Arax sat alone in his dorm-room. He sunk into his bed and looked at the books. He put his fingers over the golden seagull. Somewhere in the universe someone of vast power had created this book, for their son or for one of their loved ones and now it was Arax’s.

His roommate snored, each snore raising in volume, like a broken engine. Arax looked at his hands, his knuckles were covered in a multitude of marks. Black pock marks, to reddish scabs, a multi-colored tapestry of marks.

Arax remembered his mother washing his hands for days upon days upon days trying to get the “stains” out but it would never go. He was marked but for what Arax did not know. His mother.

Alone on her asteroid, drifting through space, untouched by the world except in her soaps. Beautiful, his mother was beautiful. Arax pulled out a broken down energy-watch, it flickered in the darkness of the dormitory. Arax checked it.

One new message.

The message had been there for days now. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it. Arax lowered his watch, but then, it buzzed. His roommate stopped snoring, got up and dusted his head.

“What’s going-”

“Nothing sorry, just my messages.” His roommate slumped back into the covers.

Two new messages.

Arax opened the notification.

“Arax, I will not be sending you anymore messages, I am gone. I am not dead, do not worry about me. I’ve gone to see your father, he needs me Arax, he’s flickering, he’s becoming part of history, his body fades, his mind grows stronger. I need to be here with him, do not look for me.” Arax stared at the message. His mother always typed in such neat script, the message looked handwritten, the L’s looped and the i’s moved across the page. At the end his mom sent a little emoticon, a donkey showing its behind.

His mother.

But there was only one message. She did not send another, she would never send another, she was gone into history. The other message.

“Your poems were wonderful.” Tearse and from a “mystical” caller. It was sent to the energy-watch through magical means. Shoes. A bubble appeared below the message, Shoes was typing.

Arax stared at the little smiley face, it stared back at him. It reminded him of waiting for his 7th ring girlfriend to respond, she never did, she was always typing, Arax found out later that she was planning on sending a large break-up message, although “life” got in the way.

“We all know about you LOL. Sorry just like we all know who each other are and like the anonymity thing was back before when the club was real secret but like we’ve always known and we’ve always known who you were, fuck I mean Staff wants to have you as an apprentice, although I don’t think you would like that (he’s a little sexual harass’y but like not too bad just like you hear things yk?) anyways. We know about your “problems” (not sexual! Be glad for that one). And we all have ways to fix them and I’m sure we could all spell them out for you but this is the one you’re probably gonna take.”

Shoe’s voice came from her texts. It resounded in Arax’s mind, it’s tinkle, it’s vibrato. The purpleness of it. Arax’s watch made another beep, she sent a file.

“Power and the Way’s to Get It” Arax opened the file.

“By-” the name was scribbled over and replaced with just “Shoes”. It was only ten pages. Arax read.

Arax put down his watch. He looked at the ceiling, tried to find a crack, maybe a speckle that didn’t belong but it wasn’t there. Nothing. Maybe Arax would’ve felt the company of the speckle or schmutz, it could’ve accompanied him in bed.

He touched his eye and pushed it close, he needed to think, the outside world was too distracting. Now he was surrounded by darkness. Darkness that pushed at the folds of his mind, a calling purple sleep cloud that needed him to sleep, but the idea of what Shoes sent him lingered.

It was four AM when his eyes opened. The air was cool, and a tree outside of his dorm window brustled in the wind. He got up and got himself some water.

Out the window a man sat alone with his dog, the leash sat limp in his hand as he looked at the stars. The man did not move for a minute, two minutes, three minutes. He was motionless. He wore a long trench coat and a hat, Arax couldn’t tell if he was fat or thin or ugly or beautiful. But he could watch his eyes stare at the stars.

The air smelled like the semi-sweet smell of blooming Ves, the trees glittered with the semi-translucent vine, it’s flowers reflected the star's light. Arax loved the smell of Ves, it’s blooming signified the start of spring and it only bloomed for about two weeks. After that, there was no smell.

