Alice put the spyglass down. The colored lenses had shown her miracles and horrors: slices of life and worlds past, present and future … things that could never be. There were still more, too.

Her mother’s illness and her own decline still haunted her but looking through the lenses made it seem … different.

Taking it, she left her Mother’s attic and the items she’d been sorting. Going downtown, she sat in a small, grassy park pondering the other lives. Finally, seeing a sad-eyed stranger, she walked up to him and handed him the spyglass.

“Here,” she said.

“Excuse me?” He sounded and looked surprised.

“It’s magic. It can give you … perspective.”

He looked curious, as if she’d stared into his soul. “How did you…?”

“I know a fellow sufferer,” she said, walking away.

He looked down; then, glancing back at her, called out, “Are you serious? How can I know if I should?”

“It’s a simple choice,” she said over her shoulder. “You either choose or you don’t. It’s black and white. Just like all choices.”