The apartment was more of a box, really. More of a box than an actual home. It could fit Alena and it could fit her brother Kumiko and not many people else. Their parents had once lived here too, which made the little hut much more crowded but much more homely. But it couldn't fit many people. That was okay. The hallway was large enough. Was large enough to fit all the people in the floor in. If only because it was long, its length making up for its lack of width. It often felt like the building itself was their house, and not just their one room.
Kumiko knew that they should not get too comfortable. That the building could collapse at any time. They could be bombed and then, and then what? They would have to leave this place that had come to be home, they would have to leave these people who had come to be home. And they would have to start over again somewhere else. If they even survived the bombing, that is. They might not survive that. They might die at any moment.
And he knew that his sister knew that too. His sister, Alena, was just six years old. Just six. Far too young to be thinking about dying. Too young to be thinking of her friends dying, of her home getting blown to bits. She was too young for the constant hunger that spread its corrosive fingers through all her experiences, too young to be constantly struggling to survive. But this was what she was faced with, what she had to deal with whether she wanted to or not.
Kumiko wished he could give his sister a better life. His sister who he loved more than anything in the world. All their many neighbours wished they could give these orphans a better life as well. They were, all of them, glued together. Glued by bonds of desperation and love. And they tried to make each others' lives as bright as they possibly could.
Alena felt at home when she was with her brother. She felt at home when she was with her neighbours. She knew that the war all around them wanted to take everything from her, wanted to take every security that she had. And she didn't have security. Not really. Every night bombs fell. Every day there was rubble and hunger. There were soldiers patrolling the streets. But she still felt strong, she felt soothed, she felt at home when she was with her people.
Alena awoke before Kumiko one day, as she so often did. She got up from the clay floor she was lying on with her brother. The electric blue shine of the just-before-dawn seeped in through their narrow window. The sky was filled with promise, and the ground was filled with rubble. There was something destroyed about the world at that moment. But there was also something alive, and something tranquil.
"Kumiko. Wake up. It's morning." She gently shook her brother, rousing him from his sleep. Kumiko's eyes were weary, just as they always were. And they were tender, just as they always were when he looked at his sister.
"Hi, little bird," he whispered. "How was your sleep?"
"I had nightmare again," she stated.
"I'm so sorry. I wish I could make it better." Alena often had nightmares. It was a side effect of living in a war zone.
"It's okay. I could cuddle you. And that made me feel so so much better."
"You're so sweet." Kumiko gave her a tired smile.
"You are too."
"Aww, thanks."
"You're welcome."
"So, we should get going, should we not?" Kumiko began. "I'm sure you're hungry. And there's food in the childcare centre."
"I am hungry."
"Let's go, then."
There was no food in the house. There was rarely ever food in the house. Kumiko's day job as a mechanic paid enough for rent, paid enough for meagre rice and lentils for him, but Alena got her food at the childcare centre run by the Allitian military, one of the two militaries battling it out in their home. The food at the childcare centre was more plentiful and more nutritious, and for that Kumiko was glad.
The two siblings brushed each others hair with their fingers, rinsed their mouths, and went out to go face the world. They walked down the broken streets, the broken streets made of dust, the broken streets filled with too-thin, ragged people with desperation in their eyes. The people were all like them. They were all devastated in their souls.
There were also soldiers walking through the streets. These soldiers were muscular, were armed with camouflage and guns, were filled with hatred and harshness in their eyes. They were not fighting, thank the gods. They were not fighting here. Instead, they were keeping an eye on the common population. They were making sure that the common people were following the rules, were staying in line, were not causing trouble.
There were many ways to cause trouble on the streets. One could, for example, be saying things against the military, or against the war. People could be gathering together. They could be singing. They could be trying to steal from the soldiers. They could be distributing banned literature. They could be chanting, anything really. They could be telling each other classified information. They could be getting into the bomb-proof trucks the soldiers used. The soldiers had to make sure they weren't doing that.
Alena was terrified of these soldiers that prowled up and down the streets. Kumiko was afraid as well. That's why they held on tightly to each other. That's why they walked closely together, clinging to each other, finding shade in each other's shadows. They saw each other as a force field against the world, though they each knew that the other provided meagre protection against the soldiers.
But Kumiko wanted to protect his sister as much as he could, and Alena knew that.
Thankfully, the soldiers did not accost the small family today, and they were able to drag their aching feet across the aching streets and get to the childcare centre.
