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June 11 - June 15, 2019
Aru was waiting for magic. And every day she was disappointed.
As Aru had expected, the day was on its way to being uneventful. That should have been her first warning. The world has a tendency to trick people. It likes to make a day feel as bright and lazy as sun-warmed honey dripping down a jar as it waits until your guard is down…. And that’s when it strikes.
Four p.m. is like a basement. Wholly innocent in theory. But if you really think about a basement, it is cement poured over restless earth. It has smelly, unfinished spaces, and wooden beams that cast too-sharp shadows. It is something that says almost, but not quite. Four p.m. feels that way, too. Almost, but not quite afternoon anymore. Almost, but not quite evening yet. And it is the way of magic and nightmares to choose those almost-but-not-quite moments and wait.
Between a demon that could end the world and a seventh-grade girl, Aru (and probably most people) would choose the demon any day.
She had done it all her life: looked at something not so great and told herself all the things that made it great.
A chaperone had to keep yelling, “Leave enough room between you for Jesus!” By the end of the night it was: “LEAVE ROOM FOR THE HOLY TRINITY!”
“You’re Mini, she’s Aru. I’m exasperated. Salutations done? Okay. Off to the Otherworld now.” “Exasperated, how do we get there?” asked Mini. Boo blinked. “Let’s hope you inherited some talents, since irony evidently eluded you.” “I have an iron deficiency. Does that count?” offered Mini.
Maybe that’s why superheroes wore capes. Maybe they weren’t actually capes at all, but safety blankets, like the one Aru kept at the bottom of her bed and pulled up under her chin before she went to sleep. Maybe superheroes just tied their blankies around their necks so they’d have a little bit of comfort wherever they went. Because honestly? Saving the world was scary. No harm admitting that. (And she could have done with her blankie right about then.)
“They punished you with a curse?” asked Mini. “Just for being a kid?” added Aru. That didn’t seem very fair. “They said I would never remember how strong and powerful I am until someone reminded me,” said Hanuman. “Sometimes I wonder if it is a curse that we are all under at some point or another.”
Mini started beating the hand with the sprig of youth and shouting, “I”—smack—“do”—smack—“not”—smack—“like”—smack—“you!”
Many things can coexist. Several gods can live in one universe. It’s like fingers on a hand. They’re all different, but still part of a hand.”
Maybe…maybe her gift wasn’t lying. Maybe her gift was imagination. Imagination was neither good nor bad. It was a little bit of both. Just like her.
Tales are slippery, her mother had often said. The truth of a story depends on who is telling it.
If Aru had been politely indifferent to science before, now she straight up hated it.
On the breeze, she could hear the final words of people who had died: No, not yet! And Please make sure someone remembers to feed Snowball. And I hope someone clears my Internet browser. But mostly, Aru heard love. Tell my family I love them. Tell my wife I love her. Tell my children I love them. Tell Snowball I love her.
“I find that organizing scary information actually makes me less scared.”
“How fitting that I am called the Palace of Illusions when all I have left are memories. Perhaps memories are the grandest illusion of all,”
In the tale, the archery teacher of the Pandavas had tied a wooden fish to a tree branch. He instructed the brothers to shoot an arrow at the fish’s eye. But they could only aim by looking at the reflection of the wooden fish in the water below them. The teacher asked Yudhistira, the oldest brother, what he saw in the reflection. He said, The sky, the tree, the fish. The teacher told him not to shoot. He asked Bhima, the second oldest brother, what he saw. He said, The branch of the tree, the fish. The teacher asked him not to shoot. And then the teacher asked Arjuna what he saw. He said, The
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Aru thought it seemed like a scaredy-cat thing to do: decide not to move on just because it was bound to be hard.
Secrets are curious things. They are flimsy and easily broken. For this reason, they prefer to remain hidden.
A fact, on the other hand, is strong and powerful. It’s proven. Unlike a secret, it’s out there for everyone to see and know. And that can make it more terrifying than even the deepest, darkest secret.
“Heroines usually are the Kingdom of Death’s worst nightmares. They’re always barging in, waving scraps of metal around, and demanding things. No manners whatsoever.” “Excuse you!” said Aru. “What about heroes? I bet they’re just as bad as heroines.” “It’s a compliment! Heroes rarely have the guts to demand things. Usually they just sulk until a magical sidekick feels bad for them and does all the work while they get all the credit.”
Traffic was at a standstill. But Aru was used to that. After all, it was Atlanta.
Aru was twelve years old. Even she knew that half the time she didn’t know what she was doing.
“It is not failure to fail.”
Love looked different to everyone.
“I’m thinking that we should start working on a battle cry.” “What about AAAAAAHHHH-don’t-kill-me?” suggested Mini.
Aru frowned. Okay, maybe she wasn’t 100 percent sure that they could handle whatever came next. But she was kind of sure. Which was way better than last time.
Brahmasura (BRAH-mah-soo-rah) Once upon a time there was an asura who prayed long and hard to the god Shiva (Lord of Destruction, as you might recall). Shiva, pleased with the asura’s austerities, granted him a boon, and this dude, real casually, BTW, asked for this: “ANYONE WHOSE HEAD I TOUCH WITH MY HAND GETS BURNED TO ASHES.” I imagine their convo went like this: Shiva: Why, though? Brahmasura: ☺ Shiva: No, seriously, why? That’s a horrible wish. Brahmasura: ☺ Shiva: I…ugh. Okay. Fine. You will regret this! *shakes fist* Brahmasura: ☺ Okay, so fast forward, and everyone hates Brahmasura and
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