Perception Magazine Spring 2020

The Ghosts Are Real And They've Surrounded Us Angelina Manganse A car speeds down an old mountain highway, scattering fallen autumn leaves in its wake. It seems to be composed of more rust and duct tape than actual metal, and what little remains of the original body is dented in almost every possible way. It rattles as it moves, like an old man’s grumblings, and the driver merely turns up the radio in response.

There’s never anything good to listen to early in the morning. Especially not around here. The driver switches stations listlessly, lost in thought.

The scenery rolls past: the forest has turned to brilliant reds and oranges, like flames.

The driver tries not to think about the last time there were flames around here.

The driver tries not to think about the last time she was around here.

The car pulls to a halt in front of a particularly unremarkable section of trees.

The driver steps out and walks over to the trunk. Inside lay a duffle bag and a rifle in its case. The driver slings the rifle over her shoulder and pulls out a small box from the duffle bag. She then closes the trunk, gives it an affectionate pat, and begins her trek into the woods.

Aside from crunching leaves and the occasional rustling from a brisk autumn breeze, the forest is silent. The driver hums a tune to herself, one familiar but she can’t quite place where it’s from, and pulls her rough jacket closer to her body. It’s a peaceful morning, and the driver is thankful for it. There hasn’t been much peace as of late; she suspects there’ll be even less after she’s done.

Her thoughts turn to the rest of the morning: waking up in the sanctuary, asking the priest for instructions and directions, thanking the nuns for their hospitality.

A strange one, by any other standard. Just like every other morning since she joined the Guild.

The Guild.

Spring 2020 | 77