These are not stories.

She looked around the park for her next victim. Central Park is a big park. She could have picked one of many people. But she saw him sitting alone on top of a rock formation. He was a middle-aged white guy. He must need saving.

Her old legs struggled to climb up the rocks to get to him. But the effort was worth it to her. She breathed heavily as she stood in front of him, staring up at him, looking at the book lying beside him. His eyes were closed and he had earbuds in his ears. He sat cross-legged.

“Are you asleep?” she said. He didn’t respond.

“Are you asleep?” she said again.

The man opened his eyes and stared at her.

“Are you asleep? Or meditating?” she said.

The man pulled an earbud from his ear, annoyed at being bothered.

“What?” he said.

“Are you meditating? Are you asleep?” she said.

“Yeah, I’m meditating,” he said.

She looked at his book and pointed at the cover.

“Invisible Monsters,” she said. “Are there monsters?”

The man looked around. He saw plenty of other people sitting alone, not being interrupted by strangers. He paused the music on his phone.

“Yeah, it’s about monsters,” he said.

“What kind of monsters?”

“Not the kind you think.”

“How are they monsters?”

“It’s about people who used to be beautiful and now they aren’t.”

“Is it a good book?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in monsters?”

He stared at her. What does this lady want?

“Do you believe in Jesus?” she said.

The man smirks and shifts to adjust his legs. So this is what she wants.

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