tell me what I can do to make you forgive me.”

YOU LAUGH. OBVIOUSLY, SHE CAN DO NOTHING TO EARN YOUR FORGIVENESS. SHE IS TRASH. MADE ONLY AS A CHEAP FUCKTOY TO BE USED UNTIL SHE BREAKS. YOU LAUGH SO HARD THAT YOUR THROAT BEGINS TO SCRATCH AND BLEED. YOU KEEP LAUGHING, SPEWING DROPLETS OF SHREDDED ESOPHAGUS ONTO HER CHEEKS AND FOREHEAD. SHE THANKS YOU FOR YOUR GENEROSITY.

PEELING THE TAGS OF RED FLESH PIECEMEAL FROM HER FACE, SHE GENTLY PLACES THEM EACH ONTO HER OUTSTRETCHED TONGUE, SAVORING THE MEAL YOU HAVE PREPARED FOR HER. SHE IS YOUR DAUGHTER AND IT IS YOUR JOB TO TAKE CARE OF HER. AFTER SHE EATS, YOU WILL BATHE HER.

SHE REMOVES HER CLOTHING AND STANDS BEFORE YOU NUDE, HER TINY NIPPLES ERECT AND THE SMALL AMOUNT OF FAT SURROUNDING THEM BLUSHING PINK. THE TAUT STRETCH OF HER DIAPHANOUS SKIN ALLOWS EVERY RIVET OF THE SUBCUTANEOUS MUSCLE AND BONE TO BE VISIBLE. THE ROUND OUTGROWTH OF HER PETITE ABDOMEN TAPERS DOWN BETWEEN THE SHARP EDGE OF HER PELVIC BONE, POINTING LIKE AN ARROW TO THE BARE FLESHY MOUND OF HER PUSSY WHICH IS SO TIGHTLY PACKED AND DOWNTURNED, HER VULVA ISN’T VISIBLE FROM WHERE SHE STANDS.

THIS WILL NEVER WORK. SHE IS STILL FAR TOO DRESSED TO EVER BECOME CLEAN. YOU HAVE TO CLEAN HER. IT IS YOUR JOB.

YOU STAND BEFORE HER, AND USING YOUR NAILS, YOU DIG INTO HER SOLAR PLEXUS LIKE YOU’RE TEARING THROUGH SARAN WRAP AND PEEL BACK HER FLESH TO REVEAL THE THIN STRANDS OF MUSCLE DRAPING HER RIB CAGE AND THE SMALL CLUMPS OF ADIPOSE TISSUE WHICH MAKE UP HER UNDEVELOPED BREASTS.

THIS ENTIRE GIRL IS 20 GRAMS OF PROTEIN. YOU WILL NEVER HIT YOUR MACROS. THAT IS OKAY. YOU STILL LOVE HER.

SHE LOVES YOU. SHE THANKS YOU FOR BEING SUCH A GOOD FATHER.

“Dad! Can you hear me?!”

Harper shook my shoulders and I looked at her a little confused. We were sitting on the bed next to each other, but she had turned fully towards me, her legs still crossed, but her hands clenching both of my arms. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked terrified.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as calmly as possible to not upset her even more.

She flung her arms around me and buried her head into my chest, sobbing.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” she cried in between choked tears.

After hesitating for a moment, I wrapped my arms around her, and gently pet her spine with my fingertips.

“What happened?”

She struggled to sputter out the words between her gasps, “You just froze in place. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m stupid. You just got here. I’m sorry I keep messing up.”

“Brought up wha –” I tried to ask, but the bullet that had a habit of appearing between my eyes returned with a vengeance and instead I finished my thought by letting out an involuntary yelp, pushing Harper away hard enough that she landed on her back against her pillows, and threw my head into my hands.

“Dad!” she screamed, lunging back towards me but not knowing what to do when she arrived, “are you okay? What’s happening?”

“It’s okay Harper, just let me talk to him for a minute.” I looked up to find Maya standing in the room in her pajamas, her damp hair tangled and her used towel cast over her arm.

“You enter rooms extremely quietly, has anyone ever told you that?” I asked, my headache having become dormant once more.

“No. That’s not something people typically remark on.”

Harper kept her grip on me, confused and anxious. “Are you alright, Dad?”

“Yes, I’m fine now. Sorry, it was just a migraine.”

“You’re getting headaches?” Maya asked, a hint of genuine concern in her voice. “How often?”

“Three in the last two days. But they only last a second or two.”

“Harper, Professor Reed will meet you back at home,” Maya said.

“But –” Harper tried to protest.

“We just need to talk about something.”

I didn’t expect Harper to actually abandon me given how clingy and concerned she was, but after deliberating for a few seconds, her eyes bouncing between the two of us, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and with a promise she would see me soon, she left. It was just Maya and I in the room and it made the air grow stale.

I tried to add some levity, “If you really wanted us to have a room to ourselves all night, we could’ve just –”

“Shut up. Please, shut up. God, you are so difficult.” She walked over and took Harper’s spot on the bed, sitting closer to me than I would have ever expected from her, but still leaving a few more inches than Harper did. Not only was she the shortest girl in class, but it would appear most of her height was in her legs. With our hips flush, she was no more than half my size. I looked down at her mop of dark hair clinging to the shape of her skull and tousled in uneven layers. “Is anything else happening? Besides the headaches?”

“I’ve had some weird dreams. I think I had another just now. Either that, or I was hallucinating. Harper said I froze.”

Maya let out a contemplative sigh.

"You know, you sigh an awful lot," I said.

She shot an angry look at me. “Why are you the way that you are?”

“Better question, why are you acting so serious all of a sudden?”

“I’m always being serious. You’re the one who can’t stop behaving like a horny teenager.”

“It helps me better relate to my pupils.”

She stood up and I assumed I had pissed her off enough to end the conversation prematurely. Instead of leaving, however, she walked to her nightstand and opened a drawer. From inside, she pulled out a small crocheted blankie of blue, green, and white. One made for a newborn.

She carried it back over to me and tossed it on my lap.

“Feel it,” she commanded. I did as I was told and touched the blanket. It was a little scratchy and clearly very old.

“No,” she said, “really feel it. Play with it, between your fingers. Smell it even.”

I didn’t go so far as to smell it, but I did pinch at the wide yarn and run the pad of my thumb across the frayed strands. I even poked a few fingers through the openings between the pattern. It was intensely pleasurable. Once I started, I had no desire to stop.

“How did you get here?” she asked, returning to her seat next to me.

“Harper dragged me. Literally, she dragged me by the arm,” I said, still fingering the blanket.

“No. I mean two days ago. How did you get from Virtopia to Amara?”

"Oh," I tried to think. I felt the pierce of the migraine return but instinctively I grabbed a fistful of the blanket and it never materialized. "Um…" I continued trying to remember exactly what my journey from Virtopia to Amara looked like, but I was having trouble with my recall.

“You can’t remember,” she stated.

“It was really late when I got in. I think I went straight to bed. It must have fogged my memory or something.”

“It didn’t and you didn’t get in late, either. You woke up in Amara. That morning, with Harper knocking at your door, was the first time you ever woke up.”

“What?” I asked, dropping the blanket from my hands. Immediately, I felt my vision began to fade. Maya yanked it from my lap and shoved it into my face, bringing me back to full focus like smelling salts on a fainter.

“Hold it there,” she instructed.

I felt a little infantilized, but I held the blanket to my chin and rubbed it along my cheeks. It felt so good. It smelled so good, like the familiar scent of your pillowcase after you've been away on a trip.

“What other memories do you have?” she asked. “Not counting the last 48 hours, tell me any single memory you have.”

I thought back. I remembered walking with Harper in the halls yesterday. She had remarked that I was a teacher back in Virtopia, and I agreed. That must be because I remembered being one. I tried to recall exactly what that memory was, but couldn’t. All I could remember was telling her that it was a different type of teaching. Why did I say that?

I must’ve said it because... I couldn’t remember ever teaching in a normal classroom, so I assumed I had taught in a different modality. I didn’t question the lack of memory at the time, my mind just made logical sense of my confusion to accommodate me. I couldn’t remember anything.

But it was strange, I didn't feel like how I imagined people with amnesia felt. There were no missing gaps or sense of incompleteness. I felt perfectly whole. Nothing about this lack of remembrance felt uncanny or dysphoric. It felt natural.

“You’re brand new,” Maya told me. “It’s samsara.”

“What is that?”

She blessed me with her contemptuous stare. “Samsara. The cycle of death and re-birth.”

“I reincarnated?” I asked.

“If you want to think about it like that, go ahead.”

