Notes

“What started as nothing is nothing once more”
-Karl Jacobs, 2020

Hanna, Dana, and Omelie stood on the wall, looking down at the remains of the empire.

The world was silent in shock.

The ringing of the blasts were finally dying down, Omelie’s wings fluttered lightly, Dana’s tail flicked back and forth, and the blood on Hannalie’s sword dripped in a sick rhythm.

Dana’s lip twisted into a sneer, eyes ablaze with adrenaline and bloodlust.

“Well, Elaina, it’s your move now.” Her ears pressed back and her fangs grew out. Hanna and Omelie turned to Dana as she backflipped off of the wall and into the air, tipping backwards until she was in a full dive. They watched her decent until she landed in the ocean with barely a splash.

“And with the book’s chapter closed, anew shall the waters rise,” Hanna said, the bandage around her eyes soaking in bloody tears. Omelie nodded and turned back to the rubble of Lixan. Hanna continued her sweet-spoken words.

“The writers dip their quills in ink, the storytellers quench their thirst, and the world is quiet. The birds stop singing in respect, the crickets stop chirping in respect, and the world takes a collective breath.”

“And the world is quiet,” Omelie agreed. Hanna turned and floated down to the ocean, resting atop the water like a goddess descended from the Heavens.

“What started as nothing is nothing once more.” Omelie unclasped her hands and spread her wings wide. She stepped off the wall and glided off towards Lixan’s crater.
——————
Elaina’s silvery wings fold behind her and she quickly draws her cloak over her back. She pulls up the hood and keeps her head down as she walks through the remains of her city.
—
Ciudad de Colores y Luces

A single teenage girl dances down the middle of a street. It’s almost midnight, but the streetlights illuminate her as she makes her way down the block. Her dance involves her arms waving around and tall steps followed by large spins. Her overskirt is black, and the skirt underneath is bright red. Her blouse is white and tucked into her waistband, and a neon purple flower is tucked into a bun on the left of her head. People emerge from their balconies to watch her. She stops dancing exactly at midnight, standing in the middle of an intersection. Her skirts stop swishing and she brings her hands up above her head. She claps twice. The streetlights turn off and her laugh rings out, echoing.

“¡Criaturas de la noche! ¡Mi voz llama a tus oídos! ¡Que la noche de la danza eterna reine por otros mil años!” Another voice rings out before the original echo can fade. This time the voice is male and in English.

“Creatures of the night! My voice calls to your ears! May the night of eternal dance reign for another thousand years!”

There are four blocks on the intersection. The first has balconies covered with hanging plants and fairy lights. All of the windows on this block light up neon green in response to the couple.

The second block has balconies of easels, walls of graffiti, and paint buckets that have been spilled over top of the building. Ribbons and large spools of fabric drip from between the bars. The windows here light up neon pink following the first block.

The balconies of the third block have dead power cords hanging like snakes and vines from the bars. Each cord on a single balcony is a different colour and length. With all of the different cords put together, they could almost remind an outsider of dripping crayons from a box of 96 against a canvas. The windows light up neon blue.

The fourth block is mine. Strings of all kinds hang from the bars. The strings are all from a different stringed instrument. Along the strings are different pieces of other instruments. One of the strings on my balcony has a piano key, a tiny cymbal from a tambourine, and a miniature flute. I created that string when I was five and was able to participate in the ceremony for the first time. When the other blocks are lit up, my block light up the windows a bright, neon orange.

The city of colours and lights is what us residents call this intersection. It isn’t an actual city, hell, not even the full street is part of our territory. Everyone here is a child of the arts in some way or another. Most of us are runaways, taken in by the adult residents and raised in the culture here.