Kyra Lipetzky, C’24

The wind blows through me, harsh and cold as it drags the dying leaves across my feet. Shuddering, I pull my-self away, taking a step back from the cracked pavement I was on. There’s a chuckle, warm as the fragile embers of a doused fire,

“You’ll get used to it kid.”

The phrase is sympathetic, spoken tenderly and paired with a knowing look when I turn my head. There’s a stranger, tall and dressed in a three piece suit, wearing a pleasant expression as he watches me from the brim of his top hat. Too quickly, I take another step back, my center of balance tips, and I feel myself fall. No breath leaves me and the air around me doesn’t bend. Instead, I fall through the sky. When I reach the ground, it refuses to catch me. I brace for an impact that never comes, even as a chill sweeps through me, as my foot brushes past the grass and into the earth. I reach out toward the stranger, and he grabs my wrist, solid and unyielding, so that I’m pulled back into the world.

“The world may not see you, but I do.”

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