The childcare centres was a sturdy building, one built to withstand bombs. The Allitian military did not really care about the civilians in the war. That should be evident, seeing how they regularly bombed people. It should be evident seeing that they regularly captured and tortured ordinary civilians. But they wanted to seem like the good guys. So every once in a while they did something nice for the civilians there. For example, this childcare centre, which had some education but not enough, which had some food but not enough, which had safety. It was rare, to get a spot in a place like this. Kumiko knew he should be grateful.
"I'll miss you," Alena pouted at her brother, not wanting to let go of his hand.
"Don't worry, I'll come pick you up at the end of the day," the brother consoled, crouching down to her eye level. "I have to go to work. You know that I have to go to work. I have to make money. I'll see you at the end of the day, I always do."
"Okay," Alena responded, worry in her voice. She did this every day. She acted as if her brother would not come back for her. But he always did.
"Come on, young Alena," the strangely pale and well-fed Allitian woman inside the building called to her. "We've missed you. We're going to have another fun day!" All the Allitians were strangely pale. They had pale skin and pale eyes and pale hair. They were strangely happy, never being able to see the energy of the people around them.
Alena's brother smiled at her, and he walked away. Alena looked at him for a second, feeling as if he would never come back. She was so afraid. She was so, so very afraid. Losing her brother was her worst fear. It has always been her worst fear. And it was a fear that made her feel like her heart was being constricted in her chest, like she couldn't breathe, like all that she was was being ripped off of her bleeding soul.
But Kumiko did come back. He came back in the evening, as he always did. And Alena was hungry. And she missed him. She smiled widely when she saw him. She smiled like a small child. She was a small child. But it was seldom that she could smile like one. She went to go hug him. But she could not.
"Kumiko," the Allitian lady pressed, "come with me. I have to talk to you in private."
Fear flashed across Kumiko's eyes but he did what he had to do. He followed the orders of the woman, face drawn with darkness.
"What is it?" the brother asked the pale lady when they were in a small room lit with dim flourescent ceiling lights in long rows.
"It's nothing bad. Don't worry. Your sister has been doing very well in her lessons. She's very smart."
"Thank you." Kumiko knew that Alena was smart. He had known that for years. He was just sorrowful that he could not give her a proper education.
"She is exceptionally bright," the woman continued, "and that makes her a perfect candidate for adoption to a nice Allitian family."
Kumiko's eyes went wide. Mostly in horror.
"If she were adopted," the lady explained, "she would be able to live in Allitia. She would be safe from the war, and she would be well fed and well nourished. She would have access to good healthcare, and would have a bright future ahead of her. What do you say?"
"Will I be able to come with her?" he asked.
"No, of course not. The adoption placement is for her alone. You are far too old. But you are her guardian right now, and we need your permission before shipping her to the homeland."
Kumiko thought about it. He really did think about it really hard. He thought about how amazing it would be if Alena was safe and well-educated and well provided for. That was his wildest dream. It was everything that he wanted for her, coming to fruition. And it was such a special chance, a chance to get her out of this accursed country plagued by endless wars and famines and pestilence.
But he thought about what Alena would want. He thought about what Alena would need. And he knew, he knew deep in his heart, that being separated from her brother would be the worst thing possible for her. He knew that it would be beyond devastating to her, that it would drown her in sorrow from which she would never be able to rise.
"I'm sorry," Kumiko started, "but she belongs with me."
"You are letting go of an incredible opportunity," the lady countered.
"I know. But she needs to be with her family."
"If you ever change your mind, let me know. There will always be an opening for her."
"Okay."
"What did she talk to you about?" Alena asked Kumiko when they were finally reunited.
"Oh, nothing," Kumiko lied. "Nothing important." He didn't want his sister to worry. He didn't want her to worry that he could abandon her.
But, as they walked hand and hand down the broken, dusty streets, Alena knew that something was wrong. She knew that something was very deeply wrong. But she could not do anything about it. She felt so lost, so helpless. But at least, she thought, she did not feel alone. She did not feel alone and that was what was the most important. She clung to her brother even harder, walked even closer to him, as they made their way home.
Kumiko kept thinking about the offer that the woman had given him. He wondered if he was making the right choice. He clung to Alena. But he had his doubts.
When they got back into the building, their neighbours greeted them heartily.
