Shattered, marred gray sky met her eyes. Black strips of space pocked the horizon as if some significant beast had bitten into the atmosphere. Broken, gray stone crumbled, mixed with the dirt, and ash caked her dress, filling in between her toes. She saw a familiar disheveled wooden structure with stairs leading up to an ashen black door.

  The woman's long black hair trailed behind her as she approached the familiar steps of a long-forgotten door she no longer remembered the name of. The names of things, that was how it used to work, that was how it all used to work. Knowing the proper names of things would reveal their purpose and allow one to understand them. Her eyes scanned the black wooden door, trying to spark any memory within her. Running her hands across, she felt a faint but familiar emblazoned word that had long since faded.

  But it was enough, the spark she had been looking for. A memory caught the flame, and her mouth began to grow hot. But with all the flames, she had to be gentle and not blow it out too quickly. She nurtured the flame with memories of joy, of a time when she laughed and sang, of a time when this place had held her loved ones and so many others, of a moment before the end of worlds.

  It’s time, she thought as the flame in her mouth grew hotter and stronger. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, then breathed out the words. Her hot breath filled the space between the door and her. She spoke the name of the ashen black door. The door allowed her entry.

  The small rays of gray light, like fragile whispers, broke through a caved roof. Her every step echoed in the silence. Pausing a moment, she let her eyes adjust as they drank in the room. The back hall was a collapsed memory. Broken wood littered the ground. Specks of dust drifted lazily in the scattered light.

  The front held only a fair bit better. The gray light illuminated a circular room. Revealing circular tables with disheveled wooden chairs. She let her eyes linger there. The tables where her friends laughed and sang. The chairs where they sat. She would make it whole again.

  Toward the end of the room, near the back hallway, was a semicircular bar that wrapped around against the back wall. It was lined with steel that had long since rusted over, threatening to turn to dust at the slightest touch. To the right of the bar, part of the back wall had collapsed where the fireplace had been. All that was left was a messy pile of bricks and weathered wood. She inhaled the familiar air, letting her breath intermingle with the space again. The dust swirled, dancing for the first time in many years. She couldn’t help but smile. The anticipation of the new day met the old space. She was the being in the space between.

  Clearing her mind, feet bare, she deftly danced across the wooden floors, the splintered, unstable ground unwilling to betray her steps. White dress spinning the stale air, she could feel motion and movement welcomed back openly by her old bar.

  Her feet remembered the path as she let her mind wander in and out from past events to present possibilities. A path she had walked a thousand times. Serving drinks, hugging loved ones, and telling stories by the fireplace.

  Her steps passed behind the bar and began to search for it. Her large, bright green eyes landed on a stone contraption. She gently pulled it out, checking for any discrepancies. It still looked as good as the day it was made, despite all this time she had been away. In those days, “things” made in the true name of their original element were meant to hold, keep together, and bind their design forever. She smiled widely, knowing that this "thing" held its name well. A stone funnel topped the thing, tapering toward its edges like a cone, stretching further down into a wide, square base to support it. In the middle, a spout for the liquid she was so familiar with.

  Holding “it” close, grief washed over her, and she knew something was amiss. She stared at the "thing" momentarily before the feeling ignited in her and fluttered up to her mind. It was missing its partner! She whipped her head back and forth frantically, understanding the dread of the situation. This "thing" had been away from its partner this entire time and still held its name, hoping that someone would reunite them!

  “Silly woman. Silly, silly woman,” she chastised herself, “how could you forget?”

  She rushed back and forth at the bar, searching with all her heart, knowing this wrong must be made right.

  "Ah-ha!" she exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out from the back of the bar a lever. Running her hands against the stone “thing,” she found a series of grooves marked in a semicircle. She placed the lever’s tip next to the grooves and realized it slipped in perfectly. Taking a step back, she watched the "thing" and marveled as the two true names held each other in a beautiful embrace.

  Brushing her black hair behind her ear, she went to the cupboard space, pulled some glasses, and set them near the “thing,” along with paper and a teapot. It truly was beautiful knowing that those two “things” were now one again, but how much more beautiful would this moment be if that "thing" was completing its namesake? Her heart leaped in anticipation at the prospect of such a wonderful idea. She rushed toward the back hallway where the roof had caved in and began to rummage through it, quickly throwing aside debris and other such broken doors and nobs. These “things” had lost their intended names, empty vessels, empty shells, empty words, empty. How empty indeed anything could be when abandoned. No purpose, no name. Just like them, how she failed them. All of them.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, " you mustn't remember those days. You've come too far.” Her chest started to beat in her ears at the flood of memories threatening to overtake her. Unsteady and unbalanced now, her focus split. She had to stay focused.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She was looking for... there it was. Underneath all that debris was a hatch of stone. This had been waiting for her all this time. Her mind calmed again, feeling her shoulders relax. She hadn’t noticed them become tight in all that effort. Rolling her neck, she took another steadying breath, the memories simmering down deeper inside herself.

  Throwing open the hatch, she climbed down the stone ladder and was met with a dark room—so dark it looked black—but she was not afraid of the dark, not since her father had taught its name to her when she was young. She and the dark were friends now, and just like with any other friend, she curtseyed gently and smiled properly with her eyes closed.

  "I will need to get inside,” she said. “May I?"

