This was a short story I wrote way back when my writing juices were still flowing. Kind of R rated-ish. :)) Enjoy!

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They both lied beneath a sea of blankets as the dawn came to greet them. Warm rays of sunlight seeped through the curtains and into the dim room, exposing the evidences of the past night— clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, curtains drawn, and a lampshade left on.

She pulled the sheets closer to her naked body. It was getting cold. Trying to make as little movement as possible, she snuggled in closer to feel her lover’s natural warmth as not to wake him but to no avail. He awoke with a start and breathed in deeply before opening his jade-colored eyes to look at the woman next to him.

She smiled at him feebly and traced the contours of his lips with her candlestick fingers. “Good morning.”

He kissed her fingertips as a grin played on his features. “Good morning, beautiful.” His eyes drifted onto the corners of the bedroom. It was still the same old mustard walls and earth-toned furniture. Their memories together have been so numerous to the point that they were nothing but misty images tucked away in this secret place.

She continued to admire the god resting on her side. Flawless and beautiful. His messy sand-colored hair only emphasized his beauty if not perfected it. His broad shoulders and lean body were a golden tan, his skin a smooth and supple feel. How could she not be mesmerized by a dream turned into reality?

Oh, how she loved him. She’d snip his wings off if he were an angel sent from Heaven. He could be somewhere else in someone else’s arms. But he was right there, looking into her eyes as if she herself were the goddess of his dreams.

He lifted his head a bit to glance at the digital clock on the bedside table.

9:15.

“Just on time,” he mused as he sat up and pulled the sheets off his body. It slid off him like silk on water. He languidly bent on the floor, picked up his clothes and headed for the bathroom. After splashing some cold water on his face and combing his hair in the right places, he came out as if he was just fresh from the shower.

“Going already?” She asked. There was no need to ask. She knew where he was going.1

“Yeah, I have to. I’ll be late for my flight,” He replied as snatched his phone and palm pilot off the bedside table. He leaned over to her side of the bed and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

She smiled and replied, “Yeah, see you soon.”

He was just about to leave the door when she stopped him.

“ Wait.”

He turned and looked at her in curiosity.15
“Yes?”16

“You forgot it again.”17

“Oh, thank you.” A smile formed on his lips as he made his way to the bedside table again.18

He slipped the platinum ring on the right finger and made his way out the door. A laugh escaped his lips as he turned to face her for one last time.19

“She’d be furious again, wouldn’t she?”20

The door shut closed and the room once filled with laughter was now replaced with a cold silence.

The rough rubbing of the metal file against her nail was the only sound that reverberated through the dark ominous night. Setting down the thin, cold, silver slab of metal on the coffee table, she admired the work that she had done. Each nail was trimmed and filed into deadly perfection, triangular in shape, sharp as a needle at the tip of each. They were too beautiful; she had to try it out. Bringing out her left forearm, she dug the nails of her right hand into it, producing a dark scarlet liquid that trickled down her porcelain skin. A wry smile formed on her lips as she licked the blood off her arm, making no attempt patch up the four cuts she so willingly did herself.

Perfect.

~*~

In the silence of darkness he slept tangled in white sheets, gradually spiraling into deep slumber. He slowly opened his eyes to an unfamiliar place, aware that he was dreaming in some part of his consciousness. A multitude of topless burlesques filled the room, dancing, colliding, enticing. The heat emanating from their bodies increased insatiable lust as skin caressed skin and nails scratched raw flesh. He indulged in this pleasure that devoured his senses and pulled close a striking young naked woman nearby that danced engagingly to him. She willingly let him guide her to a canopy four-poster bed that was in close proximity, its pillows and sheets covered in blood red velvet. He lied down and felt the fabric graze against his bare back as the woman straddled him, their hips locked in place. His hands made its way to her waist as he readied himself to succumb into uncontrollable release and closed his eyes.

Funny, he thought, how realistic it all was. He could actually feel her weight against him. And his hands... it could sense the slimness of her waist as he stroked her sides. Slowly, his eyes opened to see the bare beauty once more but were only met by the darkness of his bedroom. He very well knew that he wasn’t dreaming anymore…for what he saw before him could no longer be just a fabrication weaved by his subconscious mind.