"How are you doing, Alena?" young Eojay asked her, brightness in his dark-drenched eyes.
"Not too good."
"I understand," Ameni responded. "It's hard, living like this. You're alive at least. We all are. That's good."
"But what about Raya and Jayvali and Parthi? And Raybanna and Layto?" Alena asked. These people used to be neighbours. They were dead now. Raya killed by a stray bullet, Parthi was beaten to death by the soldiers, Jayvali was killed in a bombing at their workplace. They were all far too young to die. Raybanna and Layto had both been babies when they died, and they died of illnesses that their parents could not afford to see doctors for. The undernourishment that everyone faced also likely played a part in making them sick.
"I miss them too!" Little Kata added in.
"I know you both miss them, sweethearts. We all do. So much. Hopefully they're somewhere better," Saki stated. She held a squirming baby Kabi in her arms. "And we will be able to see them again. I promise."
"And how's the brother doing?" Karlti asked.
"Fine," Kamiko responded, but there was something deeply perturbed in his eyes, something deeply disturbed. But thankfully, the neighbours did not press the issue any further. Kamiko accepted the sleeping toddler Cayjay into his arms from Ameni.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Karlti asked the small crowd gathered in the hallway. They were met with a chorus of resounding yesses.
"There was a rabbit one day," they started. "A rabbit that lived in a city where there wasn't any food."
"Like us!" young Eojay exclaimed.
"Yes!" Saki replied.
"Anyways," Karlti continued, "the rabbit was very hard pressed for money. But they did not have any. The rich people in the city loved dining on their fine cakes and pastries, and they always wanted more flavourings. One day, the rabbit got an idea. They pooped onto the ground. And they put that poop on a plate. And told the rich people that it was an expensive, rare form of chocolate with a distinct taste."
Everyone started laughing. And the laughter was resounding. They knew what would happen next. And it was resoundingly filling. They wanted to know what would happen next in the story.
"What's next?" Kata pressed.
"The rich people tasted the 'chocolate' and they thought it was a very strange flavour indeed," Karlti responded. "But they though, this must be what the most expensive and rare chacolate tastes like. So they payed the rabbit many silver and gold coins for the 'delicacy.'"
There was more laughter all around.
"If only we could do that with the soldiers," Kumiko spoke.
"Would they be that dumb?" Eojay asked.
"Of course they would be!" Alena answered.
The people, the neighbours, the family of bonds, they continued talking in their little hallway. Trying desperately to make each other believe that in that tiny moment, they were safe. Trying to make each other feel as though they could protect each other. Though, in truth, they could protect each other in a way. They could protect each other's hearts and minds and souls. And that was the best kind of protection that there was.
Eventually, everyone retreated into their individual tiny shacks. And they talked amongst themselves.
"I really liked that story," Alena told her brother.
"Karlti's very creative, are they not?"
"Yes, they really are. And very funny too!"
"You're really funny too!"
"Aww thanks. You're really funny too. We're all really funny."
"Well, we have to be, don't we?"
"I like jokes. They make everything worth it."
"Do they really?"
"Being with you and everyone else makes everything worth it."
Kumiko thought once again about the lady's offer.
Eventually the two siblings went to bed, cuddled close together for heat, for strength, for an entirely psychological sort of safety. And they went to sleep for one more night. When they woke up, the sky was dark.
"Kumiko, wake up," Alena whispered. "It's morning."
"Hi, sweetheart."
They went out for the day, just as all the other residents in their block did. They started walking in the directions they needed to go.
"You, there!" a soldier shouted at the pair. "Where are you going?!" He wasn't Allitian, this soldier, which meant that he looked a bit more like the civilians. But not much. He was much more strongly built and muscular.
"I'm just dropping my sister off and then going to work," Kumiko replied timidly, submissively.
"Not without showing me your papers you're not!" the soldier barked out with hatred in his voice. Kumiko was not too worried about this. He always carried their papers in a small bag with his tools. He got the papers out and handed them to the soldier. The soldier spent a good amount of time looking through them.
"These are out of date!" he spat finally.
Both siblings' eyes went wide with terror. No-one was ever allowed to go anywhere without their papers. The brother and sister pair could easily be killed. The soldier in front of them very well might be the one to do this. Was this the end? They moved closer to each other. Held each other tighter.
"I'm going to let you off this time," the soldier pronounced, "but if I see you ever again with out of date papers, you're dead!"