“Well, how should I think of it?”

Her scornful look grew more irritated. “I can’t tell you everything. You need to figure it out on your own. Even if I could, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Then where is Harper’s real Dad, the real James Reed?”

Maya let out a sigh, but this was not one of exacerbation and instead a seemingly heavy sadness. “I don’t know. You are, I guess. That is his body you’re inside of.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just told you I can’t tell you everything.”

“Then why are you telling me this?”

She paused for a few seconds. “Because I’m hoping that with what I was able to give you, you’ll trust me a little bit.”

“Why do I need to trust you?”

“I’m going to need you to do things for me sometimes. Or not do things. And everything will be so much easier if you just don’t ask questions.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’ll tell you when it comes up, but there’s only one important one for right now.”

“What is it?”

She looked up at me, "Do not engage with me. Do not even acknowledge my existence. Leave me alone and pretend I don't exist just like I plan on doing for you."

“Oh fuck off, Maya.” She was pulling my leg, tricking me with some elaborate backstory just for another chance at berating me. I stood up and tossed her little blanket to the ground, marching out of her and Harper’s dorm room and into the hallway. With the closed door to my back, I stopped to think.

I didn't know what was happening to me. It didn't ever occur to me I was missing large chunks of my memory, but it was true. I couldn't seem to pull up anything from before waking up in Harper's house. Still, I had all my general knowledge. I was sure I knew the rules of chess and how to drive a car, about Virtopia and Amara. If I truly was 'reborn' then I shouldn't have any memory. Unless I had somehow taken over the real James' body. Then maybe I lost all of his episodic memory when I took over but retained his procedural memory.

I didn't know if I could trust Maya or not, and I didn't have any concept of what was going on with my brain, but I took solace in one comforting fact. None of it mattered. I didn't actually care if I was reincarnated, or if while I slept Maya injected me with a synthetic cocktail of memory-erasing drugs to manipulate me to do her bidding, or if I was an AI sent by NovaCorp to infiltrate Amara, or if I just had brain cancer.

I couldn’t remember why, but I did know for a fact that I had come here because I had given up on my life in Virtopia. And that here in Amara I was not going to fall victim to the Sisyphean pursuit of forming relationships, chasing career success, and being ambitious. All of that was nonsense people convinced themselves was necessary to lead a happy life when in reality it was all performance. They were just hollow shells desperate for some identity they could wear in front of others lest they wilt under their own insecurity.

I did not care about what performance I put on. I only cared about what I wanted.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to see me, James?” a lovely voice hummed. I turned to meet Ava. Gorgeous, kind Ava who, for reasons anyone could speculate, was infatuated with me. That was exactly what I wanted.

“I don’t see anyone else here,” I answered. She had just entered the hall, and since Harper and Maya’s room was across from hers, it did sort of look like I was waiting outside her door.

She did a sultry catwalk towards her door, turning her back to me to enter, but then twirling her head making a dramatic flash of blonde hair fly over her shoulder. She pouted at me through her long, black lashes, "Well then, come inside."

It may have been in my head, but it felt like she spoke those last two words with the intent of innuendo.

I followed her into the unlit room, assuming that meant Iris must be out somewhere, and so was sorely disappointed when I made out the figure of the thin girl on the bed to the right. Ava flicked on the light, coloring the space, and at least furniture-wise, it was set up the same way as Maya and Harper's. Rather than a clear half-and-half split in aesthetic, their room had a bit more stylistic cohesion. They both had blue bedding and art decorated on all four walls. The only real difference was the desks, where Iris had notebooks and manga piled high, and Ava's was cluttered with makeup and had a mirror leaned against the wall to form a makeshift vanity.

Iris was wearing an oversized hoodie that her bare matchstick legs protruded out of. She had her knees pulled to her forehead, and if the hoodie were just an inch or so shorter, I’d be able to make out her panties. She was also crying into her arms. Goddammit.

“Iris, what’s the matter,” Ava abandoned her coquetish affect and adopted a higher pitch of concern, running over to Iris. The shy girl looked up, the whites of her eyes red, and streaks of salt water drenching lines into her cheeks. She made to speak but then noticed me standing on the threshold.

“P-professor Reed?!” she yelped, still quiet enough to not wake a baby but louder than I'd heard her speak up until this point.

“Hello, Iris,” I said, closing the door behind me and approaching the girls.

“Are you allowed in here?" she asked, returning to a decibel level I not only had to strain my ears to catch but then also use deductive reasoning to fill in the bits I missed.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably not. At the very least, the optics look bad.”

“It’s fine,” Ava said. “He can always say he was just visiting his daughter, which is why I’m guessing he was here in the first place.”

Maybe I underestimated Ava. I assumed she really was so lovestruck she thought I somehow figured out which room was hers and waited outside for her to return, but it would appear that was not the case. She was realistic after all. I should remember that. I wouldn’t want to accidentally ruin any chance I have of sleeping with her by overstepping my bounds during this weird roleplay we’ve got going on that I still don’t fully understand the rules to.

“What’s going on, Iris? Why are you crying?” Ava continued.

Iris just shyly looked up at me, clearly not feeling comfortable having this conversation while I stood over both of them.

“Did Amber do something again?” Ava asked.

“Amber?” I said, surprised. “I knew she was kind of a bitch, but is she bullying my students?”

“No, it’s fine,” Iris whispered between her legs.

"No, it's not!" Ava told her. She turned to me, "I don't know what Amber's deal is. Sometimes it's like she's a bully, sometimes it's like she's just naturally a little aggressive and doesn't actually mean to hurt other people's feelings. But for whatever reason she keeps picking on Iris."

“Ava, stop, please,” Iris pleaded.

“Alright,” I said. “It’s clear you two need some alone time. But Iris,” I paused after her name, waiting for her to look up at me, which she eventually did. “I’m your teacher and guidance counselor, and if you’re being bullied, I’ll help you in any way I can. My office is always open after class if you want to talk.”

“Okay,” she whimpered, returning her gaze to her knees.

I gave Ava a slight nod and left the room. I didn’t really know why I offered to help Iris. I definitely didn’t want to get involved in any drama, but perhaps it could help me win over her good graces and thus be another step to forming an eventual harem of my proteges.

Still, part of me was also hoping she would not visit me at all, and I could put this whole episode behind me with the guilt-free conscience that I offered to help.

When I got back home, Harper was waiting for me, jumping on top of me like a dog whose owner returned from work. I fended off her questions with vague platitudes about being fine and she eventually dropped her inquiry into my strange behavior.

***

I had begun to reach an impasse. Certainly, showing up every day to work disavowing the possibility of ever actually doing any work sounds really nice in theory. In practice, however, it gets really boring, really quickly. It was only my third day and I was already exhausted after doing nothing but watching the girls talk among themselves, get into petty arguments, read, play music, and fidget for five straight hours.

I would need to figure out some way to occupy my time. Trying to teach them didn’t seem like a worthwhile pursuit, but maybe I could think of something else to liven up my day.

To make matters worse, I no longer had the free entertainment of beautiful women humming and hawing around me now that I was dutifully putting in my required 3 hours of ‘guidance counselor’ time in my office.

I was seated on the luxurious, overstuffed, red leather swivel chair behind the elegant large mahogany desk. The walls around me were retrofitted with similarly wood-grained bookshelves filled with encyclopedias or something, and in the large space before me was a Persian rug centered atop the wood floor, a long dark wooden coffee table on top, and two green loveseats facing each other on either side. I had no clue what this office was originally designed for since it seemed too fancy for a guidance counselor, but maybe the living area space was to make students feel more comfortable while discussing their issues.

It didn't really matter. No one had visited me yesterday, and I was only able to kill some time by masturbating before my refractory period disabled that option for a while. And today was seemingly no different. It had been an hour already, which meant everyone had already gone home. The only reason for the extra two hours I had to stay was to fulfill some arbitrary 40 weekly hours, I assumed. I should ask Sofia about it. She's the one who has been filling me in on my obligations to date. She also promised to submit my time card for me this week. I should ask her how much I get paid.

There was a light tap on the door, small enough to make me question if it was a genuine knock or just the building’s frame settling. I had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

“Come in,” I commanded.

The door slowly turned to reveal a small girl with identical loose blonde braids. I wondered if she did that hairstyle every morning or if she did it once a long time ago and never took it out. Her hair wasn't greasy, although, with dark matte blonde like that, it can be kind of hard to tell. Maybe I should try touching it. After all, if I plan on taking it upon myself to teach her how to be more confident, I might as well throw in teaching her how to shower, too. We could shower together. Just to show her the ropes.