He caught his breath as a sinister figure loomed over him in the shadows, straddling him just the way the stripped erotic burlesque in his dreams did. He could only see the outline of the body that mounted him, for the pale moonlight shone dimly through the newly opened window. It was a woman. His heart beat madly as he saw the intruder bring out her hand, deadly black nails gleaming in the milky moonlight, and placed the tip of each at his neck. A smile formed on the prowler’s lips, her teeth glinting as bright as the mischievous Cheshire cat’s grin. She bent down to whisper ever so softly in his ear.

“Hey, you.”

His fingers traced the smooth shell necklace that trailed around his neck. He occasionally tugged at it as his eyes glazed at the fireplace before him, flames dancing furiously and casting shadows that flickered against the beige walls that surrounded him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall the very day he received the hand-made jewelry crafted by his very own beloved. The darkness consumed him, rendering him in a state of nostalgia.

~*~

“I made it during summer camp,” She said jubilantly. Gently taking his open palm, she dropped the pearly white necklace onto it and closed his hand into a fist. “It’s something very precious to me, so I’m giving it to you because I know you’ll take good care of it.”

He replied with a bashful smile, silently accepting the gift given to him. He withdrew his hand from hers and brought the necklace closer to his face to have a better look at it. Each square, flat, shell was polished to perfection, each one gleaming in the warm sunlight. He examined the uneven contours of the whole piece and concluded that it had really been done solely by hand, something that encouraged him to keep it closer to his heart. The necklace, he knew, became a part of her.

She reached out for the necklace and took it from him once more. Taking both ends of the necklace, her slender fingers made their way to his neck where she locked it in place. A smile graced her lips as saw the way it matched him perfectly.

A mad rush of scarlet flooded his cheeks as she tip-toed to kiss his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered.

~*~

A loud knock on the door was all it took for him to snap back from his silent reverie. He blinked his eyes a few times to ensure that he had in fact returned to reality. The necklace was still in his hand, its sheen still as flawless as the day he had received it.

“Who is it?” he asked apprehensively.

“It’s me, honey,” a feminine voice replied.

A surge of trepidation overwhelmed him. He looked back at the necklace and crumpled it in his hand.

Looking at it just gave him twice—no, thrice the guilt.

Without hesitation, he tucked the necklace under the couch he sat on and made his way to answer the door.

And she stayed under the unkempt couch ever since.

Her heels clicked against the cold pavement.

Running...

Running...

Her heart ceased to beat for a moment.

No...

It was not time yet...

Her knees gave way. She was too weak.

But it was not time yet...

It shouldn’t be...

She rested her weight on the hand that touched the pavement for support. With her free hand, she clutched the gold heart-shaped pendant that clung to the thin chain around her neck.

Crystal tears emitted from the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. As if following an imperceptible course, it streamed with grace, down her oval face and on to the cement floor. Her lips trembled and gradually parted into a slim gap, slowly taking in the crisp air that filled the ambiance.

Her head tilted heavenward, feeling the intangible arms of the sun caress her pale countenance; inspiring fresh life into her weary bones and warming her icy skin.

She smiled in gratitude for the benediction she had received. As her eyes slowly opened, a sweet greeting of cherry blossoms descended upon her, letting itself perch on her shoulders and her lap. She looked around and took in everything that surrounded her.

The cherry blossom tress silently wept, filling the milieu with a soft tint of carnation. The sun hid behind the thick blossoms that adhered to the branches, daring itself to move into the open.

Regaining some of her strength, she progressively positioned herself upright and motioned herself toward her destination.

She needed to hurry...

There was not much time.

She broke into a run. Her hair wipped against her back as she hastened her pace. Somehow, she felt her passage of breathing enclosing. Her mind raced even more...she had to keep running.

A gravestone was materializing as she approached into the horizon. She was near.

A feeling of anticipation surged through her body. This was the only place she wanted to be at that moment...

Beside her beloved.

Her speed diminished as she approached her deceased lover.

Finally...

She knelt in front of the large stone and let her fingers glide through the engraved epitaph. Tears flowed down her cheeks once more. The corners of her lips curved upward. After many scarred years, they were now together...in the face of death.

A warm sensation caressed her back and onto her arms. The warmth materialized into a human form; a most beautiful celestial form.

It was him.

