Two cruel days passed painfully by. Then another night broke sullenly in. The little boy's misty eyes reflected the panoramic starry light of the indigo firmament through his window. Daniel was like inside an observatory watching the sky through the retracted shutters of the particular structure's dome. Even though he could only observe a fraction of the clear night sky, he felt the incalculability of the cosmos, boundless and extraordinary.

But there was something else besides the mirrored constellations twinkling upon the clear outer covering of his eyeballs. He was searching for something. His stare was a look of longing. He shifted his irises leftward, seeking the remnants of the moon. He spotted it. The shattered celestial orb was glowing faintly, a cloud with a silver lining. He gave a quick smile at it. Up there, where you belong, is the place where good people go after they die. It's lovely, but maybe lonely. It's limitless, but maybe sightless. It's ecstasy, but maybe fantasy, he thought.

The boy cupped his face with his hands. He unfurled his eyelids, peeped through his laced fingers, and admired the starry evening sky once more. The stars were blinking in full luminosity, resembling millions of ogling eyes of mischievous cats. The winking jewel-like eyes above bequeathed him a strange awareness of danger. "Umbrae reeks and breeds all over the world," he whispered. His vision liquefied, shaping figures of black felines with sparkling gems for eyes. The myriad eyes shut in unison, then suddenly, darkness reigned. His auricles twitched, hearing a distant inimical caterwaul. "No," he choked.

I didn't know that Umbrae could morph. They are vicious and unstoppable! How can I fix everything if, one by one, the stars would all go out? he thought.

The eerie felines began sauntering toward the kid's spot on invisible wires. Their crystalline eyes were terrifyingly lacerative that they could cut your soul into pieces. Some hopped on invisible bars demonstrating their balance and contorting their bodies to different obscene and painful postures. These nebulous creatures desired to play with humans, especially little boys and girls. They wanted to be loved and to consume love. Most humans fell from their pleasurable ticklish tongues, giving them a fleeting delight.

But the truth was their playful tongues were lapping up the remaining light inside a man's heart, longing for a second chance. Few Umbrae were unsuccessful; however, most were victorious. They were winning because of such kaleidoscopic deceitfulness coruscating from their eyes. And they always had an alibi and one or two to spare.

Daniel stretched an arm, held it aloft, and let a nebulous cat lick his fingernails. It was sufficiently gratifying. At this instant, he could fetch the feline that was unceasingly passing its tongue over his candle fingers. Then, he pampered it to become a friend. He looked at its eyes, and it was hazed with neon falseness. He shook his head, decluttering his mind. No. I cannot let you win, he thought.

The very thought made the cat offended. It bit his finger. A million eyes above chillingly shifted into his direction, eyeing his face masked with audacity defying their poisonous trickeries. "You can't fool me, two-faced Umbra," he feebly said.

The Umbrae cats attacked him, pouncing, biting, and clawing his arms with feline swiftness. The violence lasted for a few seconds. It was fearsome but painless. He looked at the arms he used to cover the ferocious bout and found a grim discovery. His arms were all but skeletons! He became rigid, horror-struck as he yelped concerning his eaten forearms. His heart pounded so hard that the blood began to stream and spurt from the arteries intentionally left by the carnivorous monsters. He screamed like a helpless kid and never broke for breath. His thoughts grew foggy. His eyelids were getting heavy, sentencing him to embrace the openness of darkness. After all, he was bleeding to death.

———————

A wrinkly floating head loomed over his face. The kid was badly frightened by it. He stumbled and plunged against the floor. "No!" he screeched, "Don't come near me!" His hands desperately tried to reach for something useful, hoping he could touch whatever was shrouded in darkness. With trembling fingers, he felt the lamp's base and hurriedly fumbled for the string. And as soon as he got it, he pulled it, switching the bulb on. "You can't have me!" he bawled.

"Daniel, it's me," the floating head whispered, stretching its sagging neck through the window frame, "It's me—"

"Who?" he queried as he slowly peeled his clasped eyelids.

"It's Abraham."

Daniel gazed through his eyelashes heavy with dew. His pallid face turned rosy, relieved but at the same time embarrassed, "I'm sorry."

"What's going on? Why were you screaming?"

"Nothing," he sniffed, "It was just my odd imagination."

Abraham believed his explanation, but seeing the kid looking timid was hurtful. "Sorry, I think my cloudy eyes and wrinkly face triggered your fright," the old man joked. "An old face is truly a fear-provoking guise. A perfect Halloween mask!" he smiled, showing his incomplete incisors like a vampire.

