The first scientists to venture into the Challenger Deep did not find the sea floor.
They found a door, red haze shining through frosted glass. And inside their airtight submersible, they smelled earl grey tea with a faint hint of sulfur, and heard familiar laughter.
"Where were you that night?" the lawyer presses.
"I'll have to consult my notes," I retort.
"That's...wait, notes?"
"I took contemporaneous records."
I hand over a printed-out email.
"March 19th: Your question is dumb," the lawyer reads out.
This was her first time making a Jack-O-Lantern, and she was determined to do it right.
She used a sharp knife - each carve was precise.
Scooping out the guts was pretty gross. But when she lit the candle, she knew she'd done well.
If only Jack could see it.
He was a savant. Even after he went blind, he continued to paint. His assistant would describe the colors to him: lilac, in the afternoon sun; his deceased wife's hair color; sunset, reflected off cumulonimbus clouds.
With each successive painting, unable to see his work, he grew melancholy. He asked for fewer and fewer colors: grays, blues, browns.
His final canvas was a summary of his tragedy: black, from corner to corner.