"Yes, sir!" Kumiko replied. "Thank you immensely, sir."
The soldier left, leaving both siblings pierced through with dread and staring at each other.
"We need to get new papers," Alena stated. "We need to do that right now."
"Yes."
Instead of going to their normal destinations, they started going in the direction of the house of the registrar. They tried to move as quickly and quietly and unassumingly as they could, so that they didn't get the attention of the soldiers. They knew that if another soldier stopped them now, if they asked to see their papers, then the siblings were dead. They knew they couldn't be walking out in the open like this, unsheilded by their official passes.
Finally, after what seemed like both a millennium and a moment, they got to the large house of the registrar. The house was made of stone, and had many stained glass windows. There was a wide stone staircase leading up to it. It was impressive, and it was untouched by bombs. Before they could get to the top of the stairs though, the door opened and a man in ripped clothing was thrown down the stairs. The siblings stared at the man for a moment before making their way up the stairs.
"Who is it?" the elderly registrar asked when Kumiko knocked on the door.
"Kumiko an Alena Daydali," the brother replied. "We're looking to get our papers renewed."
"Come in."
The house was even more impressive on the inside. There were many soft chairs, many bookshelves filled to the brim with an unaccountable number of books. There were many little crystal things decorating the room. There was a crystal chandelier. And there was space. There was so much space.
"Sit down," the registrar with his white beard told the pair, gesturing at a soft fuzzy sofa. They sat, and he sat in an armchair opposite to them, with a polished coffee table in between. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Our papers are out of date," Kumiko replied, handing him their papers. "Can you get us new ones?"
He calmly looked through the papers.
"Sure," he replied. "I'll mail you your new papers. It will take a week, though. Where do you live?"
"Thank you, sir." Kumiko gave him their address. And then they took their leave.
One week. One week. The new papers would take one week to arrive. Both siblings were perturbed by this. They would not be able to go out during that week, for fear that the soldiers might find them and kill them for not having papers. They would not be able to go to the childcare centre where Alena got her meals. They wouldn't be able to go to Kumiko's job, and earn money for rent. How would they survive?
"What will we do?" Alena asked Kumiko after they got home.
"We'll stay right here. We'll stay right here and we'll rest," he replied.
"At least I'll get to spend time with you."
"Yes. At least."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"I'll talk about anything you want to talk about."
And so the two of them talked. They talked though their throats were dry and they talked through the banging, clanging, all-consuming waves of hunger pangs that crashed over them and crashed over them and crashed over them. They were accustomed to hunger, but this was too much for even them to stay strong against. They were overcome with hunger. And the hunger weighed like thousands of stones crushing their souls. But still, they had to bear it. They had to bear it.
When their neighbours got home they told their neighbours what had happened.
"We won't have food for the next week," Alena explained. "Can you help us?"
"Absolutely," Saki responded. "We'll give you what we can."
Kumiko smiled. That was appreciated. That was appreciated immensely.
But it wasn't enough. The neighbours were all poor as well, they were all very poor. They gave what they could give, but what they could give was not much. And so Alena and Kumiko were still far too hungry. And not only were they far too hungry, but their neighbours were far too hungry as well. And it wasn't fair. None of this was anything remotely close to fair. But it was what they had to live with. What they had to make do with.
"I can't take it anymore," Alena whined the next day. "I can't, I can't, I can't I can't."
"I'm so sorry my girl," Kumiko tried to placate. "I'm so sorry. I wish we had more food."
"I hate it. I hate all of it so very much."
"What do you hate?"
"This war. These soldiers. These rules. This hunger. It's all terrible."
"It is. I understand. I agree."
"I can't bear it anymore. I can't keep doing this."
"Can't keep doing what?"
"I can't keep living life when this is life."
"Do you want a different life?"
"Yes. I want a different life."
Again Kumiko thought about the offer that the Allitian lady had given him. He could save his sister from this life, from this unbearable life. And he could give her something better. But would it be better? Would it truly be better?
"Would you want to leave me to go live your different life?" he asked. Her eyes went wide at this.
"What? No! Without you, what is the point of life?"
"Okay."
"Don't leave me. Don't go away."
"I won't. I promise."
But was it a promise he could keep?
The days bled together, one after the other. Each day was unendurably long, was unendingly long. Each day was an endless rough rope of coarse hunger being pulled through their insides. Each day was desperate and wanting, was longer than the last, was more unendurable than the last. And yet, they had to keep on enduring. They had to endure on.