She closed her eyes as she felt herself float away from her lifeless body. Turning around, she met his deep viridian eyes. The eyes that had captivated her heart for so long a time. The eyes that had made her undergo a great sense of belonging.

It was time that hindered her eyes from seeing his viridian ones...

But they were no longer bound by time...

They were bound by oblivion...

He slowly opened his eyes half-mast, watching the bright rectangular lights of the hospital ceiling pass over his head. Incoherent voices surrounded him, distant and alarmed.

“Male approximately 27 years of age… car accident, head trauma, and internal bleeding.”

He came to an abrupt stop and felt himself being carried away from the gurney and onto another bed. His body remained limp as they punctured several needles and tubes into him. He felt the sudden pressure, but the pain did not register.

What happened again? Oh, right. The truck driver didn’t see him pull out of the driveway. Who brought him here, then? He couldn’t recall any sound of sirens, getting inside an ambulance or anything of the sort.

~*~

She desperately tried to keep up with the pace of the moving gurney. Her legs seemed heavier with each step she took, eyes stinging from the tears that continuously flowed down her flushed cheeks and onto the cold linoleum floor.

“How are you related to him, miss?” asked a nurse who was running on the opposite side of the rolling stretcher.

“He’s my husband,” she replied without hesitation.

~*~Flashback~*~

She jammed the key into the ignition and maneuvered the clutch as she readied herself to back out from the garage.

He was coming home late tonight from his business trip. Her stomach churned excitedly as she envisaged herself finally seizing the opportunity to take his face into her small hands and plant soft kisses all over his features.

And what better way to welcome him with a surprise dinner she lovingly prepared all by herself?

The engine silently rumbled as she sped through the dark empty street. All the shops were closed by then; nothing else illuminated the gloom but the street lights that gave off a blunt yellowish light overhead. The 24-hour grocery store materialized from a distance.

To make dinner, you need ingredients, of course, she thought to herself wryly.

A shabby motel in the opposite side of the road stood out in the darkness. But it wasn’t the motel that caught her attention. No, it was far from the motel. It was the sleek black car that was slowly pulling out of the driveway.

“No,” she breathed. Not again. He can’t be doing this again. Her heart pumped madly as her breathing shortened with every second that passed. She shook her head vigorously left and right, forcing herself to reject what she had just seen.

All that happened next became a numbing blur.

Her eyes widened in horror as a truck emerged from the darkness that came speeding dangerously fast. Its monstrous front end loomed over the car frighteningly, crushing against the side of the small black vehicle and sending it off to skid a few meters away before it halted to a complete stop.

The sound of the impact was bloodcurdling.

She sat in her car, frozen.

~*~

His ears strained to hear for a familiar voice amongst the sea of noise and commotion. Relief washed over him as he heard her small sweet voice, overpowering all pain and suffering.

“Mia?”

“I’m here, honey. Everything’s going to be all right,” she replied, her cold and tremulous hand giving his lifeless one a weak squeeze of assurance.

Her eyes darted from his blood-encrusted face to his hand and saw the silver ring that signified their eternal commitment. A feeble smile crossed her lips as she wiped the blood that tarnished the small piece and looked up once more at the very heart of everything she lived for.

“Mia…”

“Yes?” she replied weakly as she reached out to touch his face. The warmth in his eyes seemed to obscure all the noise that surrounded them, leaving her only to listen to the sound of his frail and hoarse voice.

“Tell Claire…I love her.”

They both lied beneath a sea of blankets as the dawn came to greet them. Warm rays of sunlight seeped through the curtains and into the dim room, exposing the evidences of the past night— clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, curtains drawn, and a lampshade left on.1

She pulled the sheets closer to her naked body. It was getting cold. Trying to make as little movement as possible, she snuggled in closer to feel her lover’s natural warmth as not to wake him but to no avail. He awoke with a start and breathed in deeply before opening his jade-colored eyes to look at the woman next to him.2

She smiled at him feebly and traced the contours of his lips with her candlestick fingers. “Good morning.”3

He kissed her fingertips as a grin played on his features. “Good morning, beautiful.” His eyes drifted onto the corners of the bedroom. It was still the same old mustard walls and earth-toned furniture. Their memories together have been so numerous to the point that they were nothing but misty images tucked away in this secret place.4

