The quiet, nerdy girl, Nicol, saw the poster in English class and hesitated. She was feeling excluded since she was newbie at Woodsborough high. She had been focused on her books and her thoughts through most of the year, melting into the background. It was scary to think about going to a party with people she hardly knew.

But then there was Patric, the popular jog. Nicol could not overlook the friendship between him and Hannah, the king and queen of the school, despite their love affair. The party lived up to the hype being fun, loud, chaotic, and energetic. She had a twinge of anxiety as Nicol made her way through the crowd. She immediately noticed Patric, who had a kind smile on his face. He introduced her to his buddies and drew her into their conversation. 

The party decided to play a game of truth or dare as the evening took on. Patric dared Nicol to read a poem she wrote when it was her turn. He said: “Let us enjoy your work!”. She unwillingly agreed.   She started reading a poem on the power of telling stories, the magic of words, The surrounding noise calmed as she spoke, and her words charmed everyone.

The audience burst in cheers when she was done. Patric looked at her with amazement and affection. "I had no idea you were so talented," he said.
Nicol blushed. She said, "Thanks," in a voice that was almost unheard. 
Hannah, who was watching from a distance, became jealous. The fact that Patric was focussing on anybody but her horrified her. She made the decision to ruin the special moment. 

"Nicol, such a poetic soul," she said "almost as poetic as your crush on Patric."
Nicol's face became red. She was embarrassed. But Patric was outraged. Hannah had never acted with such cruelty against him.
"Hannah, that's enough," he replied. "You're being crazy." 
Patric and Nicol were left alone as Hannah ran away.
Then Patric said "I'm so sorry about her," "This is not how she typically is. "
Nicol laughed and said : "It's all right. I'm used to it.

Patric took Nicol home as the evening was coming to an end. They spent hours discussing their dreams and hopes under the glow of the stars. Patric was more than just a popular jog, Nicol noticed; he was smart, kind, and truly interested in her.
Patric leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek as they said goodbye to each other. He said, "I'll see you tomorrow," in a voice that was almost heard.  Nicol smiled. She was impatient to see him again, her and Patric started to talk more and got to know each other so good they were unseparable. Patric broke up with Hannah night after the Watermelon party and eventually him and Nicol started dating and after some years they got married and live until death tore them apart.

“Enjoy the quiet while you can,” Elena murmured, her American accent still strange to Sam’s ears. “It won’t be long before something chaotic happens.”

Sam chuckled, flicking his hat upwards. “With you around? Chaos seems inevitable.”

They spoke only in simple English—a neutral ground, since their native idioms often caused confusion. Tonight, they found themselves in New York, year 2020, wandering through the busy streets, until they stumbled upon a tiny vinyl shop. The air smelled like old cardboard and coffee, and rows of records lined the shelves. Sam adjusted his bowler hat, eyeing the room.

“This place has... character.” he mused, his English accent carrying a hint of curiosity.

Elena smirked. “You mean... it’s chaotic.”

Sam reached for a bright pink vinyl with Harry Styles depicted across it. “What is this?” he asked.

“Harry Styles. You’re in for a treat,” Elena replied with a sly grin.

Sam turned the record over, squinting at the tracklist. “‘Watermelon Sugar?’ Music about sugar and... watermelons? Peculiar.”

Elena laughed and grabbed the vinyl. “Let’s give it a try.”

At the back of the shop, they found a listening station. Elena placed the record carefully on the turntable, and the needle settled onto the grooves with an iconic faint crackle. She handed Sam one of the headphones and put hers on, showing him how the gadget worked. As the opening chords of Watermelon Sugar played, Sam’s expression shifted to intrigued. The melody was bright and warm, unlike anything he knew.

“It’s... lively,” he admitted after a moment.

“Lively’s one way to put it. Fun’s another,” Elena replied.

When Harry Styles crooned, “‘I want your belly,’” Sam raised an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s slang,” Elena said, giggling. “Pop music’s about vibes and feelings, not making sense.”

