“Cut the alley,” a voice beckoned and Aida obeyed. El Raval turned into an image that she sliced with a knife and threw herself into the void.

The half man she left behind did not disturb her nor did the constellation of stars she saw on her way into the nothingness. Her body was a vessel of memories, embraces, and heartaches that traveled with her to the other side.

Then Aida awoke. She directed an orchestra that played a Mussorgsky song. A wave of adoration. Her fans had come to see the renowned conductor. She’d never felt love like this. “Night on Bald Mountain” coiled around her and the score continued playing when she awoke next to the eye of a sperm whale.

Aida was inside a vessel gawking through a window at the giant mammal. The Mussorgsky piece morphed with the whale’s song. It rippled through the ocean and threw Aida once more into the void.

She came to again as a newborn in the arms of the woman who’d whispered the phrase minutes earlier ‘cut the alley.’