It smelled like oregano mixed with vanilla, a very purple smell.

The man opened his arms wide, as if to embrace the stars like a good friend or a lover, at that moment the stars light hit the man's teeth and Arax could see his face. He looked normal, like anyone else you might see on the street, a bent misshapen nose, thin lips, it was a marvel that Arax could see his face but he appeared clear as the Ves blossoms near him.

His veins lit up with starlight, the light hit them and they reflected back at the stars. They answered back to them, said hi. The man took a long knife from his pocket and slashed at his wrists. Arax could not move and only watched as the starlight flew from the man’s wrists. Light tinged by blue with not an ounce of red blood within.

It swirled around him, making six rings around him. They spiraled and spiraled and rebounded against each other as if they were solid. The man’s dog, a short terrier, stood and watched as if it was a normal sight to it.

The rings of light vaporized the dog's leash but it did not run. For three minutes and no longer the lights swirled around the man, at the three minute mark he gasped and they went back into his wrists, however when the light subsisted where the marks of a dagger might’ve been.

His lips morphed into a smile filled with ecstasy. His lips mouthed the words “Nothing better than to be filled with power.” And he left, carrying his dog on his shoulders.

Beautiful power. Arax walked out of the room making sure to not wake his roommate. The halls were empty, and the only accompaniment for him was the noise of lights. The night air cooled his skin and the same smell of Ves took up residence in his nose but much stronger than in his dorm.

Arax went to the spot where the man was. Nothing better than to be filled with power. The line was from an opera, Arax had watched it one night with his ex-girlfriend, she was bored. He remembered watching her face slumped as she watched it.

The school sometimes put on art events for the students, the individual clubs and Masters put their expertise to use and put on plays, operas, and flying trapeze shows. As Arax’s girlfriend nudged his arm to leave he watched the actor give the final line “Nothing better than to be filled with power.” He collapsed into a shower of sparks after and the crowd was silent.

Arax looked back at his watch. “Power and the Way’s To Get It” was still on the screen. Arax brought the watch close to his face and took a sniff, it smelled normal. Ok. Arax put down his watch and took out his pocket knife, it was pink, a little cartoon character affixed to the hilt, the end was curved, the weapon of a monk.

The first step of “Power and the Way’s to Get It” read only three words. Arax sat on the spot where the man stood.

He held the knife to his skin, pressing the flat of the blade against the hair of his forearm, he cut off a hair. He massaged each forearm and stared in front of him. His eyes glossed over, he was in his thoughts, in his motions, he brought the knife to his shoulder blades, to his legs, to each part of his body. He held it right above the skin so that if he stuttered, if he jittered, if his body gave a shake.

It took three covers of his body before he cut his body. It was right below his eye, a drop of blood flowed out, flowing all the way to Arax’s lips. Once he cut himself he held himself still, lifted his arm, held his hand limp and pointed it at the spot and dragged his hand towards it. He lathered his hand in as much blood as possible. It smudged around his knuckles and fingers and soaked into his palms.

Arax moaned and his eyes closed and his body shook. His mind focused on one memory in the universe of memories. A pulsating quasar. The memory of his dad, which glowed in his mind. It’s brightness, seared past his mind's walls and tried to get out but it remained locked within his head. His dad said something, but the memory was only of his face. Arax thought of it and only it, focused on it, only on it. So much so that he stopped breathing, he stopped doing anything, he closed his eyes or rather he could not see because he only focused on the memory.

He needed to remember everything. His dads wrinkle on his left chin, his eyebrows, the spot that he forgot to shave. Everything. Time passed on tiptoes, his father’s face coming into view and out of view, and then, it appeared.

A well, with a decaying roof, each brick covered in such a thick layer of moss that it looked green, in fact everything around it had turned green. The world warped, the scenery changed, all around Arax the long pine trees of Earth stood and watched. It was a harsh dry sunny day, Arax’s breath caught and warped, his mouth became dry and the sounds of cicadas buzzed all around him