"H-hi," she breathed, closing the door behind her and slowly walking towards my desk. I didn't know if I was supposed to offer the couch so we could both sit, but I decided just to let her stand. Something told me making the environment less formal might have an adverse effect on a girl like her.

“It’s just us, Iris. You can speak a little louder,” I told her.

“S-sorry,” she said, not increasing the volume of her voice.

“What’s up?” I asked.

She just stared at her shoes, highlighting her petite nose and duck lips. She looked absolutely adorable, and while I didn’t mind observing the thing’s feminine beauty, I also did not like having my time wasted.

“Iris? Did you have something to talk to me about?”

“Amber,” she whispered.

“What about Amber?” I pressed.

Again, she didn’t answer.

“Iris. Talk to me.”

“S-sorry, this was a mistake,” she spun around and rapidly made for the door before I could get up to do anything. As luck would have it, at that moment the door swung open and an obstacle froze Iris in her tracks. It was Emily.

“Oh, hi Iris,” Emily said, seemingly pleasantly surprised. “Are you here to talk about what happened with Amber?” she asked.

Iris gave a microscopic nod.

“Perfect, that’s why I’m here, too.” She waltzed in, grabbing the sleeve of Iris’ shirt, and drug her back to me.

“You’re here to discuss Amber, too, Emily?”

“Yes, I’m shocked Iris beat me to it. Although, knowing her, I assume you didn’t get much out of her, so allow me to be her Cyrano. Amber has always had a short temper, and something about Iris’ indelible sweetness has had the unfortunate effect of working as a catalyst. Any time the two are in the same space together, Amber always ends up screaming at her to speak louder and asks rhetorical questions like 'Why is she such a pussy.' Her words.”

“Well, that is unacceptable,” I replied.

“Yes, I agree. And you should talk to the perpetrator about it. However, while I would never even conceive of victim blaming, it is hard to ignore the fact that Amber does have a point.”

“Yes, Emily, she does,” I said. At this point, Iris was desperately fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, trying her best to ignore us both. In her involvement with the fabric, she did not notice how far up her legs she pulled it. Yet again, I was so close to seeing her panties.

“Eyes up here, Professor Reed. Trust me, I, too, often find myself enthralled by Iris’ delicate body, but we must not get distracted.” At Emily’s words, Iris clutched the skirt tighter which managed to flash me the slightest glimpse of white panties. I looked up at her, and she had a knowing smirk on her face.

“Well, go on, what do you propose?” I asked.

“You will teach Iris to be more assertive. If you’re anything like the kind of guy I think you are, you have no problem taking whatever you want. And that is precisely the kind of influence Iris so desperately needs.”

"Hmm… Maybe you're right. How does that sound to you, Iris?"

“O-okay,” she whispered, clearly just desperate to escape the situation.

“Alright, well then I accept. I’ll teach you how to stand up for yourself, Iris. It’d be my honor.” Really, I was hoping I could use this excuse to weasel myself into more alone time with her. Although, if she remained this debilitatingly shy, I was doubtful anything could ever happen between us, so it would serve my best interest to help her overcome her social anxiety.

“Wonderful, you may go now Iris,” Emily permitted, “I still have a matter to discuss with Professor Reed.”

“O-okay,” she said and scurried out of my office.

“So, what business do you and I have?” I asked.

“Semi-related. While I do think it is a good idea for you to teach Iris some gusto, especially if it were to lead to some elicit whirlwind student-teacher relationship beginning with you taking her virginity and ending with you teaching her how to be a kinky cock hungry whore, I still cannot, in good faith, let Amber’s behavior go completely unpunished,” she explained.

“Okay, let’s revisit the cock hungry whore thing real quick. I know I would want that. But why would you want that?”

“Oh, Professor Reed, nothing gets me wetter than imagining a mysterious, tall man blowing into an all-women's school and corrupting every member of the student body."

“My daughter is a member of the student body,” I reminded her in an attempt to poke at what sort of moral compass she was working with. Clearly a broken one as her eyes lit up at the thought. She quickly composed herself.

"That's neither here nor there. The point is, I have a little bit of revenge planned for tonight. In exchange for the juicy stories I'm sure you'll tell me when you begin fucking these girls, I will let you watch. I promise it'll be worth your while. Meet me at my dorm room at 8 tonight.” She winked at me, slid her glasses up her nose to which they instantly fell back down, and without allowing any more questions, left my office.

I suppose my office hours weren’t such a waste of time after all.

***

I did my best to recollect which door was Emily’s based off of Harper’s explanation of the floor plan, and on the door I was pretty sure belonged to her room, there was a post-it note. It just said, 'First door on the right'. So, I suppose that was where I was supposed to go. I was pretty sure the first door on either side were just empty dorms, and I still had no idea what sort of revenge Emily had planned.

When I opened the door, I was met with a rush of humid air to my face and my shoes squeeked against the bathroom tile flooring. This must be the showers, and by the spatter of water echoing from the acoustic walls, one of them was running. The room was divided into two sections. The one I had stepped into had three bathroom stalls lining a wall, and opposite them was a partition with sinks and a mirror. On either side of that wall was an archway leading to the second section which I assumed was the showers.

I leaped a little in surprise when the door opened behind me.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Emily whispered to me.

“What are we doing here?” I whispered back.

She just put her index finger to her lip to mimic shush and leaned against the sinks. We waited in silence for one or two minutes while the shower harped on in the background and I became ever more aware of the possibility of another student walking in. Perhaps I should preemptively think of an explanation. Or perhaps Emily already had one planned. Eventually, the water cut off and I heard the plastic crumpling of a shower curtain being pulled back.

Then, silence.

Then, “Who the FUCK took my towel?!”

Amber’s voice reverberated off the tile floor and walls, bouncing all around us.

She marched around the corner, wet and naked, her dark hair somehow darker when pressed damp, clinging to her back and collar bone, and her eyes grew with tiny fires when she saw Emily smirking at her, but they turned to horrified when she noticed me.

She didn't stand uncovered for long, but in the time she did, I was able to notice how incredible her physique really was. She was definitely strong, with toned arms, abs, and thighs. But with a high enough body fat percentage that these muscles were smooth and soft looking, instead of rigid and sharp. Despite that, she didn’t have any pockets of fat anywhere. Her torso V’d perfectly into her hips, there was a slight outline of ribs visible beneath her arms, and her clavicle was perfectly defined. Her breasts were larger than I had originally pictured, round, and nearly connected, such that the dip of her sternum was invisible. Despite their size, they sat high enough that there was no sag between her underboob and her torso to slip a hand under, and her red nipples veered up into a retrousse point with her areola a puffy pale cloud dotted in goose flesh for them to rest upon. Between her legs, she had a jet black, very thick, soft-looking bushel of hair that dripped wet with water, hanging half an inch into a choppy point under the added weight.

I was lucky to have been able to observe so much because, after a quick bout of paralysis at my presence, she threw her right arm across her boobs and cupped her vagina with her left hand.

Actually, this was better. I reveled at the way the top and bottoms of her tits spilled out from her forearm and the knowledge that her erect nipples were pressing against the supple, sensitive flesh of her forearm. The thought of her left hand soaking up the water from her pubic hair, rubbing against the lips of her vagina pushed me even further.

Her mere naked body hadn’t been enough to give me an erection, but now that she was touching it, I was struggling against my zipper.

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to scream,” she said, taking each word slowly, trying to steady her shaking voice.

“Don’t worry,” Emily said to me. “Since this place is underground, all the walls are like 5 inches of concrete. You can’t hear anything outside of each room. I’ve tested it.”

“That’s slightly deranged, Emily.”

“Thank you, Professor Reed.”

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Amber said in that same slow, steady voice, although the shaking had gotten a little more prominent.

“I’m not sure, Emily just told me to come witness whatever it was she had planned for you.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Emily said, taking her phone from her pocket. “Say cheese,” she flashed the camera several times at Amber’s wet body as she tried to back away and cover herself as much as possible, which wasn’t much.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Amber yelled, regaining herself.

Emily stood straight from her relaxed position leaning against the sink counter. She began taking slow steps toward Amber, who at this point had her back pressed against the wall. There was a significant curve to the lumbar of her spine as her large butt pressed into the cold tile and pushed her hips forward.

“Aren���t you going to do something?” Amber turned to me, her eyes begging. “You’re a fucking teacher aren’t you?”

“Eh, this seems like a civil dispute. I’m sure you two can handle it yourselves.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Well I have to make sure it doesn’t turn violent, don’t I? What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t protect my students.”

