He came back on the one-year anniversary of his death. Robert opened the door to his son\u2019s untouched bedroom, preserved down to the glass of water on the corner of the nightstand, now only a film of liquid at the bottom, and there was Samuel, hunched over at the desk, his hands fiddling with the tracks of the unfinished train set, the train set that Robert had begun assembling just yesterday under the lamp\u2019s dim beam that cut through specks of dust flaking down.<\/p>\n
At first, Robert didn\u2019t even start; that subconscious part of him that still reached for two dinner plates instead of one welcomed Samuel back into his life against logic. And how many times had Robert opened the door hoping that his son would be there, that the past year had been a stretched-out nightmare? Robert didn\u2019t follow a specific creed, but believed that death was the separation of the soul from the body, which he\u2019d read somewhere in his college days and had wrapped his fingers around the day Samuel came into life and Maribelle passed away just moments after. Still, for a reason Robert couldn\u2019t explain, seeing the back of his dead son\u2019s head didn\u2019t shock him as much as it should have, sending only a current of apprehension through him. He was probably just dreaming, but if this were a dream, he didn\u2019t want to wake up.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert almost didn\u2019t want his son to turn around. Samuel\u2019s death had not been pretty. Not at all, and Robert had felt Samuel\u2019s cracked limbs and bones shifting beneath his flesh like a bag of rocks when he\u2019d picked Samuel up from the street after the accident. They\u2019d been on their way back from the toy store, that large train set box on Samuel\u2019s lap, when the truck in the next lane began skidding in the rain.<\/p>\n
Samuel turned around, a blank, calm look on his face like it was just another night. The moonlight through the window bounced off his round cheeks. His skin was white and without the vein-like scars that the mortician had done well to hide.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, Dad. Why did you start without me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2026 what do you mean?\u201d Robert held the doorframe; his knees wobbled like Jenga towers barely balanced, a single beam pulled out and he\u2019d collapse into pieces.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were supposed to make the train station together,\u201d said his son in his sweet, six-year-old voice.<\/p>\n
Cold tingles crawled up Robert\u2019s arms. He blinked his eyes hard several times, then took a hesitant step inside, feeling as if the shift of his weight might make his son dissolve into the lamplight as quickly as he\u2019d gone a year ago.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert had no more words. He took another step in. He was less than a few feet away from his son now. Did he dare approach him, this \u2026 what was it\u2014this ghost? Squinting his eyes, Robert tried to see if it was an apparition. But Samuel was fully there.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook,\u201d Samuel said. He turned back around, his arms and hands moving. \u201cI\u2019m adding a track.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert\u2019s teeth were clicking nervously. If this were the ghost of his son, then at least he had a chance to talk to him again. If this were a dream, then he\u2019d let himself indulge in it\u2014see what his subconscious had to say about his son\u2019s memory. Or what if\u2014Robert himself had died in the accident as well, and hadn\u2019t moved on yet? He took a deep breath and took a few more steps forward until he was standing over his son\u2019s shoulder. He gulped, running his fingers over his pants and fidgeting with the pockets.<\/p>\n
On the desk, train tracks were spread out like puzzle pieces. The trains were lined up along the edge where Robert had left them, patiently waiting for the tracks to finish looping in concentric circles and across platforms so they could get started on their journey\u2014journeys that would represent what Robert had promised Samuel years ago when they\u2019d seen The Polar Express in theaters: that they\u2019d one day trek across the country on a train in the winter, sipping hot cocoa as they pierced through the ballets of snowstorms.<\/p>\n
Directly in front of Samuel lay all that Robert had managed\u2014a row of four straight tracks pieced together\u2014before breaking down, his tears falling onto the tracks like rain drops. Samuel was pushing another track into the end, but he was doing it wrong. You couldn\u2019t just push them together; you had to set their links on top of one another, then pull to lock them. It was simple enough, yet Robert\u2019s hands had shook the day before as he\u2019d snapped them together.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel\u2026\u201d Robert said. \u201cYou\u2014you can\u2019t do it like that.\u201d He reached over and guided the fifth track over the fourth, then pressed it in and pulled, locking them. His finger brushed against Samuel\u2019s hand as he did this. Samuel really was there.<\/p>\n
\u201cSee, like that,\u201d Robert said.<\/p>\n
Samuel glanced up at his dad, then back down. His eyes were the same, too. Dark forest green. \u201cThanks, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight\u2026\u201d Robert said. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 no problem.\u201d He cleared his throat. \u201cI\u2019m\u2026 going to go make dinner now. I\u2019ll tell you when it\u2019s ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, Dad.\u201d
