My room is humid again tonight. The sound of the quiet ceiling fan whirring above me provides a nice, yet futile comfort as it kicks the isolated warm air around in my bedroom. It spins and spins, but does little to stop the sweat from gathering on my forehead. Still I keep it running possibly because I have convinced myself that it does contribute to cooling me down. I brush strands of brown hair out of my face as I sigh wistfully like an actress on a stage performing for an audience. Except there is no audience, it’s just me, my room, my ceiling fan and my window. How is it that I can be sweating so bad when I’m wearing nothing but a sleeveless shirt and panties to bed? Is it my hair? I run a hand through it, from the top and down past my shoulders, tracing my fingers all the way, the smooth texture of my hair tickling my palm faintly. If I could go bald for an hour and then grow all my hair back, I would.

With some effort I push myself up to a sitting position and rub my eyes. Various dim, slow blinking lights from the street down below draw my attention and after a short while I scooch over to the window. I live in a sketchy part of town, but the view from my apartment window is not so bad, atop my throne of soft pillows and duvets I see it all. From the 6th floor the noise from the street is comfortably muted. I put my elbows up and rest them on the windowsill and gaze at the distant towering buildings. A huge concrete wall marks the separation between us and them. The wealthy, central side of Kandon City. The colors and lights there are much more vibrant and alive. One of the blinking neon billboards is even vaguely visible to the naked eye. ‘Join the fight, do what’s right, freedom is for what we strive’, it’s a political slogan made by the Freedom Initiative Party. They are convinced that we should open the borders of the city and allow people to travel freely between Kandon and the outside world. I don’t particularly have an issue with it, but between life and my job I’m too tired to take a stance. I’d like to live in central Kandon someday. If I had the money I could move into one of those big rooms with better ceiling fans and a big TV.

I feel a yawn sneaking up on me and happily accept my fate, opening my mouth to let it out. I squint my eyes and look back at my digital alarm clock. It reads 4AM, it’s almost time to leave for work. After a quick shower I heat up some minestrone soup and take it with me in a thermos as I head out the door. It’s the dawn of a new day and I’m ready to make the most of it!

As I hit the streets I take in a big gulp of air, it isn’t the cleanest, but it’s nice and cool compared to my humid apartment. Surrounding me on all sides are the tall, graying capsule towers, totally bleak and mass produced to put together a quick residential area. Their lack of color stands in a stark and jarring contrast to the people around me. It’s still early so the streets aren’t as crowded as usual, but figures of all shapes and colors are already slithering out of the alleyways and starting their day. Above the skyline is obscured by a thick layer of smog and magic, wrapping the city in an oppressive blanket. Only the strongest of the sun’s rays manage to poke through. I stop and look for my bus, fidgeting with the travel card in my pocket absentmindedly as I hear someone come up behind me.

‘‘Good morning, miss.’’

His voice is low and gravelly. He sounds like he is in desperate need of water and my throat dries up just hearing him speak. Glancing over my shoulder I look back to see a man, or possibly a creature. He stands roughly 200 centimeters tall with a slight hunch. His shoulders are broad, accentuated by the tight brown suit he is wearing which looks just one size too small to be comfortable. In one hand he has a normal-sized black suitcase, while the other holds his trilby, which was covering his greasy, frazzled white hair moments prior. His teeth are jagged like fangs, but perhaps most alarmingly is his big imposing yellow eye at the center of his face which looks like it was created by two smaller eyes merging together and meeting in the middle. As I make eye contact I flinch, my heart beating rapidly as I glance at the backs of his exposed hands. Both blank. He’s just a man. I smile brightly, both relieved that I am safe and happy that a stranger said hi to me.

‘‘Good morning!’’ I bowed my head gratefully and his face wrinkled as he smiled and bowed back at me before continuing on his merry way. Just as he moved from his spot I noticed my bus coming down the street and got ready to board.

It’s a swift process, I hand my travel card over to the magic reading apparatus. It blinks and sputters, giving three white flashes as it extracts a sample of black sludge from the inside of my card, before giving a final green flash confirming that I am permitted to travel. While it did this I made eye contact with the bus driver and exposed the backs of my hands, both blank of course. He nods and adjusts his cigar with a chew. I could finally take my seat. I sit near the front, taking the spot next to a young man with an oddly handsome face. He was wearing a court jester’s hat fashioned from crudely sewn together crocodile skin and artificial frog legs. For reasons I do not know it is painted in both red and yellow split down the middle. His long flowing robe at least matches up colorwise. The loose robe is taking up both seats, but as he sees me make my way over he quickly pulls it to the side, leaving a bundle of fabric in his lap as he frees up my seat. I mouth a quick thank you and sit down quietly. I’d like to ask him about his attire, but the distant look in his eyes told me he's headed for work and not much of a conversationalist. The sludge was still sticking out of my travel card. With a gentle nudge I pushed it back inside the card with my index finger.