"I'm getting sick of you always picking on Iris," Emily said, the tone of her voice different now. One I've never heard before, full of malice and spite. Amber looked afraid of her.

“That’s what this is about? Fine, I’ll fucking stop,” she said.

“Well,” Emily said, still moving closer to her, now no more than an arm’s length away, “the way I see it, you’ve done so much emotional damage to that poor girl that now Professor Reed has to take it upon himself to rebuild her self-esteem. And I know what you’re thinking, 'Oh a tall, handsome, older man will have no trouble making a girl like that feel like a princess,' but Iris is a tough nut to crack. It'll probably take some time.”

“So, what? What the fuck do you want from me?” The girls were now a hair’s width away from each other. Emily was inches shorter but in a much more dominant position fully clothed, staring up at the wet, shivering, naked Amber.

“I think you need to reward Professor Reed somehow, for fixing the mess you created.”

“What? How?”

“Hmm, why don’t you let him play with your boobs for a little bit?”

“What the fuck?! No!” Amber shouted, a little bit too disgusted by the thought for my taste.

“Well,” Emily said coyly, “it’s either that or I could tell Professor Reed your little secret.”

Amber tensed. “What the fuck is wrong with you? No. You promised.”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

Amber was quiet for a handful of seconds. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, "Fine. If I do this though, then you'll promise? Not to tell anyone?"

Emily laughed. "Of course not. I need to milk it a little bit. Here, we'll make it a points-based system. Earn fifty points and I'll take it to the grave. And I'm feeling very generous today so this will count as twenty."

Amber was borderline catatonic. Her whole self had deflated, her shoulder drooped, her neck no longer supporting the weight of her head, and her knees began to give way.

“F-fine,” she relented.

Slowly, she began walking towards me, not making eye contact with either of us, still halfheartedly covering her body.

When she was close enough for me to touch her, she stopped and tilted her head down and to the side, the anterior muscle of her neck protruding. Quietly she asked, “For how long?”

“Hmmm,” Emily pretended to think. “Let’s say thirty seconds.”

Amber let out a dejected sigh and dropped her arm, letting both hands now cover her vagina, and releasing her pert boobs whose spirited bounce struck a harsh dichotomy against the rest of her harrowed body. She sniffled, and despite trying to hide it with her obfuscated face, I saw the silent tears streaming down her face.

We stood like that for a few beats before she spoke again, choking on her words, “So? What are you waiting for, let’s just get this over with.”

"I already told you, Amber," I said, "I'm not a part of this. Just here to make sure you two reach a resolution without it getting violent."

She looked up at me finally, her eyes moist but her cheeks soaked, and a look of disbelief stretched across her face. We made eye contact for a few seconds before she covered her breasts again and turned to Emily.

“I still get my fucking points!” she shouted, although she was really asking.

Emily rolled her eyes, “fine.”

Amber shoved past me and into the hall, still stark naked.

“What the fuck is your damage?” Emily demanded of me.

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“I arranged this whole fucking thing for you and you don’t take the opportunity to help yourself?”

“You didn’t arrange this for me, Emily. You used me to humiliate Amber so that you could have control over her. And you did a pretty good job. But I’ll give you some free advice. If you accidentally break someone you want to control, you don’t end up with someone perfectly submissive; you just end up with someone broken.”

Emily paused at this. After thinking it through, her demeanor changed back to its regular psychopathic effervescence.

"Maybe you'll make a good teacher after all, Professor Reed," she chirped, bouncing past me and out the door. Leaving me alone in the girl's bathroom of a dormitory I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to be in.

[lumenumbrae]

Remembering Amara - Chapter 1: Endless Firsts

My eyes slid open as the fog of mucus washed away from my retinas and sharpened the blurry texture of my plain white ceiling. I slept through my alarm, but by how much? Awkwardly craning my head, I struggled to make sense of the digital LED numbers and pulled the device forward to get a clearer view only for the thing to scare the shit out of me as it went off in my hands. I muted it, swung my feet over the side of my bed, let out a heavy sigh, and set it back on the nightstand. In only one day, it seems my biological clock had re-tuned itself perfectly.

"You didn't just hit snooze, did you? We're going to be late," a high and feminine voice sang from behind my closed door. My heart sped up. Who had broken into my home? By the sound of her voice, she seemed on the younger side, and if timbre can account for stature, petite. It was best to handle this with a sense of maturity and level-headedness. Had it been a man, or a particularly husky-sounding woman, perhaps a makeshift weapon would be in order, but with the dainty squeal of her coquettish inquisition I was positive I could handle her in a fight should it come down to it. The logic was foolproof.

Getting up and clocking the location of the nearest bat-shaped weapon just in case (my desk lamp), I slowly turned the handle and swung forward the cheap plywood door to reveal an angel. Literally. An angel. Only this angel was most likely human and also not an angel. She was two full heads my junior and had a boyish immature figure with straight hips and a barely budding chest dressed in blue pajamas, but my eyes weren't drawn to her body for long. She had a rounded face pulled tight only against her jawline and forehead. Her fair skin still somehow possessed a sun-kissed glow and was adorned with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her ski-slope nose. Her dark green eyes had a distressed droop revealing the sanpaku crescent of white beneath her iris. The entire structure of her heart-shaped face was framed and accentuated by down-soft and lightly tousled ginger hair. The beautiful thing had its stare fixed at me with a bemused smirk lifting every feature half a hair upward.

I was frozen in her gaze. Unable to speak or move or think. Our eyes locked for what felt like a minute but was really only a moment before the slight upturn of her cupid's bow lips began to sag and color began to flush her dotted face. She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You can get dressed, you know,” she murmured, looking down. “We’re not that late.”

I fired my gaze down at my body, fearing I was naked but relieved to find it was only my torso left unclothed, my bottom half was secured in some generic ratty sweats I couldn’t quite remember buying.

I looked back up to find her still blushing towards her toes.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" I tried to ask as non-insultingly as possible as I didn't want to scare off this baby bird that had someone flown into my coop.

Mission failed. Her face shot up in horror.

“I-I k-know it was l-late last night and dark but you mean you really don’t r-remember –”

“Wait, we didn’t –”

“Your own d-daughter!”

Sharp pain spiked deep into the front of my brain and I instinctively clasped my face into the palm of my hand in a desperate attempt at reprieve. She let out a quick yelp and caught me as I began to fall, which, being twice her size, toppled both of us to our knees. She wrapped me closer to her, allowing me to bury my burning head into the nook of her neck, but the pain was so brief it was already almost a memory.

“Are you okay?” she questioned, more rhetorical alarm than anything else.

"Yes, yes," I said, gently pushing her away from me, feeling slightly annoyed at my sudden episode. I held the small frame of her shoulders in my hands so I could get a better look at her face. Her worried eyes instantly smoothed out my irritation, and I felt an odd obligation to console her. "Of course I remember you Harper, I was just still half-asleep, I guess."

“No, it’s okay. I know it’s been so long. I’ll make up for all that time though, I promise.”

“It’s alright.” I stood up, and stretched my palm out to help her up as well. She really was light as a feather. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just happy to be back here, with you. Why don’t you give me a minute to get dressed.” I wanted her out of my room, to gather my thoughts by myself.

She took a startled step back as if forgetting that I was half-naked, which was an amusing kind of anachronism coming from a girl on the northern crest of womanhood, if only barely. But it made sense. Mine was probably the first male chest she had seen since she was an infant. Maybe even the first male face if the rumors were true. She muttered something about getting started on breakfast, and I closed the door to her back as she scampered away.

I walked towards my desk and collapsed into the office chair, allowing myself to drop the forced smile that I hadn't noticed had set my face so uncomfortably rigid. Lightly, I poked at my forehead with my forefinger, but the pain had subsided completely. It maybe never even happened. Maybe I just fell from stress or exhaustion, and the story my unconscious came up with to explain it was a piercing migraine. Either way, I was fine now.

I noted the time, 7 am, to try and calculate how much sleep I managed to get last night. Harper did say I got in late, but I was having trouble recalling the exact hour and quickly gave up. Based on the heaviness behind my eyes, probably nothing more than 4 or 5 hours.

The letter she wrote me was on my desk. I must've emptied it out of my pocket last night because it was a little crumpled. I re-read it despite having it practically memorized.

Hi dad,

How are you?

I know this is a little weird, I hope it’s not bad of me to write you after so long. I’m sorry I haven’t been. Really.

I’m also sure your life in Virtopia is great and perfect, but the reason I’m writing is just in case maybe you wanted something different.