The kid chuckled. "It's not your doing, Grandpa. It's my weird mind," he shifted his irises to the lamplight, "But now, I am not afraid anymore."

"Whoa, that's odd?" Abraham lifted a finger, pointing at the glowing lamp, "How does that thing work?"

"You mean... the lamp?"

"Yes," the old man nodded.

He vaulted up, drew closer, and stood by the lampshade. "My father installed solar panels. Luckily the panels and the batteries were still functional."

"Well, that makes sense," Abraham nodded, but his gray eyebrows knitted. "But why didn't you turn the lights on at night?"

Daniel swallowed a lump of saliva. A blinding explosion of memories shredded his amygdala. He remembered what the mummy-looking vagabonds did on his birthday. He forgot to switch off the light that, perhaps, enticed the drifters to pillage their house. He shook his head. "Because something horrible happened," he focused his irises on the warm golden glow of the lamplight. "Light puts me in danger," he added, delivering the phrase with a serious tone.

Abraham inhaled, forming his thoughts carefully. He wanted to ask him more about it, but Daniel interrupted him with a question before he could part his lips. "Can I now turn the lamp off?"

The old man didn't know what to say or how to react. He just shrugged his shoulders to express sympathy for the poor kid instead. His unsure body movements perhaps sent the correct message because he saw a tiny smile on the lad's face.

The boy pulled the string. Then the room, in an eyeblink, was overwhelmed by inky blackness. He felt a rush of uneasiness up his spine, sentient about menaces lurking in the shadows. Umbrae are nocturnal. I'm sure they're watching us this very moment, he thought as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

As soon as the light from the room disappeared, the old man's pupils dilated, enabling his eyes to perceive the stellar sublimeness outside. Abraham gave himself a push so that he could reach the windowsill of his apartment. He grabbed the underside of it and managed to stabilize his fragile body floating in weightlessness. "It's bewildering that a star can both mock and demark the darkness," he imparted.

Daniel fled away from the pitch-black room that gave him the creeps. His flimsy shirt was soaked with sweat. He rushed to the window and accompanied the old man outside. He was surprised by the cool night breeze outside blowing his sweaty integuments dry.

"I guess it's the deadest part of the wee hours," Abraham uttered while the boy took his first snuffle of the early morning air, "And it never crossed my mind that I could travel around the world."

Daniel wore a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

The old man vaulted up on the window ledge and used it as a seat.

Daniel was surprised at what Abraham did. He watched him place his bony deformed legs over the other. Gravity had deprived him of the capability of strength and efficiency for the longest time, but now the wearying force released the stiffness of his rheumatic joints. He was happy for the old man seeing him doing the things he thought he couldn't do.

"Before I arrived here," he began his story, and Daniel was all ears, "This apartment building was seeking a harbor for over a week. It was too lonely, stirring my own ship."

The boy chuckled.

"But one afternoon, towards twilight, I peered through this window with a margarita in my hand because it's a cruise ship..." he said jokingly.

The boy chuckled for the second time.

He went on. "...and just, fortunately, as I looked to my left, I saw Europe's most famous prehistoric monument—Stonehenge. Just then, the orange sun hid behind the wandering parcel of land that held the ruins. The scene was like a picture on a postcard capturing a solar alignment, a winter solstice breaking dawn. It was breathtaking," he ended with a deep heave of a sigh.

Daniel couldn't believe his ears.

"I thought I imagined it because I never left my hometown. And I have a condition. Traveling was but a dream. But this tragedy... the quakes and the unexplainable weightlessness made it possible. Every sundown, my cloudy eyes reflected the different floating landmarks of the world, such as the gothic cathedral of Notre Dame, the mind-boggling silver curves of the Guggenheim Museum, the Acropolis, the Sphinx, the Sydney Opera House, and the Empire State Building. Each possesses such beauty, but landing here was the best because I met a star," he surveyed Daniel's eyes thoughtfully.

The poor kid scratched his nape, unsure if he understood him. "A star?" he asked.

"Indeed, a star. And that star is you."

"Me?"

"My cruising was overwhelming but lonesome. And as my cruise ship finally anchored in your yard, I prayed to meet somebody brilliant, shining like a star against the dark. Then your freckled face greeted me—you handed me a cookie and welcomed me with open arms. Your heart glowed, and it warmed me. And that was enough to make an old man smile," Abraham beamed at him.

