A memory, or a dream. A park, three weeks ago.

Alex had always been the better son. Well, that wasn't exactly true, he happened to be the luckier one. He never had anyone ostracize him for who he was, or how he acted, he excelled at the social situations I couldn't, he was able to do whatever he felt like doing without hesitation. He had what I didn't growing up, and I resented him for it.

Friends, always at his back, loyal, trustworthy. His teachers saw promise in him where mine had given up on me before I even had a chance to try. "He's constantly disrupting class." Spoke the teacher who ignored me when I waited patiently with my hand raised. She walked right past me, and only noticed me when I called out her name, fed up with her neglect. "He's always doodling in his notebook instead of paying attention." Spoke the teacher who never answered my questions regarding the lesson. Why pay attention when I know I'm not going to get any clarifying answers? "He never even attempts to partner up in group projects." Spoke the teacher who never believed me when I told him I did all of the work while my partner classmates sat around and gossiped.

"He's always well-behaved." Spoke the teacher who praised Alex because he never asked questions. "He always pays attention." Spoke the teacher who praised him for grasping what I couldn't. "He works well in groups." Spoke the teacher, praising him for not caring that his group was mooching off his work.

I resented him, but he was my little brother.

And now, he was an adult, like me, and he could drive, unlike me, and he had a job, unlike me. It seemed that for everything I couldn't have, he had handed to him. All of my hard work was useless. I could send in a thousand applications, call every potential workplace for an interview, go to an interview and do everything perfectly, and all he had to do was apply once.

"So." He said. "When are you getting a job?" He asked.

"I'm trying." I said.

"I got a job, no problem." He bragged. "You just gotta be confident." He waved to one of his friends. "It's easy."

"Say that to my hundreds of applications and no call backs." I said.

"Well, maybe your problem is that you don't have work experience." He said.

"I've volunteered to pet shelters, I've volunteered to recycling plants, I've scraped off paint at the local church and painted their entire fucking walls for free."

"Dude, you need to chill." He said.

"Sorry." I said. "I'm just frustrated is all."

He nodded. "Alright, well, I'll talk with my boss, I'll tell him about how you're looking for a job, and you can fill out an application." He looked at me. "You can build up your work history from there."

"I'd appreciate that." I said. I wasn't above using others to get ahead if it was necessary, and here Alex was offering to do that. "I appreciate it, bro."

He nodded.

"Hey! Alex!" One of his friends called out, and Alex glanced at me before rushing off to him. Still young enough to not know how the world really worked, still young enough to believe the lies of how hard work was enough to get you through life. I walked home and, after noticing the trash had been taken down for once, went to my room...

There was a knock at my door. "Yes?" I asked, feeling exhausted. It wasn't even a day since I'd cleaned the Kitchen and already the counter was cluttered, again. Beer bottles from my father 'relaxing' from driving to the coast to do... whatever it was he did for his job, dishes that had piled up from everyone using them for one reason or another, trash that was just set on it instead of going into the garbage bin which thankfully wasn't full yet...

I'd picked at it, did the dishes by hand since the dishwasher was acting up and I didn't have the time, energy, nor experience to fix it, that was a job for my father, and- I'd stood at the sink with a mason jar in my hand, and I wanted to throw it through the window. It had been set somewhere out of sight for so long that it had gotten moldy. I'd only found it because I happened to look in the direction. I wanted to throw it, to smash it, but I'd instead used a plastic scraper to scrape the mold out and then sanitized both.

I'd gone to my room because I'd finished the bare minimum and was conserving my energy.

So when I answered my door being knocked, Alex came in.

He turned on my light, which being in a room that was dark enough that I sometimes wondered if it was already night outside, meant the sudden light hurt my already light-sensitive eyes, he sat down on my bed, and he started telling me about this crazy thing that happened at work. I listened, I responded appropriately to what he said, but ultimately, I didn't really care. So what if Jenna fucked up an order and delivered the wrong appetizers to the wrong table? Who cares if John's a fucking sleazeball who stares at customer's breasts when they're not looking?

"Did you ask your boss about the interview?" I asked.

"What-? Oh, I forgot." He said.

"Did you get me an application like you said you would?" I asked,.

"Yeah, I forgot about that too. It's no big deal." He answered with a shrug.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Then please remember to do it. Alright?"

"Yeah, I'll remember." He said.

He didn't remember, I spent the next few days cleaning up the same area over and over again, reminding my father to fix the dishwasher, being told that he's too busy and that I should look up how to do it myself, my responding that I didn't want to break the dishwasher through my inexperience, et cetera, et cetera. And each time Alex got back home, I'd ask him if he asked his boss for the interview, or if he'd picked up the application-

"Are you going to fucking do it?!" I snapped one day. "Or are you going to tell me you are and not do it?! Do I need to get up off my ass to do what you've told me, what is it, four different times that you would do?!"

And just like that, he said, "Fine, I won't do it if you're going to be a dick about it."

I had a walking stick in my room that I occasionally used when I sat in a weird position and my leg fell asleep. It wouldn't take much to grab it and smack it across his face. How many times could I hit him with it before he retaliated? One? Two? Or would he see it coming and hit me first?

