Now
I float above the Gate, eighteen years old and human, but also ageless and infinite, no fear left in me as I look down into the light, at the unmaking that is waiting for me beyond. I relive every moment, every memory.
The first time I phased. Big Haul’s murder. Gabriel being taken …
They’re solid at first, clear. And then scattering, intermixing, confused puzzle pieces. I am present but also past, touching and experiencing every previous version of myself I’ve ever been.
The one who lost their parents too young.
The one who helped carry their sisters until those sisters could walk on their own.
The one who ran the alleys barefoot like a shadow.
The one who forged themself into a knife to cut away all their soft pieces.
The one who was born with lightning in their chest and dreams of rain.
With my arms out wide, I fall into that pool of liquid light. It sears across my eyes, and it isn’t blue or white, after all, but an incredible riot of hundreds of colors, so many I don’t have names for them all. Trinity’s song rings joyously, clearer than I’ve ever heard it in my life.
I let go of every cell, every atom of my body, drifting in infinite directions, until all that’s left in the end is me, spreading through the air like stardust, reaching downward.
Until I am unmade.
And Trinity is unmade.
And we both become something new.