Daniel bit his lip, trying to conceal his expression. He jerked his head to the left to where his mother was resting. He did anything to make her happy, but she had seeded a cloud of guilt upon his happiness, upon his life. Compared with the bit of kindness he showered to the old man, Abraham appreciated him, liked him, and loved him. "Oh, that's nothing," he sniffed.

Abraham prayed silently for a miracle to make the boy open up, talk about anything, and share his story.

A gentle breeze rustled the curtains as they made their way through the bedroom window. Out of nowhere, Daniel made a startling discovery. There was something pointy and metallic hovering over the streets. He extended his index finger to aid the old man in spotting it. "It looks like a pointy pyramid, more like a capital letter "A," and it's made of shiny and sturdy material," he described, "And it's getting bigger or perhaps nearer and... it's on fire!"

The old man had to squint his eyes to focus on the approaching pyramid-like structure illumined by sapphire and topaz flames. The wrinkles on his temples smoothened as he widened his eyes. "Oh, that's the Eiffel Tower!" he exclaimed.

"Incredible!"

"Well, that's truly a lovely view. This isn't included in my itinerary!"

Daniel chuckled. "Maybe it's a perk!"

Abraham raised his shoulders. "Paris, the city of romance," he murmured. Inside his mind, he was sure that the universe heard his prayer. That this would initiate Daniel to talk more about himself, that there was a chance to listen to his story and a few things about his family. How could he resist the magnificent view looming before him, encouraging him to pour his feelings out, to bleed his heart out? Sure, it would melt him, putting his guard down and leaving him defenseless and vulnerable. It would be possible! "The symbol of love," the old man looked at him.

The word love echoed inside Daniel's ear canals. It was hurting his eardrums and confusing his brain. The little contents of his stomach flowed back into his esophagus, causing heartburn. He caught sight of the old man compelling him to say something. But he was choking inside, tongue-tied. His mouth twisted and closed into an attitude of reluctance.

Abraham raised his brows, waiting for something. Milliseconds sprinted several seconds, and it gave the impression that the short moment was like an hour. There was nothing to expect. There was nothing to hear. He realized that this was not helping. It made the kid mute and aloof. "Boy," he made a lunge of his face forward, "Is everything all right?"

The meek boy darted back, hiding his existence in the cloak of shadows. He swallowed the acrid gastric juice burning his throat. "I'm all right," he instantly replied, aiming to settle the brewing discord.

"Good," he reassured, "Now, just look at the tower."

Daniel's chest almost exploded the instant he found out that the tower was half a kilometer from their location. It glided rapidly, and it might destroy the house and the apartment building. The two held their breaths as the tower's massive solid base nearly touched the corner of the apartment building's concrete roof. There were protruding dead roots, rusty iron reinforcements, and rocks hanging from the floating chunk of dirt.

Daniel stayed stationary as it crossed above them. Abraham never fluttered his eyelids, anticipating the somewhat beyond belief yet deadly happenstance. It draped hair-raising shadows over them and sprinkled soil particles upon their shocked faces. The toothless mouth of the old man caught a mouthful of sand.

It was an unintended and unforeseen chapter of their lives.

"What the—'' Daniel tasted some grainy texture over his tongue and spat them out. There were also specks of dust in his eyes.

Abraham dusted his knitted pullover. "Well, that one was a bizarre spectacle," he sneered.

Daniel burst out laughing. "I guess that's a Parisian way of welcome," he choked with his gag.

They both giggled.

The glowing tower never halted, crossing the meadows below. It was a breathless and once-in-a-lifetime experience. The two promised themselves to cherish that particular moment. But when Daniel put his hand inside his pocket, he let out a fit of dismay for the reason that he forgot to record it with his phone just on standby.

"What are you trying to yank out of your pocket?" queried Abraham.

"Uh, nothing," he licked his chapped lips, "I just remembered I slipped my toys inside my pockets."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course," he rapidly nodded, "It will make them happy."

Daniel slid his hands into his back pockets and retrieved the magnifier and barrette. He handed them to Abraham. "That's Mr. Lens," he outstretched his finger, pointing at the magnifying glass, "and that's Lady Mondragon on your right hand."

"They have names," he coughed, "Sorry, where are my manners? I am Abraham, and glad to meet the two of you." He tried to hide his sorrow upon learning that these two inanimate things were Daniel's friends. His soul wept to picture the boy before him, who had been enduring a rough lifetime, got too lonely in an unbelievable length of desolation. He thought desolation had eaten his sane up, choosing the coiffeur's decorative clip and detective's apparatus as his buddies. Nevertheless, he felt the two did a great job cheering Daniel up. Even though both couldn't talk... they did have good spirits. He cleared his throat. "I believed these two didn't give you a headache."