‘‘No please you don’t understand!’’

I look up and see a middle-aged man with his hands raised. He was sweating bullets and looked like he hadn't slept in days. His clothes were ragged and torn with stains of dried blood covering his right arm. I know I shouldn’t look. I know it will bother me later. The bus driver got out of his seat and held a sawed-off shotgun up to the guy’s chest. I fidget with my travel card.

‘‘Get off my bus.’’

‘‘I have a family, I-I’ve got kids!’’

I knew I shouldn’t look, but at that moment I saw it. The black mark on the back of his hand. It’s already too late for him.

At this point the people in the bus start joining the bus driver’s side as they shout for the guy to leave. I won't join them. I just sit here like a fly on the wall. The handsome man next to me scowled and ripped a frog leg off his hat to throw at the marked stranger. The leg hit his forehead with all the strength of a wet noodle. He ignored it and mouthed something to the driver, I couldn't hear him over all the shouting.

‘‘We can’t help you.’’ The driver replied, firmly standing his ground. The marked stranger’s face grew pale as he stepped back off the bus and disappeared down the street. The engine of the bus came to an abrupt start and soon we were on our way.

The city of Kandon is a magical society isolated from most of the outside world. Magic flows through the things we consume, the air we breathe and the blood in our veins. Everyone here is magic which makes the unordinary and strange just another facet of daily life. I glance up at the young man’s jester hat and see small blobs of black sludge pooling together by the tear in his fabric, before fixing it back up and turning into a new frog leg, changing color as it solidifies and falls into place. Life isn’t easy, but if you’re strong and you use your head you’ll live long. Unless you get marked by a ghoul. As the bus turns its first corner I look out onto the street on the right. A severed arm with a black mark on the back of its hand lies slack in the middle of a pool of blood, abandoned by its owner who has most likely already parted from this world. I feel nothing. None of us do. This is just another part of daily life in Kandon. For the rest of the drive I sit in silence and ponder about tonight’s dinner

At long last I arrive and get off at my stop on a side street connected to the main road. I enter The Humble Familiar, a black hotel with a bright red roof recognizable by its tacky shining cat logo hanging on a rickety metal sign above the door. The image of the sign depicts a magically moving cat face, which looks from right to left on an infinite loop while it licks its lips. No more sulking, I have gotten off the bus now, I need to psyche myself up and enter work mode. Taking a deep breath I push the door open and head inside.

‘‘Emma!’’ My boss immediately shouts at me, as if on a dramatic cue, ‘‘You’re 2 minutes late!’’

‘‘Sorry David! Someone was devoured this morning and they were holding up the bus.’’ The small guy in the red tie and black shirt with a receding hairline and failing attempt at a scraggly beard is my boss David. He sweats a lot.

‘‘Well then next time you throw them off the bus faster, okay? You know we’re understaffed as it is and I cannot have you showing up late to work like this.’’

‘‘Of course, of course!’’

After getting changed into my black and red uniform I go into the staff room and pour myself a cup of lukewarm coffee to power up for the shift ahead of me. The interior of the hotel smells vaguely of cigarette smoke and burnt magic sludge, a stench that follows you everywhere you go and makes the air surprisingly damp. I blink and look at the seat across from me as someone sits down.

‘‘David gave you shit again?’’ The lean guy with a thick mustache on his upper lip and slick black hair combed back is named Trevor.

‘‘David gives everyone shit.’’ I reply, my brow furrowing as I hide my frown behind the bottom of my coffee cup.

‘‘Just don’t overwork yourself, yeah?’’ Trevor is one of the few of my coworkers who has the capacity to care for others. It is not a requirement for this job.

‘‘Ugh! I can’t believe it! This is like, the worst day of my life ever!’’ A young woman in her late teens barges into the staff room. She’s wearing a big pair of glasses and coupled with her frizzy red hair it is almost impossible to make out her facial features safe for her big set of teeth and rounded sharp eyes.

‘‘What’s wrong Janet?’’ I ask immediately to avoid her infamous guilt-tripping tactics.