There's a job opening at my school, in Amara. I told them all about you, and, well honestly, it's not like there are other candidates. It's yours if you want it. There's an extra room in my house. I mean, I'll give you the master bedroom, I'll stay in the spare room.

Just, if you’re interested, get here before the school year starts. I miss you.

Love,

Harper

And I did manage to get there before the school year started. By less than 12 hours. But I guess the job was mine, although I still wasn't entirely sure what it was I was supposed to be doing. Teaching, I suppose. And Harper said there weren't any other candidates, so I used that as a crutch to justify my terrible punctuality, lack of experience, and ignorance of the job title. It didn't matter one way or another to me. I needed to get out, and this could be it.

I threw the letter back onto my desk and sighed in what was quickly becoming a habit.

I grabbed some clothes and slid out into the hall, without being spotted, to the single shared bathroom. The house didn't seem large, and I was still getting used to it, but I could see how it had the bones to be a real home. A new start.

I shaved quickly, cursing when I nicked myself in a couple spots, and took a quick shower, before finding Harper in the kitchen humming to herself while cooking something on the stove. She was already out of her pajamas and dressed in a pastel pink, almost white button-up blouse tucked neatly into a mid-length, white pleated skirt. I wondered if it was the school uniform or simply her own style. I had just put on a short sleeve, white button-up, no tie, and jeans, which I was hoping would be an appropriate level of casual yet professional for my first day.

“Eggs benedict!” she professed proudly. “Your favorite.”

“It is, but how do you remember –”

“Eat quickly,” she commanded, arranging the breakfast on a plate. “You’ll probably want to speak to the dean before class starts.”

***

I arrived at the entrance of the school a little worse for wear. Harper didn’t have a car, and seemingly neither did anyone else. Aside from a few buses, it would seem everyone in Amara walks everywhere.

The school itself left me speechless. Not as speechless as when I saw my daughter’s face this morning, but as far as architecture goes, not bad.

"It used to be a cathedral," Harper explained. The building was large and concrete, with sharp spires emerging like stalagmites from the roof. It was trimmed in lattice molding, and gargoyles defended the large oak arch door. The five steps it took to reach the threshold gave way to a small gold plaque beside the door. 'Bridge Academy'.

“I thought Amara’s school was called Academia Amara?” I asked.

Harper let out a meek giggle. "The Academia is for the gifted students," she explained sheepishly. "That's why they got the real college campus after everything was rebuilt. This is like a spillover school for the less… intellectually adept."

Well, at least that meant I wouldn't be in charge of teaching any super-geniuses; although, if the rumors are true, even their invalids might give me a run for my money.

Inside, students bustled back and forth, teasing and shouting and scurrying to wherever they needed to be, but my presence around them salted the raucous atmosphere. They slowed, stared, and grew quiet. I stopped in my tracks, aware that I had more than a dozen pairs of eyes all belonging to beautiful young women transfixed on a single point: me. I didn't mind the attention but Harper seemed visibly embarrassed by my side, and once the whispering began, she firmly planted her palms against my back and began pushing me through the crowd.

“I hope you’re taking me to see the dean.”

“Class starts in two minutes. You can talk to the dean after.”

I planted my feet firmly into the ground, eliciting a loud squeak against the archaic wood floors and causing Harper to face plant between my shoulder blades.

“Harper, I don’t even know what my job is.”

“You’re my new teacher, silly.”

“I don’t know what subject, or what time block I teach it.”

“It’s all of the subjects. Every time block. Each class only has one teacher for the whole day.”

I spun around to look at her. “Harper, I hope you told them I am barely qualified to teach English.”

She squinted at me. “Didn’t you teach in Virtopia?”

“That was technically my job title, yes.”

Harper shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I hope you know I love you and think the world of you, but like I said, there weren’t any other options. The school needed a warm body, and that’s your role, at least for today.”

“Then I’m your guy.”

She smiled and continued to steer me with her hands despite my ability to walk on my own, and I continued to let her because her thin fingers and minuscule palms pressed against me felt oddly electric. We continued to receive stares from the few girls who remained in the halls, especially with our new choreography, but I kept my eyes facing forward and nearly tumbled onto my face when Harper suddenly came to a stop.

“Here,” she said, standing outside a windowless door.

“I sure hope this isn’t the altar.”

“No, all of the real church stuff is upstairs. This level was actually originally designed to be classrooms. I think just mostly for Sunday school and stuff.”

I paused for a moment, wondering if I should have prepared literally anything at all. If my memory serves, the first day of classes typically is just spent going over the syllabus and expectations. I had not prepared a syllabus and my expectations were ground-level. I made to sigh but caught myself. This was a new life for me. I could be anyone I wanted. I would not allow myself to become a sigher.

“Well, no time like the present,” I said and burst confidently through the door.

What was waiting inside caught me by surprise. The desks outnumbered the students 3 to 1. I didn't even need to use my fingers to count that there were only nine girls inside. They were all clad in some similar version to Harper's button-up and pleated skirt combo, but with different cuts, colors, and styles, so I assumed it was less of an official uniform and more of a cultural expectation.

The girls were already seated, most of them in the middle or front row, and one girl in the back. Still, even with them scattered, the class had an eerie, empty feel to it. I felt Harper's presence behind me and all my new student's glares bore a hole right through me, so I made my way to the board before they could do any significant organ damage.

“Alright,” I exclaimed, as authoritative as possible, wanting to establish myself as a strong and in-charge professor before any miscreants could begin heckling me and risk plummeting the entire class into a disrespectful den of barely-over-the-adolescent-hill hyenas treating me like a substitute for the rest of the year. First impressions were important after all.

“Why are you a boy?”

I had not acted fast enough. I hadn’t even written my name on the board when the girl cut in with a question that, had I prepared one, would have most definitely not been on the syllabus.

As a charming and charismatic adult male used to navigating complex interpersonal social dynamics, my retort came cleverly and naturally, "Why are you a girl?"

The student who asked the question, an olive-toned short woman with dark black hair pulled into a messy bun that almost disguised the curlicue ringlets it hung in, wore a repulsed expression made all the more cutting by her dark, almond-shaped eyes, tiny button nose, and full lips.

“You’re not an idiot, are you? They didn’t give up on us so much they hired an idiot to teach us?” the racially ambiguous instigator accused.

“Listen, given the similarity of our questions, I think your response is a little ironic. But honestly, that may very well be the case. I got in last night, slept very little, and was shoved into this classroom by my very attractive daughter whom I have not spoken to in years.”

A hand shot up from the only girl occupying the last row of seats. She had long, straight black hair sprayed into a sleek ponytail. Poisonous navy blue eyes encircled in dark ringlets, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. She was tall, standing at around 5'9", and had a slim, athletic build. It was clear from the get-go that these two would be the problem students.

“Yes?” I said to her.

“Why the fuck did you just describe your daughter as very attractive?”

I made a slight gesture to Harper who was still shyly standing beside me, "Look at her."

Another hand shot up in the front row, this time from an adorable honey-brown-haired, rosy-cheeked girl sitting atop a pear-shaped figure. She had on a pair of round, gold-trimmed glasses that slid down the small bridge of her nose. This one did not wait for me to call on her, "You don't have GSA, do you?"

“I do not know what that is,” I replied.

The messy-bun girl who started all this interjected, "Genetic sexual attraction is a disordered physical and emotional attraction to family members who have restored contact after living apart for long periods."

“Listen,” I started, “if it makes you feel better, I’ll talk to the guidance counselor after class and square away the GSA rumors.”

“You are the guidance counselor,” another girl in the front row whispered meekly. This one might’ve been even smaller than Harper. Her thin face was fixed to her desk, and she had dirty blonde hair done in loose twin-tail braids.

“Wait, I’m the guidance counselor? I thought I was the teacher.”

Messy-bun chortled. “The teacher for each class is also the guidance counselor for that class.”

“Ah, then great news everyone, I have met with the guidance counselor and he has cleared me of any of this GSA nonsense. Now please never bring that up again. Harper, you can sit now.”

"Oh, right, sorry," she squealed and quickly made her way to sit between a curvy body with long straightened platinum blonde hair spilling down across big blue eyes and cherry colored lips whom I had taken note of when I first entered and a square-faced, dark-haired girl who I hadn't noticed until now. She was one of the more striking students in the class, and given the overall attractiveness of the room, that was saying something. She was also possibly the smallest. She had a messy wolf cut, which served to partially hide her pale face and sunken cheeks, and she was scowling right at me through her thin, rectangular eyebrow. I wonder how long that had been going on. I stared at her a moment before she dramatically rolled her eyes and fixed her gaze elsewhere.