"Just get out." I said. 'Before I hit you.' I added silently.

How many times had it been now? How many times had I been told to get a job, as if it were the simplest thing in the world? How does one get a job? Do they enter a building and say, 'Job me'? How many times do I have to repeat the same old tactics that I'm told will work? How long until I can just give up and have people tell me it's okay?

I wanted someone, something, to blame. I wanted to be able to pinpoint exactly what it was that was keeping me from being anything more than an adult mooching off their parents good will while struggling to actually do something worthwhile.

I didn't want a participation award, I didn't want a pat on the back, I just wanted my efforts to actually mean something beyond, 'you tried'.

I awoke in the middle of the night and took my walking stick with me. I went outside and sat in a chair with the stick across my lap. The moon came out from behind some clouds and lit the ground, making the grass sparkle with frost. I took a deep breath, let it out, and watched it slowly dissipate into the air. I heard a voice singing, and I looked to see an eerily familiar woman standing in the middle of my back yard.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, holding out my stick.

"Your world is... unusual." She said. "Where it enters the season of winter, mine enters the season of summer." She walked across the grass without leaving any footprints, she seemed unconcerned with the cold against her bare feet.

"I'm not going to ask again, who the hell are you?" I demanded.

My dream unraveled, and I found myself standing in the room where nobody else could enter. I was startled, my hands were empty, and I was in my underwear. "What the hell..?"

"You walked here, in your sleep." She said. "A lost soul seeking solace. It is a pity, that one you so loved would do nothing for you."

"You saw my dreams." I said. She nodded. "How?"

"How indeed?" She asked. "The tale of a young man who can find no purchase in what is seen as so easily attainable, who claws at a sheer wall that others walk up. Is it, perhaps, the ground that you so furiously scrape, and you who stand on the wall?"

I had no answer.

"Tell me, who is the master of this house?" She asked.

"Lissana Wyrashe." I said. "Though I guess I should refer to her as Lady Lissana Wyrashe."

"So, my estate is maintained by my descendant." She mused. "Would you deliver to her a message from me?"

"That depends on the message." I replied.

"So quick to avoid a Contract." She noted. "But even your aversion can be an invitation. Tell my descendant she is to meet with me tomorrow, you are to allow her inside, and you are to take her out after five minutes. No sooner, no later. You will know."

"I will consid-"

The room fell silent and she appeared right in front of me, her eyes like black pits as they gazed into mine, her hands inches away from my face.

"You will do for me this lest your soul from your still-living corpse I untimely rip." She stated. "How long dare you to resist my song, lone, wandering soul? Can you withstand forever? Dare you to seek covenant with Gods to avoid my wrath?"

I took a step back, and she pulled away. "Swear, deliver my message."

"No." I said. "I do not know you, for all I know, you're going to have me deliver to you so you can make her do something she wouldn't want to do."

Even though I was terrified, I stared her down, and her frightful visage faltered. "You would defy me, though I could kill you?"

"There are worse fates than death." I said. "Living, for instance."

She chuckled. "Yes, living." She echoed. "I swear upon my name, that I may never reveal lest all who hear it perish, that my meeting with my descendant is nothing less than familial, and nothing more than overdue. Now, please deliver my message. Go."

I left, and the moment I shut the door, the song ceased. I took a deep breath and rested my back against the door before sliding to the floor. I felt exhausted, though that was likely a factor of my sleepwalking here in the middle of the night.

"Did you have a lovely chat?" A sardonic voice asked.

"Death threats and peer pressure always make for lovely chats." I remarked. "Apparently, the-" The moment I tried to say 'lady', I began to choke again. One self-administered Heimlich maneuver later, and Cier had slain another Felgrat. I sighed. "I have a message for Lady Lissana." I said. "I'm pretty sure I have to tell her myself. Could you make sure I'm awake to let her know?"

Cier sighed. "Very well. Now, off to bed."

I nodded and walked back to the room I'd been given. I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes. Though I was tired, I wasn't quite ready to go back to sleep. I laid on my side and stared at the wall. Eventually I sat up, crossed my legs, and began to meditate.

The sudden desire to commit violent acts, the sudden need to break things, there was a time when I was less careful, when I would lash out at whatever angered or upset me. I had no control, a thrown textbook, a smashed glass, destruction, pain, it was exhilarating, liberating, at least, that was until I hurt someone who was innocent.

She was trying to help me, she came to aid me against the assholes who had cornered me with the express desire of hurting me. I lost control, I lashed out, and though the injury was relatively minor, the fact that I had harmed someone who was trying to help me made me realize that the rage I felt was only ever going to be destructive.

I turned to meditation as a means to control myself, and from there, I learned the value of being calm. For every desire to break a window, I held back. For every time I wanted to stab someone, I held back. For every time I wanted to harm someone who had wronged me, I held back.

I took a deep breath, and I let it out slowly. I repeated this until I felt I was ready to go to sleep, and so I laid down, and I fell asleep...