‘‘It’s those dirty Nomads on the third floor,’’ she shudders as if speaking the very word could kill her, ‘‘they don’t know the first thing about proper etiquette, I mean really you should’ve seen. They were wearing their shoes inside of their rooms.’’ This is my coworker Janet. Janet is a bigot fresh out of private school.

‘‘Y-Yeah! Fuck those Nomads!’’ Trevor slammed the table quickly and awkwardly, but only with enough strength to get a pathetically low thud from it. Trevor likes Janet.

‘‘I’m sure they’re just trying to get by. I mean they can’t have it easy, right?’’ I look between the two of them and Janet stares me down for a solid two seconds before speaking up.

‘‘Ooooh myyyy god! Emma, your skin is soooo tan and pretty! Have you been hitting the tubes recently?’’

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

‘‘I uhh, yeah sometimes.’’ Coward. You’re just changing the topic because you don’t want to argue. ‘‘Listen Janet you-’’

‘‘Emma!’’ David calls out from the next room over.

And so work begins.

It’s all a blur. Between managing people as they enter the building, providing room service and cleaning the hallways there's plenty of work to do. I never did get to verbally beat up Janet and by the time that I clock out for the day I’m already too tired to fight her. I’ll save it for another day.

The streets are notably colder than when I arrived at work and the wet pavement smells of freshly fallen rain. The shadows dance and twist playfully around the street lights as if the very city herself was alive and breathing. I start walking towards the bus stop without thinking, but hesitate and check behind me. It’s kind of odd. I’ve been working here for how long now, a few years? I look up at the infinitely looping cat logo.

‘‘This sucks.’’

Did I just say that out loud? Thankfully it seems like no one heard me. My gaze wanders and eventually settles on the road in the opposite direction of where I usually go. Five years. Five whole years spent slaving away at The Humble Familiar and somehow I have never been down that road before. Am I so complacently okay with comfort that I just do the same routines every day? Same bus, same route, same time. I did it all unknowingly too. It’s not as if I was trying to tell the world I am a boring person. Oh fuck. Am I a boring person? People in long coats and big jackets silently pass me by and I feel a faint tickling buzz in my stomach. Is this what a call to adventure feels like? I check the backs of my hand and nod to myself. Not marked. Despite having worked all day I somehow find the energy to manage a second wind and start down the path I have never walked before.

I come to a canal and immediately run over to look at the water. The black waves swirl and turn with all the allure of an open abyss. As I stare into the unrelenting watery depths, with the smell of saltwater strong in the air and my hands on the cold, rusted steel railing, I feel something stare back at me. I can’t be certain what it is, or if there even is anything. Maybe it’s just the feeling. The feeling that I wasn’t supposed to come here tonight. The feeling that something bad will happen if I stick around. The feeling that the water holds disturbing secrets. All I need to do is ask and the mass of sludge that has mixed with the waves will come together and burn images I hadn’t thought possible into my mind. The waves grow louder and more aggressive. I can’t tear my eyes away. I tremble as a cold breeze blows by, managing to tear my eyes away. I gasp as if I was coming up for air after a long dive.

How long have I been standing here?

I push off the railing to continue my walk home, wiping my cold hands on my jacket as I walk along the darkened canal. There is a tall bridge coming up on my right side which leads across the water. Despite the late time of day there is still a fair amount of cars going across on both sides, their yellow lights taking turns whizzing by and idling like sleepy fireflies. In the shadow of a passing light I notice something. I furrow my brow and look closer, my pace swiftly increasing until I break into a full sprint.

Someone is about to jump from the bridge.

‘‘Hey wait!’’

Oh hear me, please hear me. I don’t want to be the kind of unlucky person that sees two people die on the same day. Thankfully I make sure to exercise when I can and my endurance no doubt helped me as I jumped over benches and weaved around slow-walking couples.

‘‘Hey stop! Can you hear me?’’

My lungs are burning, but I still prioritize shouting over catching my breath. A guy with faded black hair has climbed over the safety rail. He is staring into the cold, wet abyss much like I was just a couple minutes ago. Without hesitation I climb over the rail and start making my way towards him.

‘‘Cry.’’

His first word! Did he hear me? I try to get a good look at his face, but he’s still transfixed on the churning water below. I slowly reach out towards him, my hand shaking as I breathe in sharply. I don’t want to alarm him, so I put my hand on his shoulder as calmly as I can, whilst also gripping it firmly to let him know I am here.

‘‘I think I want to cry.’’

