The needle rode against the record's grooves, whirring a moment. Oren sat down on the sofa, legs crossed, waiting patiently for something to happen. Slowly, a melody rose from the record. A single violin echoing through a large, quiet concert hall. The melody had been engraved into Oren, and his fingers couldn't help but flex to the beat. A cold sweat began to seep from his skin, running down his face. As he stood up, the music grew louder, forcing him to cover his ears. He grasped at the door, trying to pull it open, but it was locked. The music began to build, growing more rapid.

"Stop it!" Oren yelled, clenching his eyes shut. He dared to open them, but was almost blinded. He blinked through the bright, white light until his eyes finally focused. He was standing on a large stage, red velvet curtains on either side of himself. In front of him was a sea of people, grey and lifeless. Plastered onto each of their faces was a clay mask contorted into a judgemental frown.

Oren had been forced into a frilly, purple dress, quickly moving his arm to cover his chest. In his hand were a pristine violin and a sturdy bow. The audience waited patiently for him to begin, a murmur of annoyance sweeping through the large auditorium. Oren nuzzled the violin under his chin and began to play.

He remembered this night vividly.

This was not the song he had wanted to play, the clothes he had wanted to wear, the person he had wanted to be; it was no longer his own life. He wept against the violin, but the audience only interrupted it as an artist being so moved by their work that they were brought to tears. And they cheered. Roaring and clapping, getting up from their seats one by one for a standing ovation. Oren peered down, and amongst the crowd he spotted The Deer, staring up at him. He was the only one not cheering, his hands remaining glued firmly at his side.

Suddenly, Oren stopped playing. The bow scraped against the violin strings, sending out a painful note. He stared at The Deer, who began to walk away down the aisle. Without a second thought, Oren leaped off the stage, tossing the violin aside and sending it clattering across the floor. The audience began to yell at him, cursing and booing. One grabbed hold of Oren's shoulder, trying to drag him back to the stage, another joining in. The crowd moved as one, grasping for him, trying to bring him back up onto the stage. The Deer was almost out of the auditorium doors now. Oren pushed, and clawed, and fought his way through the crowd.

Behind him, he could hear a wet, snapping noise. He turned around and saw that the crowd had become a singular mass, an enormous grey fist of faces. He was so close-the door was so close. Just as the hand closed in around him, he managed to push open the doors.

The Deer hurriedly pulled Oren through and slammed the door closed. Oren stared up at The Deer a moment, panting. He broke into a sob and hugged the Deer tightly.

"It's ok," The Deer spoke, his voice was warm and genuine. "They can't hurt you anymore."

"...Would it be easier?" Oren eventually asked, taking in a long, quivered breath. "Would it be easier if I just gave in? If I just pretended I-" the words broke into a painful sob.

"Easier for who?" The Deer replied. "It may be easier for others, I suppose because then they would never have to change their minds on a single thing, and live their lives standing still in a world that is ever moving and changing. Easy for you, however? No. Forcing yourself to be someone you are not is difficult and loathsome work." The Deer gently wiped the tears from Oren's eyes. "Being yourself, and finding those who love you as you are, that will be easy one day. In time."

. . .

Jackie had forgotten how to breathe. No matter how her lungs contracted, the air around her was solid. A song had begun to play from the record, a hunting, peaceful melody. In a raspy, soothing voice, the record sang, ""El pajarito canta sobre tejados rojos~"

Jackie knew whose voice belonged to the song, a voice she never thought she would have ever heard again. He had never recorded the song. Had he done it in secret? Was it a message left behind for her? The last remnant of himself?

She had forgotten how well he could sing, how his voice had aged like fine wine. Tears swelled in her eyes, forcing her to wipe them away. As she blinked them back open, she was no longer in the room she had been. She was in a long, dim hallway. The curved lamps hanging above her emitted a small ring of light. The shadows around her were dark and bold, encasing the walls in a velvety blackness.

She stood, her body shifting strangely, moving in slow motion, leaving behind a blur of black and blue. She made her way down the hallway, a blur of movement, of poses mid-step. Ahead of her stood two tall, white doors. She pushed them open with slight hesitation.

Beyond the door was a small, cube-shaped room just as dim as the hallway had been. In its center, under a bright, white spotlight, was a hospital bed. Cradled inside was a man, tubes weaving in and out of his body. An IV dripped clear liquid down a thin translucent tube on his right side, while a monitor tracked his heartbeat on the other.

Then, like a drain being unplugged, memories flooded into Jackie's brain.

It had been a normal day. She had gone to school at the same time, and ate the same lunch, and read the same books-but then her afternoon was interrupted as she was pulled from class by the principal. The principal had said words, but Jackie didn't remember them well, but she could recall the tone was reassuring. She was taken out to her mother's car with her things. Her mother had also said words, but these were even more suppressed, even more foreign, but she recalled the tone was aggressive and excusatory.

Finally, they had arrived at a small hospital, a room, and a bedside. "How can time be like this?" Jackie had thought. "How can you be at school on a perfectly normal day, and then suddenly at the foot of someone's deathbed?" It seemed cruel. Like some sick prank. But maybe whoever ruled over time had a bad sense of humor, or maybe they were just bored.

No one had told her what death looked like. Movies had interpreted it, but it was all pale makeup and slow breathing, and as soon as cameras cut, the actor would simply stand right back up. Death was not a quick process in which the poor participant gave a speech about their life and love. It is a slow, lonely process. And at that point, her father couldn't manage to utter any words.

Jackie turned away from the bed, covering her face with her hands. When had she started running away? It wasn't long after he had died, maybe even the night after. She couldn't stand still, she had to keep moving, keep getting further from the hospital, from these memories, from him-

"Gatita..." his voice beckoned, raspy but warm.

Jackie's legs moved before she could tell them too. She raced out the doors and back down the hallway. She ran blindly, her muscles tight with adrenaline, slowing her down. As she ran, the hallway began to change; embedded in the walls were trees and houses, the corner of buildings, and thick, twisted roots. She screamed, not in fear, but rage. She screamed until her voice was raw and there was no air left inside her.

Then she spotted it. Amongst a thicket of trees by the wall was a deer. She remembered seeing a deer at the beginning of her journey. And then she remembered Oren. She sniffed, swiping at the tears in her eyes. She wasn't alone in this horrible place. How could she have forgotten that?

Tentatively, she approached the deer. It stared at her for a moment, and then slowly walked into a large hole in the wall. How had she not seen that before? She climbed into the hole made of rough cement and twisted branches. Jackie struggled, squeezing herself through small spaces, thorns cutting at her skin, but the deer seemed to make its way down the tunnel with ease, always just a few feet ahead of her.

Finally, she reached the end of the tunnel and collapsed off its edge into a space made of white light. The deer now stood, wrapped in a fine suit, standing before a doorway. "Oren is waiting for you," he spoke gently. "The other one may still take a while."

Jackie observed the space she had fallen into, enamored by its pureness. In the corner, she noticed a small, red radio. Her song played from it. She clutched the radio, holding it against her chest. "I'm sorry. I've been running from you ever since that day. But I'm done running, ok? I'll face my problems head-on, and I'll find a way out of here. So you don't have to worry about me anymore." The radio continued to play. "Te amo, papa."

She gently placed the radio back on the floor and watched as it faded away, like a videotape being rewound, until it evaporated from existence.

She cried. She hadn't cried back then. She hadn't cried at all since that night, not giving herself the privilege to do so. So, she cried until her throat was tight, and her eyes stung, and the sadness subsided. Afterward, her chest felt a little lighter. It wasn't the end of her mourning, but it was a good start. The Deer held open the door, bowing. Jackie took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.