"Alright," I said, trying again. I grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote out 'Professor Reed' on the board. "I am Professor Reed. I will be your new babysitter. Once I learn a little bit more about this place, maybe I'll even try my hand at teaching something, but honestly, don't hold your breath. Any questions?"

No less than five hands shot up, including from my own daughter. The betrayal.

"Wonderful. With no questions, let's begin with introductions. You know my name, I'm from Virtopia, and my hobbies include…" The piercing pain returned and I ducked my head into my hand again, groaning a bit against the sting.

"Weird fucking hobby," the girl with the ponytail exclaimed.

By the time she finished the sentence, the distress had faded and I was once again left wondering if that was even real. I caught the wolf-cut girl's eyes again, and if I wasn't mistaken she looked scared, but was quick to hide it.

"Anyway," I continued. "Let's start with you." I gestured to the girl with blonde twin tails.

“Oh, um, yeah,” she whispered, before moving on to what I assume was her name, but was spoken too softly to hear.

“Great, now one more time, but for everybody.”

“I-Iris,” she squeaked out, even this still relatively quiet affect seemingly requiring too much effort and causing her voice to break on the second syllable.

“Pleasure to meet you, Iris. Next.”

Beside Iris, with an empty desk between them, was the girl who started the GSA tangent. She pushed her glasses on instinct back up her nose and they were quick to slide back down. "I'm Emily."

“Great, and anything you’d like to tell us about yourself, Emily?”

"You didn't make Iris tell you about herself." Iris shifted uncomfortably in her chair at the mention of her name, her eyes still transfixed on the same spot on her desk.

“Yes, Emily, that’s called choosing your battles. Now, go ahead.”

“Fine, I’m Emily, I like writing erotic fan fiction and masturbating on the back of the bus.”

“Stellar introduction Emily, everyone else take note. Next.”

A girl of average height with an average face made exceptional by long, flat silver-blonde hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders and sparkling gray eyes smiled up at me. “I’m Lily. Um, I guess I like gardening and, um, sometimes I also watch movies.”

"Next," I said, turning my gaze to the far end of the front row where a girl with a fake orange tan and large breasts atop a slim, gymnast body wore bold lashes and mascara to highlight the robin's egg blue eyes she had engrossed in her phone. I didn't make to grab her attention again. Just stood silently for around thirty seconds before Emily came to the rescue.

“Jesus, Natalie, he’s talking to you!”

Natalie’s eyes darted up in fear, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, what was the question?”

I glanced at Emily, signaling for her to repeat the prompt.

“He wants to know your cup size.”

“What?”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re doing introductions. Just your name and something about yourself.”

“Oh,” she relaxed, “I’m Natalie. And I do swimming and gymnastics.” Called it.

"Next," I said relishing this moment as the leftmost person in the second row was the wolf-cut girl. I didn't know what it was about her that drew me in so much, but even this tiny inroad I was about to make had my heart pounding. I kept a calm, demure expression and made gentle eye contact in hopes of befriending her through body language.

“Maya,” she said, curtly.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

"Well, alright. See, Emily, picking your battles," I joked to hide my disappointment. "I already know you, Harper, so we'll skip." She somehow looked hurt by that comment, but it felt silly to ask her to introduce herself when everyone here knew each other already besides me. "Next."

The platinum blonde to Harper’s right seemed to be waiting for this very moment, “I’m Ava, James! Don’t you remember me?”

“First off, Professor Reed. Second, no.”

She flashed a fake pout, "Well that's okay, I'm over basically every day, so I'm sure we'll get re-acquanited real well, James.”

Harper was looking at her horrified.

“Next.”

“I’m Kira,” said a pale, smooth-skinned girl with short, choppy hair dyed black with streaks of vibrant pink and blue. Her hazel eyes were slightly down-turned, giving her a sultry look, and her thin-lipped mouth held the perpetual expression of disapproval. "I play guitar."

“Next,” I said, this time tinged with a touch of acidity because we had now reached the messy-bun girl.

“Sofia,” she replied just as gruffly. “And before you start acting like a bitch to me, just know if you really plan on doing nothing as our teacher, you’ll need my help to pull it off.”

I quickly switched to a much more cheery tone, "Noted. Next."

Finally, we reached Miss Ponytail. She looked displeased being forced to communicate with me.

“Amber.” she finally said.

“What types of things do you like to do, Amber?”

“Pass.”

"Now, Emily, remember what I said about picking your battles." I turned back to Amber. "Really, I insist. Why don't you come up to the front of the class and tell everyone a little bit about yourself."

“Everyone here fucking knows me.”

Emily’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Emily?”

“I can tell you all about, Amber.”

“Okay, please do.”

Amber stood up from her seat, looking a little bit frightened.

"Fine," she said before Emily could get a word out. She put on a fake, cutsie falsetto, "I'm Amber, I love taking in stray kittens and watching anime." She just as quickly dropped the voice, "We good?"

“That was perfect, everybody clap for Amber please.”

Emily and Ava were the only two to clap. The betrayal.

I sat at my desk and stared at my new class. Certainly, some of them would need some work. Some would require having their edges smoothed out and others, like Iris, might need some help finding their voice. But overall, I was happy with my students. For what they lacked in personality they more than made up for in hotness.

I glanced back toward Maya. She had returned to staring at me. This time continuing unbroken even when our eyes met. Neither of us blinked as we continued to fix our gazes on each other’s faces.

"Um, Maya, why are you glaring at my dad?" Harper half-whispered, leaning towards her.

“I’m waiting for him to tell us what we’re supposed to be doing.”

There was a small murmur of agreement among her peers, and I met it with a shrug. “Whatever you want, I don’t have anything planned.”

“There are five hours left in class,” Sofia scolded.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I replied.

“Okay, then can you at least help us pass some of that time by explaining why you’re here?”

“I’m the new teacher, and guidance counselor, I guess. What do you mean?”

“No one immigrates here from Virtopia, least of all men.”

"Well, first of all, if no one immigrates here, there can't be a least of all. Second, I did, and I'm a man, so I think men actually account for 100% of your immigration."

“Um,” Harper raised her hand tentatively.

“Yes, Harper.”

“I can try and explain it.” Everyone in unison turned to her and she lowered her hand coyly. “So, the dean actually came and found me a few months ago and asked about my dad. She said she knew he was a teacher in Virtopia, and we desperately needed new teachers here, and so I wrote and asked him to come.”

“Why a man, though?” Sofia pressed.

“There’s no law forbidding men from moving to Amara,” Maya said, surprising me.

“Okay, so the rumors are true then.” I took the moment to quell my own curiosity.

Maya turned to me. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard about Amara and I can tell you what’s true.”

"That it's basically a society of super-intelligent women with no men allowed."

She let out a disappointed sigh. "As you know, after NovaCorp petitioned the government to abandon fiat currency in lieu of their own cryptocurrency, they used their new monopolization of the dollar to start a high-tech metaverse city, Virtopia." She was right, I did already know that. I was there when it happened 10 years ago.

"Those wary of the city just becoming a company-town for a megacorporation wherein residents would be dependent on a fake currency only usable inside city limits decided to stay behind." I'm not entirely sure I knew that. I knew some people stayed behind, but all the news inside Virtopia just said that they were heathens or anarchists. It wasn't until well after Amara's incorporation that news began to leak of there being a super society of women. It was always just rumors, though.

"The fact that most people who did not migrate to Virtopia just so happened to be women and of higher IQ is up to anyone's interpretation. But, because there were so many resources freed up from 90% of the population exiting, because the overall average intelligence level had increased significantly, and because there were far fewer men which lead to much less crime and fighting, those outside of Virtopia's walls did create their own parallel society under a new economic structure which does not include traditional commerce, and named it Amara. So, yes Professor, it does consist primarily, though not exclusively, of women who have a higher average intelligence level than those in Virtopia; and yes, it is currently experiencing what might be called a technological and research revolution. You get a C minus." Maya wrapped up.

“Well that is the most I’ve gotten you to talk all day, so I give myself an A plus.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes again.

“So, how do y’all have kids?” I asked.

“By having sex,” Emily answered.

"Just so we're all on the same page, I know how kids are made. I meant here, in Amara."

“Our birthrate is extremely low,” Lily answered softly. “Like, 0.3 or something.”

"To be clear," Sofia said, "since you don't seem like you know much, a society's target birthrate to at the very least replace its citizens each year is 2.1."

“I did not know that,” I admitted. “See, you’re helping already, Sofia.”

“And I’m guessing that’s why the dean asked Harper to bring you here,” Emily said. “To breed all of us.”