  She knew the dark was indifferent; so many people had walked in and out of its presence without proper manners for so long, but she wasn’t in the habit of being like everyone else. She waited an appropriate amount of time before continuing forward. Her father’s words echoed in her mind.

  “Next time you are frightened in the dark, don’t scream. Instead, say hello. You would be surprised by the kinds of conversations that can come out of that,’’ he said, his voice rich and calm. The smell of the outdoors drenched his sweat-covered skin, hair tickling her face as he carried her away. It hurt to think of those days, days before he was changed, when he was still the kind and loving father she knew as a child.

  The stone basement was made out of the same material as the “thing” upstairs. They both held the same handiwork, simple and smooth.

  Cold met her feet, sending shivers through her body. The pitter-patter of her steps resounded through a small basement, mixing with the acoustic. It sounded like applause from an adoring fan.

  In a corner at the end of the room sat a sealed stone box. Hovering her hand over it, she felt the space between the two of them, fingertips lingering inches away. She felt for its true name; she reached out with her mind, wrapping her intentions around something that felt as solid and true as the “thing” upstairs. She gripped it like a lump in her throat. She rolled over this “thing,” feeling time and time again until it spilled out of her mouth like an avalanche. There was a sucking sound and then a pop! The seal was broken, and the lid opened gently.

  Lifting the lid, her eyes twinkled; she had found her prize. Before her sat a brown potato sack bag that read, "coffee beans." Without hesitation, she quickly snatched the bag and ran for the ladder. Before climbing it, she paused, turned, and curtseyed again to the darkness. She stomped a foot twice in quick succession as a gesture of thanks for the basement. Barely containing herself, she made the flight up the ladder and into the room with the “thing.”

  She was standing before the “thing,” grabbing a glass and placing it underneath the spout. She then seized a hold of a hand full of beans and kissed each of them before placing them inside the funnel. Turning the crank, she heard her beans being ground. The smell filled the room with life and a bit of color as she cranked.

  The "thing" indicated it was full and ready for the next step. Grabbing the teapot, she stepped over to the sink and turned the faucet, but nothing came. She wasn’t surprised. Water gets sleepy if you don't use it. She took a couple of heavy breaths into her hand until condensation formed. Placing her hand on the faucet, she closed her eyes and waited for the true name of the water. This one was always tricky since water moved, changed, and held different shapes, but her father had taught her well. Catching the name in her chest, she let the feeling of fluid fill her until it threatened to drown her. She licked her lips and centered her mind. Under her breath, she released the true name, the faucet rumbled to life, and gushed water.

  Since the pipes were old, she waited a few minutes for the water to become clear. It had slept for so long. Nothing likes being asked to do something the moment after waking up. The water faucet sputtered a few more gouts of dark liquid before clearing.

  After a short while of letting the water wake itself fully, she took the teapot and filled it to the brim. Turning off the faucet, she returned to the "thing" and poured the water into the funnel at the top. It rumbled, giving its approval with every drop.

  She placed her glass underneath and waited as the dark brown liquid gingerly dripped into the glass. If the smell was strong before, then this was pungent. A wonderful aroma of freshly made coffee filled the space. The "thing" stopped rumbling in a short time, and she found herself with three warm cups of coffee. Oh, what a wonderful "thing" this was. No, no longer was this a “thing.” She searched her mind through the fog of memories. She struggled to recall the name she had given it long ago. Shrugging, she settled on “coffee maker,” and smiled.

  She brought the coffee to her lips and hesitated with bated breath. She knew he wouldn't mind, but it wouldn’t be right. It would ruin the moment, and one must never ruin a moment if they are able. So instead, she placed the cup down and began to set up the room. She moved to put the tables together. Some of the wood was far weathered and splintered, but other pieces could be salvaged. Kneeling down, she grabbed pieces of the old wood and placed them over the splintered, broken parts of some of the less damaged pieces.

  “The old will help make something new,” she said as her voice drifted over the broken table, feeling the space between them. The sound of wood groaned in protest, its sound echoing off the bare walls. “Don't be like that. We have guests coming soon.” The sound grew, and the wood splintered further as it moved and grafted in the new pieces.

  “There, you see? Change only hurts a little.” Moving, she pulled the table upright. “But afterward, when the painful parts are done with, you'll be stronger for it.”

  She patted the table before pausing, listening to the words she had said just now. She felt those feelings from before boil up inside of her again. “Deal with it later, think about it tomorrow, if there is one. Today is not about you. Stop trying to make it about you.”

  Her voice came out weary and agitated, and a gentle pain shot through her hand. She looked down to realize her knuckles were white from how hard she was squeezing her fist. She pushed the feelings back down and repeated the process with the other tables and chairs, setting them in their rightful spots all across the room. The place slowly came back to life.

  After she had finished with that, she made her way behind the bar and rummaged in true earnest. Several different plates and other chipped cups found their way into the sink. A few moments passed, and a sudden cool chill ran down her spine as she cleaned the dishes. The ashen black door swung open. Heavy metal boots thundered behind her, and she walked inside. She felt the thrumming reverberate in the wood. Heading toward the bar was a man in the dark and a large, six-legged white wolf. The man wore a helmet with stag antlers on it. She turned to see glowing pale blue eyes showing through, staring back at her, and giving off quite an intimidating disposition.

  ~ CW