\n<\/p>\n
As soon as Robert was downstairs, he called the investment banking firm he worked at to test reality. The receptionist\u2019s familiar voice answered. <\/p>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi Marie\u2026 this is Robert.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh. Hi Robert. How are things going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Good\u2026 I just wanted to see if any messages came in for me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Robert, you\u2019re such a responsible guy. But no, no messages for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay\u2026 thanks. Yeah, I just wanted to check.\u201d<\/p>\n
Marie laughed politely. Another telephone rang in the background. \u201cNo problem. Hey Robert, I got to go. You know how it gets around here. Already seven and everyone\u2019s still working. But do me a favor, yeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert waited a moment, then said, \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t call back today. It\u2019s a\u2026 special day for you. And I know it\u2019s not my business, but I think it\u2019d be good to invest all of your energy on\u2026 what\u2019s at hand.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, then!\u201d she said in a cheery voice. \u201cI\u2019ll see you tomorrow!\u201d<\/p>\n
She hung up.<\/p>\n
Indeed, it was supposed to be a\u2026 special day. Robert had been mourning the past year over Samuel and had only returned to work six months ago. Everyone at the company understood. His boss insisted on paying Robert on leave, and even including him in on the shared end-of-the-year bonus. The consolatory cards were mailed, emailed, and hand-delivered by friends, families, and half-familiar faces at the supermarket. It\u2019s not fair, many of them had said. There\u2019s a reason for everything, a few whispered. He\u2019s with the Lord now, his neighbor had offered near the end of his prayer for Robert.<\/p>\n
It\u2019d been one year to the day, and today Robert was going to select a single item from Samuel\u2019s room and store it in the attic. His family members all thought it was a good idea\u2014there\u2019d been flickers of concern in their eyes when they came to visit. What item would he have picked? He wondered as he shook the eggs on the pan over the stove. Maybe that glass of water on the nightstand\u2014the thing that made his parents\u2019 eyes rove in wariness when they saw it still there. Or the blue t-rex stuffed-animal\u2014Dino\u2014that was as large as Samuel, that Samuel kept at the foot of his bed to guard against evil things. It was while Robert was in Samuel\u2019s room, trying to decide on an object, that his toe had nudged the train set box near the closet.<\/p>\n
Footsteps came down the stairs. Robert\u2019s nerves had calmed at the thought of the past, at the hugs and tears that\u2019d been offered, but now his heart was punching again as he heard his son\u2019s footsteps toward the kitchen table.<\/p>\n
Robert turned around and Samuel was sitting on a chair. His legs looked longer now, dangling closer to the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre those eggs?\u201d asked Samuel, swinging his feet.<\/p>\n
Robert looked back at the pan. He hadn\u2019t shaken the eggs for a while. The edges of white had curled in, and the yolk popped softly like bubble gum, collapsing within itself.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes\u2026 they are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow come we\u2019re having eggs for dinner?\u201d asked Samuel. \u201cI thought eggs were a breakfast food.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2026 are.\u201d Robert had Samuel and him eat eggs every morning, never at night. But since Samuel had passed, Robert had gotten into the habit of cooking them at dinner instead, skipping breakfast. He hadn\u2019t noticed this until now. \u201cEggs are fine for dinner, as well, Samuel.\u201d It was starting to feel like any other conversation with his son. <\/p>\n
\u201cThey smell good,\u201d said Samuel.<\/p>\n
Robert took a long whiff. They smelled terrible, like sulfur. A smile came to his lips. It was such a foreign feeling, a smile coming on its own and not being forced for onlookers.<\/p>\n
He poured the eggs into a bowl and brought it over to the table along with a spoon and some bread. Then he went back to the drawers and brought over a second bowl and spoon. How ironic was it that he\u2019d normally set the table for two, but that tonight he hadn\u2019t? He shrugged to himself. Then he watched Samuel scoop pieces of egg into his mouth, chewing the bread casually. Robert watched Samuel eat, the food disappear from the plate. When the bowl was empty, Samuel said, \u201cThank you for dinner, Dad,\u201d which surprised Robert because even though Samuel was a good kid, he didn\u2019t normally thank him for dinner. Then Samuel headed back upstairs, and Robert washed the dishes slowly, feeling like he could wake up at any moment.<\/p>\n
Robert didn\u2019t sleep that night, just kept getting up from his bed and checking through the crack of Samuel\u2019s door (Samuel didn\u2019t like the door fully closed, in case there was someone bad in the room that\u2019d gotten past Dino, he could run away quickly) that a body was still on the bed, breathing beneath the blanket. Then he\u2019d return to his room and lie stiffly on his bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis\u2026 is a dream,\u201d he whispered to himself. \u201cThis is a dream\u2026\u201d But he didn\u2019t want it to be. He just said that to reassure himself of something\u2014that he wasn\u2019t crazy? Or that ghosts weren\u2019t real, even though he\u2019d so desperately believed in the soul\u2019s passing from this world into the next when he\u2019d needed.<\/p>\n