“Modern English is baffling,” Sam replied, shaking his head, but as the song played, the carefree rhythm appeared to connect the gap of a hundred years between them. Elena caught Sam stealing glances at her, noticing how the soft glow reflected in his thoughtful gray eyes.

“It’s strange,” he murmured, “but... weirdly enjoyable. There’s a certain magic to it.”

 Elena nodded softly.

When the song came to an end, a comfortable silence sat between them. Sam gently set the headphones down, his fingers accidentally brushing hers.

“Pop music may be peculiar,” he said, smiling, “but I could get used to it... under the right circumstances, that is.”

Elena felt her cheeks warm up, but she shrugged it off, “Haven’t experienced anything like this in your timeline, huh?”

“Indeed, I have not,” he replied, “but I’m glad to have experienced it with you.”

You wake, confused, embalmed in a cold sweat. A pain, all too familiar, splits open your head in searing agony. Your apartment, a nest of depravity, stares back at you. Your gaze is caught by a gray, uncaring box. An old radio. You recall a well known singer, an Englishman, singing ballads about dreams yet to be. Then, another comes to mind. Jacie Denŭr. A disco legend. There is a need in your body to turn the damn thing on, so you do. Creaking to life, the radio spits out a tune into the silence. It's a song you know well, Denŭrs magnum opus: Lovechild. The magic of the waves emanating from the radio is electric. Your legs start to move without you knowing. As you sway your body, a shimmer high above catches your glazed eyes. The contours of a disco ball are all you can see. Hanging from the ceiling, begging to be put to use. You flip a switch on the wall. The ball springs to life, pouring out its colors onto every surface in the room.

Isn't this fun ?

You peer at the hanging sphere. Its pull is magnetic. You put a chair right below the orb. You huff as you slowly climb on top of it. In that moment, you and the ball are one and the same. Entwined in a color-bathed embrace, like two lovers. Your only companion. The pressure of your body is overwhelming. The ball shatters into a rain of glass. There it is, that funny feeling. As if all enjoyment there could be has left. All that remains is a string that once held the shining object. You know what to do, you always did. The string circles your neck, followed by the chair crumbling to the floor.

A specter peers through your window. It gives a faint smile as you drift into a world of your own making.

The rope snaps under your weight and you fall to the ground. You finally take in a breather. The air is sweet, like a summer's first watermelon. Juicy and succulent. As the melody of disco music warms your mind, the corners of your dry mouth peek up ever so slightly. You laugh. It's as genuine as a laugh can be. Picking yourself up, you notice the broken pieces of the disco ball.

What is that thing looking at you ?

In the reflection of the shattered glass, a creature, vile and monstrous, stares deeply into your being. You are wretched, you can't stand the look you're giving yourself. This is who you are, and there's no changing reality. Your mind is finally clear. Tears pool in your eyes. You sob like a child losing its favorite toy. You take a piece of the glass and lead it over your wrists. Red. Crimson. Mors Ultima.

Greybeard replied on Friday at 7:30: "What happened?"

Suit wrote right after, as he was walking:
"today we'll meet…, how’s the ppt going?"

On Friday morning, Suit, now a non-active worker from Nexus, found himself helping two new foreign workers on the watermelon plantation past Borwood Park in the City of Old. Even though he was no longer officially member of the Nexus network, he felt needed since nobody from Nexus had offered their time.

"We’re so glad you came, Suit :)" Brighto and Destino said, gratitude shining on their cheeks as they were waiting for melons to come.
"It's OK, I thought it should always be like this, you know, helpin' each other, offerin' emotional support, makin' the experience less stressful and little more fun…, didn’t want to leave you alone…"
"Yeah, we are really thankful," Brighto added with a warm smile. "So..., what happened?" Destino wondered with huge lines on her forehead.

"Hmm, not easy to explain. I need to check some information first. Shortly, I said something I shouldn’t..."
"Oh, we see…" Destino softly and quietly answered.

