Do you wanna be a poet and write Do you wanna be an actor up in lights Do you wanna be a soldier and fight for love Do you wanna travel the world Do you wanna be a diver for pearls Or climb a mountain and touch the clouds above Be anyone you want to be Bring to life your fantasies But I want something in return I want you to burn burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn Burn for me Burn for me Are you gonna be a gambler and deal Are you gonna be a doctor and heal Or go to heaven and touch God's face Are you gonna be a dreamer who sleeps Are you gonna be a sinner who weeps Or an angel Under grace I'll lay down on your bed of coals Offer up my heart and soul But in return I want you to burn Burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn burn for me burn for me Yeah Ooh I want you to burn baby ooh Laugh for me Cry for me Pray for me Lie for me Live for me Die for me I want you to burn Burn for me baby Like a candle in my night Oh burn burn for me burn for me Yeah Ah yeah I want you to burn I want you to burn for me baby Ohh yeah ............ "Crown of Light" Corona De Luz Marcos lay awake for a long time, breathing unevenly in long, frightened gasps. Her fingers curled around her sheets like claws, her body frozen stiff for ages. Her heart paced frantically. Another nightmare—another. That had been the second one that night. It had been too gruesome to endure, so she forced herself to wake, 4:53 at night, mere hours before her first class in Stanton. She wished she could never go to sleep again. She shook herself and gradually, slowly, bit by bit, she relaxed and breathed normally. It was 4:57 now; her alarm would go off in two hours. She took another breath and tried to lay quietly, but her dreams had jarred her too deeply. She had no choice but to wake. For the fifth night in a row, Corona failed to get a full night's sleep. Dreams came to her often, no matter what she ate or how stimulated her mind was, and more often than not they were terrible. War, torture, suffering, damnation, horrible violence... it happened so often in her most defenseless hours, where she should've been resting, but now, as she had so many times before, she was awake long before sunrise and walking around, trying to occupy herself—trying to silence her thoughts. She would be early for school, but she would be groggy and snappy all day for it. She had once tried to forcibly silence the nightmares forever, but that ended her up in a worse situation than before. As penance, she would have to pay her debts, to suffer, to endure it, until insanity claimed her as it had claimed her mother, nine years before, or else death, as it had taken her father. When her alarm went off at 7:00, she was already fed, washed, dressed, and ready to go. School wouldn't start for an hour; the bus she took would be there in three-fourths the time. With forty minutes to spare, she dug through her backpack and completed whatever homework assignments she had been ignoring. Then, she began to write a little, and draw the characters in her stories, and made up some poems and songs to sing. Her creative outlet relieved the madness considerably—having something good to concentrate on always made her feel better—and in no time at all, she left her tiny house she shared with her older brother, made it to the bus, and prepared herself for another day. She leaned her head against the bus window as it rolled towards her school. Bumps and sharp turns were nothing new; she could handle them. The chill was something different, for autumn was approaching and the cool air of the morning already bore telltale signs. Trees turned rusty. Flowers wilted or went into hiding. Birds frequented the branches less. Geese honked as they flew overhead. Her breath didn't make ghosts yet, as she sighed on the windowpane, but it would. Nobody sat next to her, unless they had to. She began to think about somebody she knew at Stanton; her thoughts drifted deep until the bus arrived. Corona was a somber, quiet type, who never attached herself to anyone or gave them many emotions to pleasure in; she was a cold, distant young woman in a shell, reluctant to come out unless by the guidance of an affectionate and nurturing person, which was unlikely considering how many people strayed from Corona's path. The people at Stanton were "nice", and some certainly seemed like the type who could calm her dreams and return her namesake to her, but of course, many of them already had lovers. Mostly, Corona had noted, female lovers. She never believed herself capable of falling for someone from the same "side", but lovers were lovers and she would take what she could. Corona had Miss Raulson for history and Ms. McGowen for science because graduation required their courses; Mrs. Keys for art and Miss Johansson for music due to her innate talents; and Ms. Keeping for psychology, for... obvious reasons. In most of these classes, she kept to herself and only spoke out when necessary (except during music, where she loved singing; she even had a few fans in-class), but in psychology, she poured herself out to Ms. Keeping, who despite her training and amicable relationships with her students, found Marcos' case a difficult one. She had spent several hours after school speaking with the troubled girl, and while her efforts seemed uplifting, they still couldn't help the poor girl. It was in Janet Keys' art class where Corona found the most liberation. The middle-aged woman was more of a matron than her own mother had been, and combined with Keeping's appointments and Johansson's sessions, Corona's sanity seemed to be at a norm. Keys not only endured the young girl's unusual traits, she encouraged her to express them through her work. Her art was usually dark, lonesome, and bleak, but Keys loved it. Corona quickly learned to trust the motherly art teacher, and met with her several times a week after school to talk. Most of Keys' students had similar talents in art, and Corona respected and even liked a few. Amina Washim was a natural sketch artist, and had had Marcos as a model several times in the past. Lilian Nachtheim, as quiet and reserved as Corona, made haunting drawings and paintings that seemed to reflect other worlds, and sometimes the two girls collaborated on more Gothic projects. Hero Love was fun and wild—Corona really didn't like her exuberance—and Ana Lu was too bubbly and goofy to endure, but her so-called girlfriend Rai was easier to get along with. Corona was loose friends with Olivia, whose