"Well," Daniel clenched his jaws, "You're wrong. Mr. Lens and Lady Mondragon had some clashes. I suppose that's normal between friends."

The old man nodded, cracked another cough, and tossed the two back to Daniel.

"I have here another toy inside my pocket," Daniel put his left hand into the left front pocket, and his fingers closed around the shape of the cube. He pulled it out and held it in front of him as if holding a huge gemstone. "A Rubik's cube!"

"I bet that toy has a name too."

He shook his head. "It does not have any," an idea popped into his mind, "Hmm... I'm going to call him... Cube."

"Well, that name suits the three-by-three cube," he sighed, "I remember someone trying to crack a Rubik's cube, and he's not getting to the end of solving it." He fixed his irises into it. "Can I have a look at it?"

Daniel pitched the cube to the old man. It spun, appearing like the figure of a rhombus or a diamond, as it traveled the short distance between the two crumbling structures.

Abraham clutched the cube with his arthritic hands, then studied it carefully. He twisted the cube as if he knew how to unravel it. Daniel watched him, and he didn't bother about Cube's fate. A minute sailed through time and space, and the second layer of the cube was solved. "My grandson couldn't solve this. When he lost his temper, he gave his Rubik's cube to me and ordered me to unscramble it," he chuckled, "Then when he grew older, he just used it as a paperweight." He tossed it back to Daniel.

"This was a gift from a friendly nurse," he bragged.

"A nurse?" Abraham asked breathily.

"Yes, he makes visits once a month, tending my mother. I missed him so much. He has a kind heart."

Abraham couldn't breathe. His eyesight got blurry. "Samuel," he uttered weakly.

"Yes. Samuel is his name," the boy raised a brow, "How did you know that?"

Daniel revisited the time when Samuel cooked an Italian dish. He recalled that the nurse shared something about a disabled elderly that loved him so much. And he chose this profession because of his grandfather, who had arthritis, and because he wanted to ease his pain.

"His hands were the hands of an angel," Abraham looked at his palms.

"His grandfather had often told him that. I hope he's safe somewhere and still caring for the sick and injured people."

Abraham's eyes welled with tears. Globoids of tears wandered away from his melancholia-stricken face. He inhaled a lungful of air and tried to pull himself together. "My Samuel's a nurse and," he choked, "my beloved grandson," he tearfully went on.

Daniel couldn't digest the coincidence. All this time, he didn't have the slightest idea that Abraham was Samuel's grandfather. He was excited to know the nurse's whereabouts. "Grandpa, why is it that Nurse Samuel is not with you? Where is he?"

A lone drop of tear slipped and fell from Abraham's cheeks. It would be the last tear he would shed for his grandson. He closed his eyes, slowly peeled them, and looked at the ground below. "He didn't make it. The hospital collapsed after the earthquake. Corpses lie scattered and buried everywhere," he gulped, "He didn't come back. Samuel's dead." The old man glumly sneaked inside his room.

Daniel floated in silence and almost lost consciousness upon hearing the sad news. He was apologetic for being stupid for not connecting the obvious dots, being unmindful of not reading between the lines, and being careless in choosing his words. He wanted to cry, but he didn't deserve it. Abraham was heartbroken over mourning for the soul of his grandson, and he had the greater right to weep.

His auricles picked up a melody of miserable echoes from the opposite window. The room was very dark, dark as a cave. He wanted to console him, to shed some light. He then craned his curious neck forward but got arrested with the thought that it might not help the poor man who chose to be with himself alone. He pouted, then let his head limp over his shoulder.

Feeling a deep sadness, the boy quietly slipped each toy into his pockets, and with a heavy heart, he turned around, and pressed his palm against the window frame before sliding his legs into his room, immersing his entire body in the embrace of darkness. His hand was the only thing left lingering outside, grasping the edge, hesitant to leave the weeping man alone. But slowly, his five fingers slipped, one after the other, until dimness wolfed every inch of his hand, from skin to bone.

"Oh, Samuel," he whispered as a funereal humming from the opposite window echoed through every story and room of the tottering apartment building. The old building, too, groaned and grumbled deeply, gravely, and eerily in severe dilapidation—until a chill of despair began to invade the poor boy's heart.