Hunger was a rough, grating, jagged piece of serrated metal cutting and cutting and cutting deep into the body, deep into the mind, deep into the heart, deep into the soul. Hunger was a superheated electric wire, running from the pit of the belly to the hollow of the chest, through the arms and legs, through the throat and up to the head. Hunger was a thousand thorns all over their insides, twisting and writhing. And hunger was an enormous lead weight on their joints, on their muscles, on their organs, on their bones. Hunger was inescapable. And it was everywhere.
What was worse than the constant pain in their bodies was the constant pain in their souls. The hunger pulled at and squeezed and grated on their souls. The hunger took a cheese grater to their emotions, to their sense of life, to their sense of safety, to their sense of stability. The hunger weighed heavy on them and weighed heavy on them and squeezed the breath from their hearts. It left them screaming inside, left them wailing inside, left them drowning inside and clawing for an escape. And still. Still they had to bear it. Still they had to go on.
They clung to each other. They clung to each other with everything they had. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Socially. They exchanged closeness and they exchanged kindness and they exchanged many many words, spoken with desperation, as if they were the last words they would ever speak. As if they were the most important words they would ever speak.
When the neighbours came home, they all talked together. They talked of their hurt and their hunger and their rage. So, so much rage. Rage against the war. Rage against the soldiers. Rage against the inequality. Rage against the disaster capitalism. Rage against the stupid rules they were all forced to live by and rage against the people that hade made life like this.
They talked of hope too, in little bits and pieces. To be honest, there was not much hope. Not in the midst of this unending war. In the midst of this unending occupation. But there was always hope, in every situation. And they dreamed that they could break out of this situation one day. That their children could break out of this situation one day. Or their children's children or their children's children's children. There would surely be a chance one day.
Eventually the week was over. The week was over and Kumiko was able to go back to work, and Alena was able to go back to the childcare centre. But it had been a long week. Far too long. Far, far too long.
And what was the worst thing was that this wasn't the first week they had had to live like this. No. By no means was it the first. It was fairly common that someone in the building was out of work. Sometimes it was Kumiko, sometimes it wasn't. But they had had to scrape by on weeks or sometimes even months like this a couple of times every year. And each and every time they had just had to bear it. They had just had to get through it. There had been no other option.
But now Kumiko saw that he had another option in front of him. He could give his sister to a family that could take care of her. Of course, that would be worse. That would be so much worse. But this past week, combined with the many, many years they had had to spend living like this, had taken too much from Kumiko. He didn't have the strength to fight anymore. He didn't have the strength to keep his sister with him. The promise of her being fed and clothed was too much, it was too much to turn away from.
He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to lose his sister. He didn't want his sister to lose him. But after that hellish week, after so many hellish weeks, after every week of their lives having been hellish, what could he do? He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no. He wanted so very much to say no. But how could he? How could he say no when these were the circumstances Alena was faced with?
Also, he thought of the fact that hunger wasn't the only thing they were facing. Poverty wasn't the only way to fall into the jaws of death. The brother thought of how close he and his sister had been to getting killed by the soldier. He thought of how close they had been to meeting their end in front of the barrel of a gun. There were so many people killed by soldiers. And they weren't all shot. Many of them didn't even do anything to incur the wrath of the soldiers. But they died anyways. He didn't want that to happen to his sister. And the bombs, too, were a constant threat.
He had no choice. No choice at all really. Let the person you love most in the world starve and die or give her up and send her away, what kind of a choice is that? So he took his sister Alena to the childcare centre and he kissed her forehead. Tenderly, desperately, as if he was trying to pour all the love he had for her into that single kiss. Which of course could not be done. Love is infinite.
"You're coming back, right?" Alena asked worriedly.
"Of course, little bird," Kumiko promised. But Alena was not sure that he was. She was not sure at all.
After Alena had finally been dragged away from the door, dragged away from her brother, and pulled into the dark interior of the sturdy and looming building, Kumiko stepped into the building as well. He knew that his sister was off somewhere doing something, and she wouldn't see him. So he asked for the lady from last week.
"Did you rethink my offer?" she asked him, her pink-painted lips twisted up into a knowing smile. She looked like a snake ready to strike.