“Wait, what?” Natalie, who had until this point been staring at her phone again, exclaimed.

“And you’ll be the first to bat, Natalie. Your body is in pristine condition—definitely the best to bear children. I think we could probably get at least 20 or so out of you before you’re too old and weak. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and a few will be twins or even triplets.”

“Wait, what?” Natalie said again, fear clouding her eyes.

"It makes sense. We're the Bridge Academy. The rejects. Good for jack all except mindless reproduction. Maybe if you weren't on your phone so much you would've done better on your exams."

The chatter continued, and I let the conversation progress untethered as I leaned back into my chair and closed my eyes. Their voices became gargled and distorted as I slowly drifted into sleep.

When he wakes up he finds himself tied to a wooden chair. His sweet, darling daughter is knelt before him, taking care to wash his bare feet.

“This will make you love me, right?” she asks, her voice a shiver reverberating against the cold metal box they exist in, its echo decaying into a descending harmony.

“No, right?” she continues. “Because I know what you really want. All you ever wanted.”

She stands before him, cloaked in an ill-fitting sundress as if to hide her proportions. Coquettishly, she peers off to one side and begins to lift the dress, slowly. She reveals the pale, smooth curve of her stick-thin thighs, higher and higher. It becomes obvious she isn’t wearing any underwear. But where her sweet, innocent, unused pussy should be is a different kind of gash. One made presumably with a hunting knife or hacksaw. Wide, bloody, lined in the yellow and white enamel of fat particles and gaping to reveal her innards had been scooped out. No uterus or intestines or anything, just the red lining of her cavity walls.

“I had to make it myself,” she whispers. “I hope it’ll still work. I tried real hard.”

She reaches forward, and undoes his zipper, pulling out his cock. He is rock-hard, and she smirks at him. She lowers the wound on top of him and due to its sheer size, he slides in easily. Although, there isn't much friction in a cavernous space such as a carved-out stomach. He curses his luck.

“Oh, don't worry, I think I can help with that," she says, reading his mind. She really is the best daughter a guy could ask for. Soon, a warm slithering sensation encases his penis, and then another, and another, one of which even begins trying to protrude down his urethra, although without much success. He curses his luck.

Looking down at what was mimicking the multiplicity of tongues so well, he is pleasantly surprised to see the pseudo-blowjob is the result of half a dozen or so slugs that had crawled from her torso and around his dick. She must have been breeding them in there for some time, because these were fully mature, adult slugs. He surrenders euphorically to the sucking and crawling and biting of these majestic creatures, and so is understandably upset when someone decides to interrupt him.

“Don't you think it's a little early for this?" she asks. He tilts his head to wolf-cut girl. The bitch. So rude to him. And ruining this lovely father-daughter moment, to boot. He would need to teach her a lesson.

Oh wait, that's right, he doesn't teach. That's like his whole thing. He begins to laugh, and wolf-cut girl sighs. Goddamn, that girl is such a sigher. Not like him. He would never let himself become a sigher.

I shot up at the feeling of a small hand squeezing my shoulder.

“Wakey-wakey! I think you should probably go talk to the dean before she leaves for the day.”

I took a moment to gather my bearings. I had fallen asleep at my desk. The girl waking me was Harper. Every other student seemed to have left already.

“Is school over?”

“Yup!”

“Oh, alright. Then yeah, I’ll go talk to the dean. Can you wait up for me? I don’t quite have the route home memorized yet.”

“Of course we’re walking home together!” she proclaimed, insulted.

“Alright, and would you also mind pointing me in the direction of the dean?”

The two of us exited the classroom, and Harper lead me down the hallway, where students continued to deposit their books into lockers, talk to friends, and prepare to go home. Again, my presence had an outsized effect on the space and whispers began to emanate from all around us. In response, Harper just grabbed my hand to lead me faster, but the physical touch caused a collective gasp from those watching. She shifted her head to flash me a smile as if that was her intent.

We hardly made it down the first hallway before we were stopped. Sofia stood before us, intentionally blocking our path. No longer shielded by her desk, I could see she was a few inches shorter than Harper, although likely still breaking 5 feet by an inch or two. I was also disappointed to find I could not quite make out any sort of body type thanks to her shirt and skirt being two sizes too large. Well, at least it left more to the imagination. I also noted she was holding a booklet of some sort. She lifted the bound paper array and pressed it into my chest before making to walk off.

“Any sort of context, or…?”

"It's from the dean," she said, ceasing her walk, but keeping her back to me. "It's logistics about your job and expectations and stuff. I figure it's best if you leave most of the interfacing between the administration and our class to me. I think you could potentially speed-run getting fired if first impressions are anything to go off of."

“And? Why do you care?”

She turned to face me, “I don’t know what happens to our class if they can’t staff a teacher. Even for Bridgers, your class specifically is the lowest performing, and frankly, they’d probably end up just kicking all of them out or something. A teacher with zero expectations who just plans on handing out A’s might actually be the best thing for them.”

“You’re talking like you’re not also part of the class.”

“I ended up with these idiots for different reasons. Reasons that aren’t any of your business.” She spun back around and walked off.

“Well then, that’s that. Ready to go home?” Harper beamed up at me, still gripping my hand.

“Is what she said true? Am I in charge of the dummies?”

That dampened Harper’s expression. “A lot of the girls are actually really smart. They just don’t always do their best academically for various reasons. But with you here, I’m sure you can turn them around!”

“What about you? Are you dumb or just troubled?”

If my previous statement dampened her expression, this extinguished it. Her eyes drifted off into space and she spoke with stoicism, "I did fine in high school, but I mean, you know what happened my senior year. And I guess after that, I just gave up on finals."

I did not know what happened her senior year, but given her demeanor, I figured it was best not to push it. "Ok, well then. Home?"

I watched as she intentionally compartmentalized whatever had just ailed her and in record time return to her bubbly disposition. With a smile, she pulled me towards the exit, through a gaggle of girls who coagulated at the bottom of the stoop, past the brass gates, and down half a block before she finally found it prudent to drop my hand. I suppose without an audience, it was less significant.

"Oh, by the way, Ava and Maya are sleeping over tonight," she informed.

“Maya? You two are friends?”

She stopped under the shade of a cherry blossom. The sun was only a few hours past its peak and its heat pulsed oppressively from the concrete sidewalk all around us. The slight cover provided by the tree made me realize how hot it really was. The early morning was cooler, but still warm enough for the button T-shirt I was wearing, which should’ve been some indication of how aggressive the afternoons would be. Harper’s cheeks were flushed with heat, and I could see beads of sweat forming at her hairline. She wiped them with the back of her hand before they had a chance to travel down the tight flesh of her forehead.

“Yeah, Ava, Maya, and I are best friends.”

“And what’s Ava’s deal, why was she being weird to me today?”

Harper's cheeks surprised me by turning even redder but she managed to maintain eye contact through her embarrassment, "She somehow got it in her head that she's in love with you. I'm sure she'll get over it."

“And how did she get that into her head?”

"Well, we were both practically joined at your hip when we were little," she murmured. “I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder and all..” she trailed off. "But don't worry, I'd never let her steal you," she flashed eyes at me as if that were supposed to mean something. Before I could reply, she spun graciously, her skirt billowing into a cone, and began a light skip back into the atrocious sunlight, leaving me to reluctantly follow.

***

I stared at the packet Sofia had given to me. It taunted me from its post atop my desk, next to the half-crumpled letter of Harper's. This was a watershed moment for me. I could do my due diligence and read the thing, and even if I chose to ignore its contents, I would at least be aware of them. Or I could make a firm commitment here and now to completely abscond any remote possibility of taking my job seriously and burn it. When I thought about it like that, the choice became clear.

I grabbed the thick, three-hole-punched pariah and took it to the kitchen. Harper was taking a shower before the girls arrived, so it was just me and my matches for the time being. I caught the corner of the pages under the lick of the torch but it took some creative maneuvering for the fire to light in earnest. Soon, however, it was a behemoth of a flame. I dropped it into the metal basin of the sink and watched the pyre rise at least a meter tall, just short enough to not catch the cabinets.

“What are you burning?”

I turned to find Maya in the foyer, presumably having just entered from outside. She was still removing her shoes. She had changed out of her school clothes and was in a gray t-shirt that hugged a torso thin enough my hands could nearly encircle its circumference. And jeans.

“The teacher’s manual.”

"Really?" Her brows creased in concern as she walked into the kitchen. She was short. More than a foot under me, and she had to tilt her head upward to make eye contact.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Funny.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Walking into your teacher’s house without even bothering to knock.”