problems seemed to pale in the wake of the Hispanic's traumas. Olivia's dour mood always did lighten around Corona, but then again, everyone seemed a bit happier and brighter with her around. Perhaps Corona acted as a sort of vacuum, sucking up negative energy and storing it in her own mind, so that while everyone else got brighter in her presence, she became darker still. Perhaps this negative energy was the source of her nightmares, or else God just felt like playing cruel jokes on her (hence her atheism). Ms. Keeping, reasonable and sharp, preferred the first theory over the second. "Do you really think it's my lot in life to make other people happy, while I continue to remain depressed?" Corona had asked once. Keeping had stuck a pencil in her mouth before answering, which meant she had to give it thought. "Many people have felt that way in the past. Some glean joy from the act, and turn into very selfless people, and eventually, they too are cleansed. Others do become more miserable, and end up with a tragic ending to their life. Yet I can't tell you what you're supposed to be doing in life; that's ultimately your decision. I know you feel you have no choice, but really you do. And there is always more than one path." Keeping's words had given her little solace. Corona snubbed the pretty teacher, mostly because it seemed she had never had a bad day or a solid doubt in her life, much less agonizing nightmares and endless self-pity. She left the session hopeless, as always; at least Keys didn't try and sound superior or more well-off. She knew what misery was; Corona could see it in her lovely, aged face. She had been widowed without child, but managed to continue going, if only to teach and enrich others' lives. There was one girl in particular that Corona was drawn to, but it was the darkest, bleakest, most turbulent soul she had ever encountered in her life. Most people had minor-to-major problems in their life, and while in Marcos' company, their mood lightened and their burden became easier, while Corona felt worse. They were shadows, but this girl was as black as a bottomless hole, twisted and warped with years of anger, abuse, neglect, despair, and loneliness. If a mere shadow could cause Corona to have wretched dreams, what would the great darkness bear her? If somebody like Lilian, Olivia, or Rai set her into fits, what would a person like Furious Hail do? The very first time Corona got the nerve to speak to Hail, she didn't dream a nightmare, she met one. But something very strange happened during that first encounter. Usually, people walked away from Corona in a healed state of mind, as if her namesake had been true to its word, while Corona herself suffered. But when she spoke to Hail, to Alexandra Blair, Corona didn't find herself wretched or miserable or despondent, as she usually did, and Hail certainly didn't walk away refreshed. On the contrary; Marcos' own burden seemed lighter, while Hail grew worse and worse. Something like that had never happened before, so naturally, she was intrigued. Marcos spoke to Hail again, and got a kinder reception—perhaps it took her longer to recover since her darkness was so intense? Furious Hail was not her bullish self then: she didn't snap or bite or curse, she just spoke grudgingly and snarled, then laughed grimly and muttered to herself. A week later, she actually looked pleasant, though Corona was unaware that Hail had found her first lover, the rambunctious and saucy Ivory Tran, whom Corona knew through reputation (and Farrah Kwong). She and Corona didn't speak to each other very often, but when they did, it was amiable, as if it had been Ivory that had lifted the burden. But hope was a serrated knife, stabbing into her chest. Every time she attempted it, it only ended up cutting her more, sawing through bones and tender organs, until at last it would eventually leave her butchered, broken, and depraved. Furious Hail did not stay with Ivory long; as a matter of fact, Ivory soon broke up with her in order to pursue somebody else, and unfortunately, Hail had a pretty good idea who that somebody was. For many nights, Corona had unsettling fits of sleep, but no nightmares. Speaking with Hail had lessened their impact, or sometimes driven them away completely, but now that Ivory had left her, the fury of her namesake came out in full, unbearable force. Corona had went one whole night not sleeping at all, so terrible were her thoughts and feelings. "She's grieving," she groaned to herself in the darkness. "I can feel her grieving! A misery like this would drive anyone to madness and death; how on earth can she tolerate it?" Corona realized that Hail had been tolerating it all her life, that this was just a new level of pain, that if she did recover, she would be even more hollow and bleak than before. Corona hated getting attached to people, and she shunned relationships and people in general, but something inside told her that, more than anything, more than ever, she was needed. Furious Hail, Alexandra Blair needed the vacuum of Corona's presence to wipe away all that harshness, but with a vortex that deep, what would happen next? Would Corona break under the strain and die? Would she lose her mind? Or would she simply fail, having nobody to wallow with in the agony? Nobody except, perhaps, the only other person who could ever understand her, the only other one so encompassed by the horror. She came to realize she loved Furious Hail very much. As this clarity settled onto her, she found a strange peace of mind, like some calm eye of a great storm. She had passed through the first part, bitter and torn apart, but she had survived. She felt calm, in control, unafraid for the first time since... ever, maybe, and she knew what she had to do. There were no doubts. There was no question. There was no reasoning against it: Corona Marcos had to pull Furious Hail out of that darkness, even if it took her own life. Then again, perhaps it was the only way she could be cleansed. Saving someone so deep in turmoil just might save her as well. It was worth a shot, and what did she honestly have to lose? Even her life didn't seem like her own. That gray September morning, Corona woke up with her alarm. No nightmare had plagued her. She was too clear for that. She rested her head against the window of the bus. Her breath started to become visible in the late summer air. She walked to her first class with conviction. Art was just a few hours away.
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