Later that day around midday, Greybeard met Suit in a toilet room, since he was also at the plantation observing the cultivation of watermelons.

"What’s up, my man? So…, why they kicked you out?"

"Sup, Grey, they kicked me out ‘cause I told Mrs. Proxy and Beacon that CEO didn't financially support Nexus…"

"Fo’ this bizarre thing, brotha?" Greybeard's eyes started popping out.
"Yep, but I’m over it now. I can finally focus on starting my English Pioneer work and raps!" Suit sighed, then went into more depth: "... apparently, Ms. Captain, probably under some magic spell, got a call from the Ambassador of Worlds that she heard bads about CEO from our Academy of Enjoy… I went there on Wednesday to give feedback to Mrs. Proxy and Beacon from a conference in the City of Castle. Also shared ideas about increasement of incoming and outgoing watermelon visitors, but ended up like a %*@"$ horse that shared some government-level secret..." Suit said being lost in his suit by shrugged shoulders.

"Graybeard empathetically added: "Lines between lines…"
"Yap, just gotta respect members’ delulu fear and move on…"
"True.."                                                                                 "Btw, how’s your Pioneer goin'?"
"I picked up the brush," Greybeard murmured. "...but my canvas remains full of unlimited possibilities."

Later that day, Suit visited his Academy of Enjoy:

"Good Friday afternoon Mrs. Proxy and Beacon. Excuse me, was there any effort to contact people around the CEO to help Nexus?"
"No, Mr. Suit, this must be some misunderstanding..." Mrs. Proxy said, in her firm tone.
"We're not in contact with those people and don’t know even know them personally," Mrs. Beacon added.

"I see, thank you for clarifying. Yesterday, they… excluded me." Mr. Suit swallowed, followed by a little talk why...

Mrs. Beacon's last words were: "Mr. Suit, after hearing this, I would look around more closely at people I'm working with…"

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” I turn around to the old man.

“Do you have these watermelon socks in size 38? It’s for my daughter” the man repeats.

“Apologies, if they’re not on the rack, then we don’t have them” I respond.

“Could you check in the back anyway?”

I look around the pop-up store. All we could see were stands full of socks and a desk with a cash register.

“Apologies but this is really all we have. If you want, you can check our online store–“ I reach my hand for a leaflet, but he stops me.

“No need, I wanted to buy them today. It takes too long to order online.”

No way, José. It’s Christmas Day and you didn’t buy anything for your daughter, did you?

“You know, you should smile more when dealing with customers,” the old man says.

I give him the toothiest smile that doesn’t meet my eyes.

“See, now that’s better. We should celebrate the magic and joy of this holiday! Have a nice day and Merry Christmas”

I stared daggers at him until he left and went to finish my work.

Seriously, we live in this day and age when everything is digital and we even have AI, yet I still need to use pen and paper to write which articles we’ve sold?

When a new customer walks in, I immediately put on a fake smile and get ready to greet them. To my surprise, I know this person.

“Hey bestie, how’s it going? Decided to visit you!” Laura bobs in.

“I thought you went home after taking that English test,” I retorted.

“Nah, I had to come see you at work today. How’s it going?”

“Bad. The boss is spying on us to fire someone. Turns out we are not making enough, so no Christmas bonus”

“Oh, boo. Anyway, walk with me while I spill some tea…”

I took this job because I’m flat broke. I live in a shared apartment and gas prices went up. And my Favorit is hungry again...

I also just barely passed my finals while working (test at 8:00, opening the store at 9:00), and today I was substituting for a different girl. “I caught cold” my ass, she was too lazy to work on a Christmas Day. Well, sucks to be her, since it was a Sunday. I’ll get double the pay for fewer hours!

Me and my friend pretend on cameras how I’m helping her choose socks while she tells me all the latest news from school. I even gave her my employee discount, because those 2€ really wouldn’t help meet the store plan. Enjoy!