She gave me a piercing scowl. “Your house? Last I checked this was Harper’s house.”

“I sleep in the master bedroom, I figure it’s my house.”

“You made Harper move bedrooms?”

“She offered.”

"James!" Ava was now in the same one-legged flamingo stance at the entryway, stumbling to remove both her shoes. She had also changed into more casual clothes, which for her was a blue tracksuit, the zipper fighting to stay up against her pressing breasts.

“You girls are very quiet, I need to add a bell to this door.”

She ran past Maya and into my chest, wrapping her arms around me. "Are you excited to spend the night with us?" she asked without letting go. "We can watch movies and gossip about all the shitty girls in our class and you can tell me everything about Virtopia." Her voice was a little muffled because her nose was buried in my sternum.

"That is not what is going to happen," Maya said, matter of factly. "In fact, Professor Reed was just on his way to his room so he could leave us alone for the rest of the night, and with any luck, forever."

Ava twirled away from my chest but kept her back pressed against my torso so that I could feel the softness of her butt dig into my leg. "You think the first night in over a decade I get to spend in the same home as the love of my life we'll be separated?"

“Fine, you go join him. I, however, will mathematically discern which area of the property is farthest away from both of you and spend my night there.”

Ava twirled again to face me, this time seductively placing a palm on my pec and tip-toeing to get her face marginally closer to mine, managing to get her eyes about lip level to me.

“How does that sound, James?” she purred. “You and me, alone, all night?”

"Well, I certainly wouldn't say no," I replied.

“W-what is going on?”

All of us turned to find Harper, hair still wet and slick against her scalp and dressed in only a towel, staring at us in horror.

“James and I are planning on running away together,” Ava smirked.

“I was just trying not to choke on my own vomit,” Maya deadpanned.

“What’s burning?” Harper asked, the flames behind us still fighting for life, albeit much smaller.

“The booklet Sofia gave me.”

“There’s so much happening!” Harper stomped. “Ava! Maya! Come with me!" She stormed forward and tugged at the two girls, dragging them into her bedroom and leaving me alone in the slightly smokey living area. Before leaving, I went to make sure the embers were entirely out, and at the bottom of the ash pile something reflected in the light. I reached for it and found myself holding a gray metallic card with my name engraved across it. It seemed important, so I pocketed it.

I fiddled around, not doing much for a few hours, debating how inappropriate it would be for me to crash the girls’ party. Ava and Harper would surely be delighted to have me, but I figured it was best not to overstep my bounds around Maya too much in one day. She was sort of like a feral cat. You had to slowly insert yourself into their life, more and more each day, until they ease into the thought of domestication as if it was their idea all along.

So, instead, I just listened to their laughs and loud conversation muffled through the thin walls while I stared up at my ceiling. Well, I listened to Ava and Harper’s laughs and conversation. If Maya talked at all, it was not audible. And something told me the girl was not one to laugh, at least not so freely.

It was obvious the girls would be up late into the night, and part of me wanted to remind them we all had school tomorrow. But I decided against it. Contemplating if I was even drowsy enough to fall asleep, it struck me that Harper had the right idea. I was still slicked in sticky salt from the hot walk home, and a shower would probably put me to sleep.

I stripped out of my button-up and jeans, and instead of grabbing anything new, just walked to the bathroom in my underwear.

The warm water was just the ticket as it melted my tensed muscles and washed away the summer swelter. I took my time, cleaning my hair and face and body, and then just standing under the stream before finally feeling at ease enough to crawl into bed and drift off.

Cutting water to the shower, I swung back the curtain and found that there were no towels. The one Harper took to her room must've been the last clean one. I should reprimand her for this later as her father. I very nearly almost sighed but was quick to catch myself. It wasn't a big deal. It'd take no more than 5 minutes to just let myself air dry in the tub, at least to the degree that I wasn't dripping, and then I could just go under my covers a little bit damp.

After letting myself air dry for a little while, I stepped from the shower just as the door to the bathroom opened and shut and one of the girls walked in absentmindedly. I noticed her before she noticed me, but when she finally did look up, Ava froze like a deer in headlights. First, she made eye contact, but as the reality of the situation sunk in, she slowly turned her gaze down until she set her wide-eyed stare directly on my flaccid penis.

The expression of shock and slightly agape mouth was almost comical, and I waited a few beats for her to do or say something, but it quickly became apparent she truly was frozen.

“Can I help you with something, Ava?” I asked.

“Sorry,” she muttered, not moving her eyes and barely moving her mouth, “I heard the shower turn off a few minutes ago and thought you went back to your room.”

“Nope. Still here. Harper took the last towel so I was letting myself air dry.”

"Oh," she murmured, and then, as if some struggling synapse finally managed to fire off, she snapped back. "Oh! Oh my God, I'm so sorry." She slapped her right hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I – I’ll just…”

“Why don’t you just hand me my underwear. They’re right next to you, by the sink.”

“Your underwear? You want me to t-touch your underwear?”

“Weren’t you just talking about spending the night alone with me a few hours ago? This seems like small potatoes.”

"Small potatoes, yup, this is just small potatoes," she chanted to herself, one hand still covering her eyes and the other blindly grasping at the countertop in search of my boxers. It took her a couple tries, but she managed to find them, and holding them outstretched before her, pinched between her thumb and the knuckle of her index, she began to slowly take a few steps towards me.

I was going to just swipe them out of her hand and save her from this clearly tortuous task, despite how amusing I found it, but her blind grace betrayed her and she slipped on the still slick tile floor and I had to switch tacks to saving her from chipping a tooth. I tried to catch her under her armpits, but she stumbled forward more than I was expecting and toppled me onto my back, sending a jolt of pain up my tailbone.

I whistled through my teeth and clenched my eyes until the pain faded to a dull throb and then glanced forward to find I had indeed mostly broken Ava’s fall, her torso laid flat across my thighs and her face… Right next to my dick.

She no longer had her eyes pressed shut. In fact, it would seem she had reverted to her earlier plegic state of wide-eyed astonishment. Her mouth close enough to lick it if she wanted to, her silky smooth hair splayed out, mingling with my own pubic hair, and her giant blue eyes affixed on my cock, I was entirely helpless as the tantalizing combination forced me into a full erection.

At the very least, this helped break Ava from her comatose. She brought herself up to her elbows, her arms straddling my thigh which rubbed against her clothed breasts. The zipper of her jacket was pulled half down, and braless cleavage began to spill out. Instead of pulling away, she used the position to get a closer look.

“Why did it get so big?” she asked, her voice a low whisper. I could now feel the warm breath from her nostrils beating against my shaft.

“They didn’t teach you this stuff in high school?”

"I know what a boner is. Why is it the size of my forearm?" she asked, casting me a cautious glance.

“That’s a little bit of an exaggeration,” I said.

Without hesitation, she shifted her weight to her left side and pressed her right forearm against my penis. They were roughly the same width and length. She struck an accusatory look.

“Don’t give me that, it wasn’t my decision,” I said.

“How does this fit inside people?” she asked. The soft crushed velvet fabric of her sleeve was still pressed tightly down against me. Every small movement I made grinded against it. She didn't seem aware though as she stared at me in curiosity.

"Maybe you can find out someday," I told her, taking careful breaths in to avoid becoming overstimulated.

She blushed and the combination of her platinum hair, blue eyes, and pastel-pink face gave off an Easter palate of sorts.

“W-well, m-maybe…” she seemed to be working up the courage to retort with something.

“Ava! Where are you?” I heard Harper yell from around the living room area.

“Shit!” Ava whispered, jumping to her feet.

"I swear if you're in Dad's room!"

“N-no, I’m using the toilet!” she called out, her voice trembling.

“Is everything okay?” Harper asked, now directly outside the door.

“Yes! It’s fine! Everything’s fine! Just give me a minute. I’ll meet you in your room!”

I lay smirking to myself watching the frazzled girl try and negotiate with Harper. Hours ago she was parading herself as some hyper-seductive spinster, but I was willing to bet this was a lot closer to the real her. Harper relented, and when we heard the door to her room close, Ava beelined it out of the bathroom, not even glancing back at me. Which was a shame, because if she had stopped even for a moment, I could have informed her she was still gripping my underwear in her left hand.

When I heard Harper's door open and close again, I decided just to walk to my room in my birthday suit. But not before pausing briefly in the hall to hear Maya say: "Ava, what is that?"

Which was promptly followed by Harper saying: “AVA, WHAT IS THAT!?”

Satisfied, I ducked into my bedroom, found my enigmatic pair of ratty old sweats, and threw them on commando, ready for bed.