Chapter 1:

To be With My Eros

What is she staring at, down there in the water?

A woman sat at a fountain, gently brushing her hand through the water. I couldn’t see her eyes; she was facing away from me. Her attention was completely focused on the water passing through her fingers.

I said nothing, and just continued on my way home from work.

It’s not like I knew her, after all.

And yet, the next day, when walking home from work, I couldn’t help but notice her sitting there at the fountain again.

So maybe that's why, the next day, when I was a little earlier than usual and saw the fountain empty, I went to sit at its edge. The fountain itself was white, though it had blue tiles on the inside. A few coins lay at the bottom, spare wishes thrown there in the hopes that giving something could cause a greater return.

I plunged my hand into the water, my arm tensing at the coolness.

I held it there, not sure of what to do.

Oh, was she—

A figure took a seat at the fountain’s other edge.

I recognized her from her attire, a white shirt, neatly tucked into black dress pants, and curly black hair falling to her shoulders.

She looked over at me, and our eyes met.

“Ah, sorry—”

“What are you doing?”

My cheeks felt warm.

“I, umm—”

She looked over the fountain's edge and sighed, her shoulders relaxing and eyes closing. Was she relieved about something?

She plunged one of her hands into the water, using the other to support herself. She dragged it across the bottom, eventually pulling out a small handful of coins, holding them in her hand as water dripped below. The long white sleeve of her shirt was now completely soaked.

“The coins?” I asked.

She nodded, then paused. “Were you not doing the same?”

“No…” I lowered my head.

“You’re a strange one,” she muttered.

“Says the one stealing coins from a fountain.”

“That’s true.”

The wind rustled through the trees during a brief silence.

“Do you think that there are wishes in those coins?”

“No, but even if there were, I wouldn’t care, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why not?”

“I might as well have the money behind those wishes so someone can benefit from them. Leaving the coins in the fountain just rusts them away. It's a waste. They could make my wishes come true.”

“What are you wishing for?”

Her face became completely blank.

“To keep myself happy, and ignore him.”

“Him?”

She nodded. “Thanatos.”

“Oh,” I muttered. “So, you’re the type that can see him?”

I understood immediately what she meant. She could see the temptation of death, Thanatos, and she was inclined towards it. But, I assumed, for one reason or another, she did not want to be driven that way.

If she does not wish for it, then I will help her avoid it.

Such was my logic as I plunged my hand back in the fountain, picking up the drowned wishes stored in coins.

The woman stayed silent, not answering my question. It wasn’t until I carried several more handfuls of coins over to her that she said anything.

“Why help?” She asked.

“Because I felt like it,” was my response.

That evening, the two of us started walking home in the same direction. There was total silence between us, though the rush of cars passing us was also present.

At one crosswalk, down a ways from the fountain and past a bridge, she stopped.

“I live over this way,” She dipped her head slightly. “Thank you for today.”

She walked away, and I made my way to my own home.

The next day, she was at the fountain again.

We exchanged pleasantries and idle chit-chat as we stole wishes away from the fountain.

We walked home together along the same route until we bid farewell.

And that continued, day after day.

I could feel myself growing more content. This routine became something I expected and valued, another connection with another person. Something I’d look forward to every day.

And I had hoped it was the same for her.

One of the times we walked across the bridge, she stopped, staring at the water of the river far below.

“How many coins do you think are down there?”

I knew the question had nothing to do with money or wishes. It was just to fill space.

“None of value,” I answered. “They’ve certainly rusted away.”

She rested her elbows on the parapet, and I did the same.

“I never answered you when we first met,” she said. “I can see Thanatos.” She moved one of her arms to dangle over the bridge. “I wish I couldn’t. For you, the people I care about, and for my own happiness. But death is a calling.”

“What do you see now?”

“Thanatos beckons me over the edge. Just climb up, then one more step.”

I reached for her hand over the parapet and gently clasped it with my own.

I stepped away from the parapet.

“Come with me,” I beckoned. “Let’s go home for today.”

With what seemed to be great effort, she pulled her eyes away from the water’s edge, and together we walked until that crosswalk. There, our hands separated, and we bid farewell for another day.

I would only see her a few more times.

One day, I passed the fountain, but she wasn’t there.

Coins lay in the bottom, untouched.

The next day would be the same.

After the third day, I grew troubled.

Scrolling through the news, I saw a story of a young woman who had been found dead at the riverside.

I recognized her face in a small photograph as the article’s thumbnail.

Based on a reported propensity for seeing death, it was ruled a suicide.

My chest grew tight. I was gasping for air. My hands started shaking, and the tears welled up.

I must have done something wrong.

If I had just stayed with her more.

If I had just tried to understand—

The truth is, I was always a person who loved life, even during times of struggle. A person of Eros, those like me were called. So I just didn’t understand.

But she had said it herself; death was a calling.

A person of Thanatos.

But for me—

She was Eros.

My desire for life is dead.

How am I to survive without her?

I don’t think I can.

I stepped out of my apartment, walking down the road carelessly. I didn’t even think about where I planned to go, the direction I was headed.

Such is the way when a person driven by a desire for life has their Eros taken away.

Is it wrong to lament the death of someone who longed to die?

I guess the answer to that doesn’t matter, does it?

On the bridge, facing the parapet.