He finally turns to look at me. The tips of his short black hair sway in the wind. His face is contorted and ghostly pale. There is this tortured look to his ocean blue eyes, he really does seem on the verge of crying. Did I just catch someone having the breakdown of their lifetime?

‘‘Are you okay? Wanna talk about it?’’

‘‘Who are you?’’

I squeeze his shoulder gently and already start pulling him away from the edge. He doesn’t resist at all so I take that as a good sign. Once I get us back on more stable ground I take his hand and take us to the nearest bench.

‘‘I’m Emma,’’ his hands are ice cold so I hold them with my own to try and warm him up. What do people say at times like this?

‘‘And who am I?’’

‘‘I don’t think you told me your name. Do you remember your name? Where’s your ID?’’

Way to sound like a police officer.

‘‘Wh-Where am I?’’

His eyes widen with horror as he breaks eye contact with me and starts looking around. It almost feels like he hadn’t noticed his surroundings until just now. The light is brighter here so I get a better look at his face. His fair skin is without scars and looks newly washed, he is tall and slender, doesn’t look like he has put on much muscle at all, which makes it highly likely that he grew up in the wealthier part of town. The only problem is his white t-shirt and black jeans are too plain to make him look wealthy. I notice something strange on his face and lean in to grab ahold of it and get a closer look. There’s some kind of imprint over both of his eyes. It has an uncanny resemblance to bull horns, like a bull charged at him and through sheer cartoon physics, he escaped relatively unscathed with two red horn-shaped spots over his eyes. Speaking of his face, it is somehow even colder than his hands, how long has he been out here?

‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks me directly, sounding mildly concerned between his squished cheeks.

‘‘Sorry! Are you high?’’ I blurt out the last part.

‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘Do you have any relatives?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘Do you have a place to stay for the night?’’ I ask him, but I already know the answer.

And that’s how I ended up taking a guest home with me.

I held his hand the rest of the way home, leading him past blinking lights and through shady alleyways while he glanced around at everything looking like a scared puppy. I’m not really sure what has compelled me to take him home, but I kind of feel responsible for his safety. At the very least until morning comes and I can figure out who he is. For now I just need to get him somewhere warm.

‘‘Wait, wait…’’ For the first time he resisted and pulled back, holding a hand over his stomach as fear washed over his face. ‘‘I don’t… I don’t feel so good.’’

‘‘What’s wrong?’’

‘‘I think I’m going to die.’’

I turn his hands around and look at the back of them. Both blank, that’s a relief. Before I can do anything else I hear a loud rumble emanate from his stomach. I pause and look him dead in the eyes to try and figure out if he’s just fucking with me, but he looks like he is experiencing genuine pain.

‘‘Oh my god Emma am I gonna die?’’

Okay, so we’re grabbing some food on the way. We’re getting close to my apartment so I search my pockets for loose change to see what kind of a budget I have on me. Unfortunately it’s not a lot, but with some quick thinking I can probably assemble a halfway decent meal for him. I walk up to a nearby frying stand and order a bag of chicken nuggets. The old woman with her gray hair tied up into a bun smiles at us warmly, I can just see her picture us being a couple. I don’t even know this guy and I’m like eighty percent sure he’s just tripping on drugs.

‘‘What’s happening to me?’’

‘‘Listen, you’re gonna be fine! I’m getting you some nuggets.’’

‘‘Nuggets? What are those?’’

I do a quick double take.

‘‘Surely you know what nuggets are, you know, food?’’

‘‘O-Oohhh…’’

‘‘You don’t know, do you?’’

Once the nuggets are all done and packed I bow my head at the old lady and we rush back to my apartment. By the time we get to the door the guy is winded from going up all the stairs and just about ready to collapse. I quickly push him inside and lock the door behind us. I turn on the light and immediately regret bringing him home to the absolute mess that is my one room apartment. Dirty clothes scattered all over the floor, old boxes of food I never cleaned because by the time I got home I was too tired to throw them out. I quickly wrangle most of my clothes and throw them into the same corner to make room for my guest.

‘‘Okay just make yourself at home!’’

‘‘You live here?’’

‘‘That’s right. Here,’’ I throw a clean fuzzy dark gray blanket at his face ‘’use this to warm up.’’ I go into my kitchenette with the nuggets and open my fridge to check for literally any ingredients to pair it with. To my dismay I only have bread and mayonnaise left. I sure hope he isn’t a picky eater. I take the two slices of bread and spread a layer of mayo on each before putting the nuggets in between.