When the dawn light came and his window was a dark-blue pane, his mind finally wandered off, and he dreamt that it was a far-off future, and he was riding on an empty train through some backcountry in Europe, rolling past grey junkyards as violet-tipped snowflakes began to drizzle down from the sky. The seat to his left, by the window, was empty, and Robert knew that that\u2019s where Samuel was supposed to be, maybe standing on the seat, hands on the sill, staring out into the world and hours passing them by. When Robert saw an orange glow rushing through the cracks of the compartment door, he woke up, and smelled something burning.<\/p>\n
His eyes twitched slowly open, and then shot wide. Something was burning. Actually burning.<\/p>\n
He rushed to Samuel\u2019s room and threw the door open. Samuel wasn\u2019t there.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel?\u201d Robert yelled, rushing down the stairs. He nearly tripped but caught himself with the rail.<\/p>\n
Samuel was sitting in a chair at the table, facing the staircase with an idle look. A bag of popcorn trembled on a pan over the stove, leaking smoke and about to burst like an over-inflating balloon.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel, what are you doing?\u201d Robert said, doing his best to keep his words calm. He ran over and turned off the flame.<\/p>\n
Samuel glanced at his father, then looked away. \u201cI just wanted some popcorn.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert opened the window above the sink. Cold air drifted in, dispelling the chords of smoke. \u201cYes, I see that, Samuel, but\u2026 you know better than to make it yourself. You are to ask me. You know you\u2019re too young to use the stove.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I tried to wake you up, and you wouldn\u2019t,\u201d Samuel said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? When?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust some minutes ago. I was in your room asking you to get up and make me some popcorn, because I was hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert couldn\u2019t remember a single time when Samuel had tried to wake him up in the night, or attempted to use the stove.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Dad,\u201d Samuel said.<\/p>\n
Robert sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, Samuel. Just promise me you won\u2019t use the stove again by yourself, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d Samuel said. Then he got up and skipped back upstairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you were hungry,\u201d Robert said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not anymore,\u201d his son said, and his bedroom door shut closed.<\/p>\n
The next day, the first thing Robert did when he woke up was check to see that Samuel was in his bed sleeping. He was. Then Robert showered, got dressed, and cooked a large batch of oatmeal, making sure there was plenty left over that he could leave out for Samuel. He considered gently waking his son up to say good morning and tell him he\u2019d be off to work, but that seemed unnecessary. Besides, what if Samuel asked about school? What would he say then? Robert had the feeling that his son didn\u2019t understand he was dead, that his soul had drifted back into this world away from his mother because he missed his dad too much, missed this life that should\u2019ve been his. And so, feeling that if he paid too much attention to Samuel, that his son might become startled and return to where he\u2019d come, Robert went to work, and acted as if everything were normal.<\/p>\n
Marie gave him a half smile filled with sympathy as he walked into the office.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you have a good day off?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
Robert nodded cautiously, then tried his best to smile back. It didn\u2019t matter what look he had on his face, though, the look like he\u2019d seen a ghost, because Marie interpreted it how she wanted. Everyone did that.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look well, Robert,\u201d she said, as if he hadn\u2019t the previous six months.<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
He began walking away but she told Robert to wait.<\/p>\n
\u201cI actually lied to you yesterday,\u201d she said, smiling. \u201cSorry, but several messages came in.\u201d<\/p>\n
When he didn\u2019t smile back this time, she sat up in her chair. \u201cI just didn\u2019t want you to have any distractions, was all. I hope you understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged, his eyelids blinking rapidly like the shutters of a video camera. \u201cIt\u2019s not a problem,\u201d he said, clearing his throat.<\/p>\n
It was a normal day at work, except that one of the messages was no message at all. Instead, it was a complete bout of near-silent, static hissing, like a radio that had lost connection. He played it again and turned up the volume, hearing what he made out to be the faint drizzle of rain.<\/p>\n
After work, he went to the supermarket and filled his cart with sugar-coated cereal, juice boxes, and boxes of frozen pizzas. Heating up a frozen meal in a microwave was safe enough, wasn\u2019t it? But if Samuel really was back, Robert wanted to keep his son as healthy as possible, so he bought a variety of fruits, too.<\/p>\n