She continued to admire the god resting on her side. Flawless and beautiful. His messy sand-colored hair only emphasized his beauty if not perfected it. His broad shoulders and lean body were a golden tan, his skin a smooth and supple feel. How could she not be mesmerized by a dream turned into reality?5

Oh, how she loved him. She’d snip his wings off if he were an angel sent from Heaven. He could be somewhere else in someone else’s arms. But he was right there, looking into her eyes as if she herself were the goddess of his dreams.6

He lifted his head a bit to glance at the digital clock on the bedside table.7

9:15.8

“Just on time,” he mused as he sat up and pulled the sheets off his body. It slid off him like silk on water. He languidly bent on the floor, picked up his clothes and headed for the bathroom. After splashing some cold water on his face and combing his hair in the right places, he came out as if he was just fresh from the shower.9

“Going already?” She asked. There was no need to ask. She knew where he was going.10

“Yeah, I have to. I’ll be late for my flight,” He replied as snatched his phone and palm pilot off the bedside table. He leaned over to her side of the bed and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you soon.”11

She smiled and replied, “Yeah, see you soon.”12

He was just about to leave the door when she stopped him.13

“ Wait.”14

He turned and looked at her in curiosity.15

“Yes?”16

“You forgot it again.”17

“Oh, thank you.” A smile formed on his lips as he made his way to the bedside table again.18

He slipped the platinum ring on the right finger and made his way out the door. A laugh escaped his lips as he turned to face her for one last time.19

“She’d be furious again, wouldn’t she?”20

The door shut closed and the room once filled with laughter was now replaced with a cold silence.

Since I was a little child, I have always loved the rain. I enjoyed tiny drops of water cooling my skin as I played a heated game of tag with my younger sister on the driveway. The drizzle would gradually turn into a heavy downpour, masking the horizon with a sheet of silver strokes blazing across the sky. Naïve as I was, I refused to scurry back into the house to keep myself dry. Instead, I would stop dead on my tracks and enjoy the cool sensations that would breathe life into my tired body, my head tilted back to feel the rain splash against my face. Trisha, my little sister, would let out a giggle and run towards me, eventually following the position I was in: head tilted back except with her mouth wide open to let the raindrops fall inside, thinking that she could actually taste the difference between the water we drank at home and the rainwater that she was taste testing that very moment. 1

Leaving the sudden flashes of light across the sky or the greyish hue of everything around us to go unnoticed, we would be too engrossed with the song we would always sing together every time the rain would come to visit. “If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops, oh, what a rain would it be!” We would belt out with all the air in our lungs. More streaks of light coming from the darkness would fly like javelins thrown across the heavens without warning, ready to pierce into anyone who would dare defy cautiousness. 2

Until today, I still enjoy watching the rain as much as I loved immersing myself into it back when I was in my younger years. I still love the refreshing sounds each raindrop would make as it would hit the trees above my head and onto cold pavement on the ground. It was like a silent symphony that only I can hear and experience. Each time I would reach out to touch the drops that would fall from my umbrella during a rainy day, the image of me as a child would materialize inside my mind, dancing and singing under the blanket of cold and rejuvenating rain.3

For my English class, I chose to feature my experience of stepping into a strip club for the first time. Enjoy. :)

~*~

I gazed up to the bright lights above my head, its red luminescence spelling out the familiar name that revealed itself to me from some hidden part of my consciousness: Athena. With the drizzle gradually turning into a downpour, I stepped through the glass doors, passing the beer-bellied man that seemed to guard the entrance, and into what seemed like a lounge area. I took a deep breath and walked in deeper into the enclosed space. I was there simply because of what I had to do: immerse myself into a world I never thought I would ever step into— a world in which I thought myself as a virgin to.1

A gruff middle-aged man was situated behind a podium near me, scrutinizing my every move. I simply smiled to hide my apprehension and pretended to fumble with my pen and paper to keep me distracted from his piercing stare. While waiting for somebody to attend to me, I scanned the area and forced my photographic memory to remember each detail I saw. Above my head was a tiny chandelier, its crystals bouncing off the dull yellowish light that illuminated the room. On my left was a large cabinet made of glass and inside was an array of different liquors and cigars. My eyes set back to the couches across me and there sat two old ladies who were obviously contemplating on the reason why I was idly standing there.2