‘‘Here, eat this.’’ I motion for him to sit down on the floor with me.

Is he going to hate it? I take a moment to finally catch my breath as I watch him process the sandwich he was just given. It’s like I can see the gears in his head turn in real time. ‘‘It’s not poisoned, you can eat it.’’ I say with a slight frown. I know my food skills aren’t exactly notable, but it’s weird to have someone silently judging your food. He looks at me once before taking his first bite.

‘‘This is great stuff.’’

‘‘Yeah? It’s all I’ve got right now.’’

‘‘Mmm.’’

‘‘So do you remember your own name yet?’’

He barely finished chewing before taking another bite, then another. I wasn’t brought up in a fancy house or anything, but even I can recognize bad table manners and this guy is eating like a ravenous animal.

‘‘You must’ve been really hungry.’’

No response.

‘‘Maybe you used too much magic?’’

No response.

‘‘Listen, I can’t help you if-’’

‘‘What is this called?’’

‘‘...That? Uh, Nuggets with mayonnaise?’’

‘‘Nuggets with mayonnaise, I could keep eating this forever!’’

‘‘I doubt that’d be very healthy.’’ I let out a chuckle. ‘‘You really like nuggets, huh?’’ He looked at me and nodded enthusiastically, although in stark contrast to his more energetic body language, his face was completely deadpan. I scratch my chin and narrow my eyes as I prepare another question.

‘‘Where are you from? Got any relatives? Cats or dogs, which do you like better?’’

No response.

‘‘I’ve never served someone a nugget sandwich before.’’

‘‘Hm?’’ He finally looked at me, still chewing his food loudly. I waited for him to go back to focusing on his sandwich to speak up again.

‘‘Nuggets with mayonnaise.’’

‘‘Hm?’’

‘‘Nuggets.’’

‘‘Mm.’’

‘‘Nuggets. Do you have any relatives nuggets.’’

‘‘I don’t think so.’’

Finally! The first proper response in what feels like an awkward tug of war. Okay, we’re making progress now. ‘‘Did you take drugs nugget.’’ I put my hands in my lap and took a moment to relax myself. I’m asking a lot of questions here and the last thing I want him to think is that I can’t be trusted. Is he a pain in the ass, yeah a little bit, but is he also going to die if he leaves the building at this hour? Absolutely. I can’t let that happen. ‘‘I dunno, I don’t remember.’’ At this point he has almost finished the sandwich. I feel my eyes involuntarily close and I quickly blink them back open. ‘‘You don’t remember, okay.’’

I let out a yawn, I’m getting far too tired for this. ‘‘Listen, I’m gonna call up a Doctor or something in the morning and we can figure out what’s going on with you, but for now I need sleep okay? I’ve had a long day and I wanna help you, but I’m tired.’’ I pause to let out another yawn. ‘‘Sleep? Sleep. Okay.’’ He just repeats looking a bit unsure.

‘‘I only have the one bed but it’s big enough to share. Just don’t try any funny stuff.’’

‘‘Funny stuff?’’ He mumbled, sounding the most clueless he has been yet.

‘‘Just- just sleep okay? Let’s just get some sleep.’’ I changed out of my clothes and put on an oversized t-shirt. I was expecting him to be sneaking looks at me, but he seemed a lot more preoccupied with inspecting his own hands for some reason. It’s strange, I brought a complete stranger home, but I don’t feel any sense of danger around him. I crawl into bed and take the spot closest to the window to leave room for him to lie down too. ‘‘Hey could you get the light?’’ I point towards the switch and give him an approving thumbs up as the room goes dark.

‘‘Okay goodnight!’’

‘‘Goodnight?’’

I watched him look around restlessly before sitting on the bed next to me. After a couple of minutes or so he lied down too, still wearing his shoes and everything. I’m just about to doze off as I hear his voice, unsure and quaking.

‘‘Emma… Who am I?’’

‘‘Who?’’ I pry my eyes open and look at him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. I reach over and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘‘You’re Nuggets. Nuggets with Mayonnaise.’’

‘‘I’m Nuggets?’’

‘‘Just for tonight, you’re Nuggets…’’

‘‘Okay, I’m Nuggets.’’

‘‘Close your eyes, try to sleep, Nuggets.’’

‘‘Sleep.’’

I wish I could say I stayed up to check how he was feeling, but I simply couldn’t fight the exhaustion anymore and I soon found myself swept away to dreams about comforting warm beaches and big, luxurious apartments.