At home, Robert unloaded the grocery bags, then went upstairs. The door to Samuel\u2019s room was nearly closed, and it looked dark in there. Robert peeked through the crack and sighed with relief when he saw Samuel sitting at the desk, hunched over with his arms working on the train set, the only light being that from the desk lamp. Robert nudged the door open.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re making some good progress there, Samuel,\u201d Robert said, walking toward his son.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know?\u201d said his son, not turning around. \u201cYou haven\u2019t seen what I\u2019ve done today.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert froze. Samuel had said that innocently enough, but it was still unlike him. Maybe Robert had to get used to the fact that Samuel was changing, growing up still, that Samuel was not going to be that na\u00efve, dependent little boy he was when he\u2019d died.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d Robert said, arriving at Samuel\u2019s side.<\/p>\n
The train set was halfway finished, the right side looping up in a spiral, three platforms high, supported by pillars. It didn\u2019t look easy; even Robert would\u2019ve had to read the manual carefully to set it up. Yet Samuel had done it all on his own.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had a dream about mom yesterday,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cShe wanted me to tell you something.\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert felt his heart pound. \u201cOh\u2026 and what was that\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said that it was all worth it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2026 what do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel shrugged. \u201cI don\u2019t know, that\u2019s all she said. And then she disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was all worth it. What was worth it? Bringing Samuel into this world, even as an exchange for her own life? His time with Samuel, raising him with hopes of one day having a son as a best friend, the two of them venturing across a continent on a train? What were these worth if the dreams had been wrenched away by death?<\/p>\n
Samuel\u2019s stomach growled, shaking Robert out of his thoughts.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you hungry, Samuel?\u201d Robert asked.<\/p>\n
Samuel stopped working on the tracks and folded his fingers across an empty space on the desk. \u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t eat anything today because I didn\u2019t want to make anything on fire again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t make anything on fire yesterday,\u201d Robert said. \u201cAlthough you might have\u2026 But why didn\u2019t you eat the food on the table?\u201d<\/p>\n
Come to think of it, the leftover oatmeal hadn\u2019t been there when he\u2019d returned, nor was there an empty bowl in the sink. Samuel shrugged, his eyes wandering around the tracks that had yet to be connected. <\/p>\n
\u201cDid you see the food I left you?\u201d Robert said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI threw it away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Heat flushed to Robert\u2019s face. He wasn\u2019t sure if he was upset, shocked, or just confused. It was probably some of each. \u201cSamuel, why would you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t hungry in the morning,\u201d Samuel said. His hands resumed working on the tracks, taking a stray one and trying to push it into those already connected.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel,\u201d Robert said in a more serious tone than he wanted. \u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean you should throw the food away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut there were flies, Dad, and they were eating the food. And you said that flies eating our food are bad, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert didn\u2019t remember ever saying that, but maybe he\u2019d forgotten. Then again, Robert seemed to remember every other conversation he\u2019d had with his son\u2014looking both sides before crossing the street, not trusting strangers, buckling up. Buckling up\u2026 Robert never drove unless Samuel had his seatbelt locked in, but Samuel had gotten into a habit of tucking the shoulder strap behind him, saying that it was more comfortable that way. Robert had admonished Samuel several times, but the morning, of Samuel\u2019s sixth birthday\u2026<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said that flies have bad germs on them,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cAnd that when they touch the food, the germs go from their feet onto the food.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight, right\u2026\u201d Robert said, wiping off the tears that had formed in his eyes.<\/p>\n
Samuel was trying to force the track piece in, like he had yesterday before Robert had showed him how to do it correctly.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel\u2026 Remember what I taught you yesterday?\u201d<\/p>\n
His son didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel\u2026\u201d Robert said.<\/p>\n
Still, no response.<\/p>\n
\u201cSam\u2026 Samuel!\u201d he yelled. It was the same voice he\u2019d used as he\u2019d ran across the highway to Samuel.<\/p>\n