Later I was surprised by my boss when I closed the register for the day.

“You’ve been laid off” he didn’t even greet me.

“What?”

“The sales will go down after the holidays, so we don’t need that many workers”

It seems that the Christmas spirit doesn’t exist.

On the way home, I stole the watermelon socks size 38 I set aside for myself.

He was the one who said the first “Let there be light” and watched as the magic started happening in front of his eyes. He enjoyed every moment of it. One doesn’t realise how much light unlocks. Imagine everything in black and white, no red or green, or yellow, or brown, or any other colour you can think of. Imagine your holiday soup without any taste, no sweet or sour, no bitterness or salty taste, or your summers without the sweetness of a cold freshly cut watermelon as everything around you is burning up in the heat of the sun. All of nature in the same tone. Sucks the fun out of life, doesn’t it?

Now imagine languages without the most known writers because they couldn’t draw inspiration from their everyday lives. English without Shakespeare, Russian without Dostoevsky, Italian without Alighieri, and many more. Those are just writers, now the musicians, the painters. Now let’s leave art altogether. Black and white becomes a rather generous description, doesn’t it?

The road was long and could be called tiring, but now it was also rewarding. All those ions being told he’s behind all the evil in the world, him not being able to see the difference between what people told him and what was between the lines. He walked down a street and a person would come up to him to tell him he was to blame for their child’s lack of contact with their parent because “he told them to follow their desires”. He turned a corner and another person pointed at him saying he was to blame for their child’s death because their “little girl cut off her hair” out of anger. Before he could recover from that another person would blame him for children’s hunger and homelessness half across the globe because “he inspired someone to hoard rather than share”. He didn’t know any of those people or the people they spoke of, but he knew that one day he would meet them again. The world gets called small after all, doesn’t it?

And years later, he did, well only four out of six mentioned, but he did. The other two didn’t do anything wrong and so he only hoped their lives were full of light like he always intended for everyone. And there the four understood that he wasn’t the darkness and they weren’t the light. He was the light-bringer. And as a character once said – the darker the darkness, the brighter the light. He had to be bright, he had to be the light-bringer because one cannot rectify one evil with another. The scale works differently, doesn’t it?

One day, the boy’s smile and laughter faded as if someone had taken away his inner light. And the boy felt like that as well. Like a there was a thick storm cloud was covering the shining of the sun and everything became blue rather than filled with the warmth of yellow.

He thought the day would go by, nobody would try to talk to him and he would get to go home. But his English teacher noticed and she chose to talk to him rather than leave it to him and his mind’s choice of mercy.

After the class, she called him over to her desk and he reluctantly went to her. It was the lunch break and he wanted some alone time. Everyone who feels down, especially as low as he did, thinks they want to be alone. But the teacher knew better than that. She knew that what he needed was company and compassion.

He just spent hours of listening to people around him having fun, talking about their plans for vacations, some at-home family time, going swimming or sunbathing, enjoying cold watermelons in the heat of the summer days. But not he, he wasn’t planning anything for that summer.

She pushed him to talk to her knowing how much something like that could do. They ended up talking for the whole break and even a little into the next class, and by the time they ended the conversation, the boy seemed a lot better. Like there was someone else next to her, not the lightless student she saw during their class. He wasn’t shining like the first bright star on a sunset sky, but the moon behind thin clouds as the morning’s sun reached the horizon was a rather fair metaphorical description.

When he came to the next class, his classmates could see how different he was feeling just by his posture alone but his face was also visibly brighter. When they asked what happened he said “The magic of joy” referring to the teacher whose name was Antoinette Charmain. The boy knew how accurate the meaning of her name was, especially now when he got to experience her desire to help others from the darkness of their minds.

After that day, he started spending his lunch break with her to repay her for helping him and also to keep himself from reaching as dark places as he did then. Slowly he got better and could see where he wanted his life to go and what he wanted to do it.