Veeane Ayala

Somewhere in the corners of the universe…a child cries for the first time. Sucks on the milk of mother nature’s descendant. Forges a bond with the sun’s warmth and the ocean’s heartbeat. The soil’s uneven kiss against the forehead of kin. Somewhere, in this small pocket of time, a child weeps life.

She wails of a pain that she does not recognize.

And it is a beautiful tragedy.

chapter one: the incredible bec brentley

Most people don’t find much sense in dangling one’s legs over a midnight roof while listening to ambient love things on a speaker phone. Nor do they find comfort in peering over the edge, asking yourself if you could fly or not. If you wanted to, or not. Nobody ever finds solace in the irregular. But me? Well, I’m not known for making sense.

Downtown is oddly addictive at night. Nobody realizes it, but she talks in her sleep. She speaks to me, keeps me company, tells me stories. She’s a quiet thinker at this time of night. And no one appreciates it but me. I like the way that sounds. Being the only one who knows that the world is awakened when we are most unaware. The music softly thrums from the speaker to the quiet life. I think DT likes it, because she echoes the sound of car horns that follow the rhythm. We have a connection here. We share a song. I take the time to write these few words down. Words that only make sen