My head turned to the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor, each click resonating louder with every step. The sound of her approach averted my attention from the sensual beats that bounced off the speakers. A woman bearing an olive green ensemble emerged out of a large doorway not very far from where I stood, her smile melting away the anxiety that washed over me a few moments ago. Being a woman around the age of fifty or more, her silver-grey hair and the lines on her face reminded me of my grandmother. I returned her silent greeting with ease and walked towards her, my hand extended to readily introduce myself.3

“I’m Mama Elena,” she replied after telling her my name. Before I could tell her my reason for being there, she asked, “Are you here to apply?” I shook my head vigorously and let out an awkward laugh. I explained to her my simple wanting of exposing myself into the real world, and in the end, write about what I have seen and experienced. She nodded her head in comprehension and asked, “Do you have any questions about the place?” 4

I first inquired about the room I was currently standing in. It was a waiting room, according to her, where managers and assisting managers would wait on incoming customers to guide them inside the dining area to get them settled in. I did not see any scantily clad girls loitering there as I expected them to be.5

She then lead me to the doorway where she came in, unfolding to me a great expanse of space that was twenty times the size of the waiting room just behind me. I stood in awe at what was before me, a thousand thoughts clouding my senses, until Mama Elena’s soothing voice reeled me back to reality.6

“This is the dining area,” she told me, gesturing towards the tables, chairs and couches that were arranged accordingly. I padded deeper into the heart of Athena which looked like a large rectangular pit divided into two sections. To my very right, near the stage, were low glass coffee tables surrounded by long plush couches. The tables were practically sticking to the front of the stage, connoting that these spots were for the men who wanted a bit of hands-on activity with the girls performing on stage.7

Right behind these couches were the iron chair and tables, fit for those who preferred having a hearty dinner first before moving to the couches to unwind and have a beer. I checked my watch and saw that it was only nine in the evening and realized that there were hardly any customers filling up the seats.8

“The place opens at seven thirty in the evening, but the programs start at nine,” said Mama Elena. “The people usually come at this time, but the peak hours of this place are from one in the morning until closing time which is at four. During weeknights, Athena would not even be half full. Although, when the weekends roll in, that’s when the peak hours are really at its peak. Right now, though, we’re not really thriving because the foreigners haven’t been coming in lately. since our country’s issues have been broadcasted over the world via media, foreigners aren’t very keen on visiting these kinds of places anymore, let alone any other part of the Philippines. When it would be tourist season, we would earn as much as eighty thousand a night. Right now, our earnings don’t even reach twenty thousand.”9

I placed my eyes towards the stage, the lights from above filling the space with a bright shade pink which mixed with a vibrant green, fiery red, and a sunny yellow. A girl about the age of twenty emerged from the corner; her exposed breasts catching the cold air and making her nipples harden. I stifled a gasp as she danced engagingly towards the edge of the stage where around a group of ten men lounged on the couch smugly, their eyes fixed on the bosoms of the performer as she touched them seductively. A smile did not grace her lips, but a frown that was far from making an attempt to lure her customers into a subtle sexual drive. The men did not notice her despondency, but simply clapped and hooted at the minx bearing nothing but a pair of black glossy shorts and high cut boots to match.10

“Of course, they don’t want this job,” said Mama Elena. “They do it because they need the money in order to keep their family alive. If ever they would be offered another job that didn’t require them to take their clothes off, they would still continue to work here because money came in easily.” Her answer was just as what I expected. It was the same old answer that could be found over the internet if one tried researching on this career path, but to see those words over the web etched on the features of someone near my age, someone who should be stressing over papers in college, someone who should be going through almost exactly what I’m going through, was a sight I knew would haunt some nights before I could submit myself to a heavy sleep.11

The program, according to my so-called aging tour guide, consisted of a little modeling, and a lot of dancing. Dancing, of course, was the main attraction in Athena. At one point when the girls are already tired, they hold a one hour intermission called Disco Time, where the costumers are invited to dance on stage. Mama Elena shook her head when I asked if there were was stand-up comedy in any part of the program. It really was essentially a pack of girls dancing in their bikinis and some wearing nothing at all. 12

For some special events, such as their Christmas parties and Big Night Celebrations, the normal program would follow but some sexy stars such as Ynez Veneracion and the Viva Hot Babes would come to liven up they party even more. 13

