Cecil Baldwin

She was sure.

Again, the image of herself smiling in that bright light.

The specifics were unimportant.

Only herself, her smile, and the light.

The reason she chose that apartment, although the building could be charitably described as rustic, and the neighbors were simultaneously unfriendly and yet seemed to have enough friends for multiple loud parties a week, and the pool still listed as an amenity in the ad was empty and cracked and

clearly had been so for years, the reason she chose that apartment anyway is that it had a view, however partial and distant, of the Hollywood sign.

When she sat at the window and saw the word Oliwo, she knew that the future was limitless, and that, by proxy, she herself was limitless.

and that, by proxy, the world was limitless and always had been.

More on the story of Hanukkah soon, but first, a word from our sponsors.

For that, we take it to Deb, the sentient patch of haze.

Thanks, Deb.

Back to the story of Hanukkah.

A few years had passed, and Ruth found herself no closer to anything like show business.

She tried, occasionally and half-heartedly, but since she had no real idea of what it was she would be doing in that business, she never could get herself to move very far in any direction.

She went to a few auditions, but stopped after it became clear that the auditions were either for work as extras on infomercials or for the parallel show business she wanted nothing to do with.

She took one filmmaking class at the local community college, but became so sad, seeing the kind of hopeful but talentless people that attended, all of whom still had more drive and aptitude than her, she stopped going after three weeks.

Maybe she should write screenplays.

She had that thought about once a month, but never did anything with it.

And cruelly, time kept passing away, despite the fact that she was not using it to her highest potential.

A visit to a doctor led to a concerning series of blood tests, led to an MRI.