Samuel turned his head up and looked at his father, and Robert flinched. In his son\u2019s green eyes flickered an unearthly glow.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, Dad,\u201d Samuel said. \u201cI forgot.\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel turned back around and did it correctly, lifting the track pieces on top of another, pressing their latches in, pulling to lock them. \u201cLike this, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d Robert said. \u201cGood job\u2026 Samuel\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Robert hadn\u2019t said another word to his son, instead backing out of the room and going downstairs to start dinner. He\u2019d felt such joy when he\u2019d seen Samuel back, but now he was becoming apprehensive. Maybe it just took time to readjust, Robert assured himself. Just like when Samuel had gone.<\/p>\n
As he waited for the water to boil, he glanced into the trash can, feeling strangely alarmed, for whatever reason, that perhaps Samuel had lied to him about throwing away the food. It wasn\u2019t there, just a tied plastic bag containing the shards of a bowl he\u2019d dropped some time ago. Where was the oatmeal? Searching around downstairs, on the chairs, tables, and sofas, a nauseating feeling crept up in his stomach. <\/p>\n
The last place he checked was where he found it\u2014in the refrigerator. But why would Samuel tell him he\u2019d thrown it away if he\u2019d simply placed it into the fridge? He would\u2019ve said it proudly, like the time he picked up a woman\u2019s money bag that had fallen out of her purse, and handed it to her. Robert wasn\u2019t sure he wanted to know.<\/p>\n
To settle his nerves, Robert cooked a carefully-prepared pork soup, painstakingly dicing the onions, garlic, and carrots into thin slices so that their flavors would infuse into the soup better, and another hour to let it slowly simmer. This was Samuel\u2019s favorite meal, and maybe it would help settle Samuel back into his home, into his old self. When he was finished, he called for Samuel to come down, but Samuel said he wasn\u2019t hungry anymore.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d Robert asked at the bottom of the stairs.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, Dad!\u201d Samuel said.<\/p>\n
After a pause, Robert said, \u201cIt\u2019s your favorite soup, though!\u201d Part of Robert just wanted to see the food go into Samuel again. And maybe he could bring up the leftover oatmeal in the fridge. It was probably just a misunderstanding. Samuel didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n
Samuel had looked so focused up there in his room on that train set. There wasn\u2019t so much joy in his son\u2019s face as there was determination, and perhaps even discomfort at trying to piece it all together. Robert realized that, ironically, they hadn\u2019t spent a single moment actually putting the tracks together as planned: Robert had started it, and now Samuel was nearly finished. Robert started up the stairs, determined to finally spend some time with his returned son. Unafraid. He would not let his memories and fear take another moment away.<\/p>\n
He tripped halfway up the stairs and barely ught himself. When he was in front of Samuel\u2019s door, he found it locked. As he jimmied with the knob, he could already sense what had happened. He pounded on the door with his fist.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel?\u201d he yelled. \u201cSamuel! Open the door!\u201d<\/p>\n
He pressed his ear against the door and listened. He could hear something, something scratching, or ticking. No, it was a hiss. Like rain. Or static. Like the snow of a disconnected channel.<\/p>\n
\u201cSAMUEL!\u201d <\/p>\n
He kicked the door and it burst open, the door kicking back against the wall and knocking into him as he stumbled inside.<\/p>\n
\u201cSamuel\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Samuel was not in there. A breeze blew in through the window, lifting the black curtains, which undulated like fingers, curling in and out. Robert walked over to the desk. The train set was complete, the left side looping up in a spiral, connected to the station by a bridge. Four trains stood connected on the tracks. Robert pressed the button on the front train. They came to life, and began their journeys.F<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He came back on the one-year anniversary of his death. Robert opened the door to his son\u2019s untouched bedroom, preserved down to the glass of water on the corner of the nightstand, now only a film of liquid at the bottom, and there was Samuel, hunched over at the desk, his hands fiddling with the …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":102976,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,19587],"tags":[19586],"class_list":["post-127814","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-25-fall-2017","tag-the-colored-lens-25-autumn-2017","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/127814","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/102976"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=127814"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/127814\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139464,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/127814\/revisions\/139464"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=127814"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=127814"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=127814"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}