On my very left, right behind the iron tables and chairs I mentioned earlier, were a series of doors lined up, both in the first and second floor. The windows were tainted an onyx hue, obscuring the view of the onlooker from afar. At a close vantage point though, a dark image of the other side of the glass can be made out. 14

I made my way through the red velvet carpet and into one of the rooms that were available. Some of the rooms had plastic door signs that said, OCCUPIED, in red and bold capital letters; I shook my mind of any thought that I would rather not entertain.15

The KTV Room, as it was commonly called, consisted of couches that could seat about 16-20 people with a karaoke machine situated in one of the corners of the area. These rooms could be reserved by costumers and are most preferably used by them rather than staying outside in the dining area. “Kissing is allowed, but sexual intercourse is prohibited here,” replied Mama Elena when I asked if any “action” happens in these places. “If ever they do have sex with the costumers outside of Athena (because costumers are allowed to take them out), they have check- ups every Friday to ensure us that they are free from STD’s.” Without anything left to see, I stepped out of the room and allowed Mama Elena to guide me to what seemed like the last stop of my entire tour.16

“Through this door is The Showroom,” she explained as her fingers tightened on the brass knob. “This is where we keep all the girls.” With a turn of her wrist, she swung the door open. It took a while for me to get accustomed to the bright pink and baby blue lights that flashed before my eyes. After blinking a few times, I squinted and saw a clear glass materialize not very far from where I stood, and behind it was red curtain that hindered me from seeing what was beyond it. Before I could ask her to draw them aside, she started to speak once more.17

“This is where managers and assisting managers like me take the customers. Aside from helping them in their seats in the dining area, we also bring them here should they want to table a girl—or girls— to sit with them.” 18

A pair of voices behind us disrupted our discussion and we looked back to see the source of this interference. Two plump Japanese men came bustling into the room, their faces flooded with excitement. The assisting manager who brought them there drew the curtains back and revealed what was on the other side of the glass. 19

More than twenty girls sitting on the wooden bleachers placed their eyes on me. Scantily clad in bikinis and short silky evening sleeping gowns, each of them played on a happy disposition. As I scanned each of them, refusing to make my eyes meet theirs, I realized that their body types were very different from each other: voluptuous, skinny, chubby, and even model-worthy frames were exposed to me. It was far from what I saw in the movies, where girls like them had their skins airbrushed to a bronzy perfection, their hair gently tousled and their figures chiseled to the ever desirable hourglass frame.20

“We don’t get minors. We usually hire girls ages nineteen to twenty four. Because diverse pools of foreigners come to visit this place, we’re not very keen on the body type as each foreigner has a specific taste: tall, dark and skinny for the Americans and Europeans, petite and skinny frames for the Japanese and Koreans, and chubby figures for the Arabs.”21

Some of the young women waved at the two Japanese men who boisterously discussed who they were planning to table. Finally decided, they pulled out the one with the skinny figure, her skin a dark shade of brown. Her buttocks peeked out through her lacey underwear as she emerged from a pathway that led her to where we stood from the opposite side of the glass. Without any preamble, the two men pulled her out the door, her giggles leaving a haunting echo in my ear as she made her way out.22

“Sometimes, they get more than one girl,” Mama Elena finally said, as if nothing so seemingly diabolic just happened. “When foreigners come in groups, they table a lot of them. When they just come here alone, they table about one or two.” I silently took in a few deep breaths to calm myself from the shock that had rendered my body rigid. Not sensing the trepidation that shook my body, she continued on. “They each cost nine hundred Pesos per hour. If they get tips from their customers, we get ten percent of it. The Japanese are very generous. They give as much as five hundred Pesos in tips.”23

Knowing that it was already the end of my little tour, I thanked her as she led me back into the waiting room. A sudden sorrow overlapped the tension that hid within me as I tucked my pen and paper snuggly into my bag. I wasn’t quite sure about the kind of sadness that seemed to embrace me— if it was a sadness for the Mama Elenas who worked late at night, if it was for the girls around my age who sold themselves to buy food for their family, if it was for the Athena itself, where behind its pure name cloaked the many impurities that the night seemed to have a role in.24

I came out of Athena enlightened as the dark, empty road lay ahead before me, the rain splashing against the pavement even stronger than when I had gone inside.