"I did," he replied. "And ..." he tried to keep his voice from faltering. "And I'm really grateful to you for having given such a kind and generous offer to my sister. I would like to inform you that I have agreed to hand over her care to whoever you deem the most competent. And I hope that she can find safety in her new life."
"Thank you." The lady's words were too sugar-sweet. They were too poison-laced. But Kumiko smiled and turned away, tears welling up in his eyes.
This was the worst thing he had ever done in his life. And he knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his sister would never forgive him. And he thought that he would deserve her not forgiving him. But still, he could be sure that his sister was getting food, was getting water, was getting safety and security and education. That was something. That was something at the very least. Or at least, that's what he tried and failed to convince himself.
He wanted so very badly to just die. But he thought, if Alena would have to be cursed to continue on living life, then it would only be fair that he should be too. And part of him held onto a faint sliver of hope that Alena would find him one day. He did not know why he believed that. But he couldn't stop himself.
Alena knew that something was wrong. She had known that something was wrong when her brother kneeled down to kiss her. She had known that something was wrong when she was standing there, looking at him. She had known that something was wrong when she was being dragged away from him by a pale, fat volunteer. She knew that something was deeply, deeply twisted. Something was deeply, deeply horrible.
This sense of wrongness, it sat like a black hole in her gut, twisting apart her insides and tearing and pulling at her flesh, her blood, her bones. Until she felt as though she was collapsing into something infinitely heavy, something infinitely dark. There was so much gravity within her, trying to pull her down into the very ground.
But she played with the other children. She played with the other children despite the slimy feeling in her mouth. And she played with the other children despite the heaviness in her core. Because she was a child. And that was what children did. Children played. Even through absolutely broken, crumbled hearts, children played.
The other children also knew that something was wrong. They knew that something was very wrong. And their hearts ached for Alena, their hearts called out to Alena. Children always know when something is wrong. They were as kind to her as they could be. But they were children. They were children and they were poor people in a war zone. That meant that they didn't have power. They didn't have the power to fix the wrongness they were all feeling.
One of the pale Allitian volunteers came up to Alena. He came up to Alena and he asked Alena to follow him. Alena knew that she did not have a choice. She was just a scrawny kid against his well-fed muscles. And so she obeyed, and she went with him, despite everything inside her protesting and pressing her to not follow him.
He took her to a car. She had never been in a car before. She was terrified, terrified about everything that was going on. But despite all that, the seats were soft and the car was cool and comfortable. That didn't stop her from being supersaturated with fear though. It didn't stop the black hole in her gut from consuming her.
She eventually was taken to a dusty makeshift military base. And she was lead to an airplane. She had seen airplanes before, roaring as they cut through the skies, dropping bombs on the land. This airplane was both very much like and nothing like those airplanes. She had seen airplanes that didn't drop bombs as well, and those airplanes were more like this one. But still, seeing it up close was both impressive and horrible.
She climbed the staircase leading to the door of the plane. It was a rather steep, daunting staircase.
"Why are we getting on the plane?" she asked in a quiet and confused voice.
"We're just going on a little trip," the Allitian man stated, "we'll come right back when we're done."
"Are you telling the truth?"
"Of course."
She didn't think he was telling the truth, but she didn't have the power to argue back with him. So she made her heavy, leaden feet climb up the stairs and into the plane. Though she wished beyond anything that she was back home where she belonged.
Inside the plane, it was spacious. It was spacious and it was well-lit with a number of purple and blue coloured lights. The plane was filled with soldiers who were sitting in many seats. But there was a space in the back of the long, hollow tube where there were no seats, and a few children were playing there. They were all Allitian, but still, children were children, and so Alena went to play with them.
This plane was by far the richest thing she had ever seen. It was so clean and polished and shining. And it was so large. She admired its beauty, she honestly did. But still she wished beyond wish that she wasn't here, that she was at her humble, tiny, shabby home instead, with her brother and her neighbours and everyone who she already missed beyond comprehension.
As the plane thundered through the sky, Alena felt more and more suffocated, more and more panicked, more and more trapped. She felt as though she was in a locked room with no air, as though the walls were closing in around her, as if her whole body was slowly being put under more and more and more pressure.
"Can I please go back?" she asked one of the soldiers.
"Not yet. Don't worry. We'll land soon." His words sounded as if they were trying to be sympathetic words, they were trying to be kind words, but still they were words devoid of sympathy and kindness anyways. They were words that were cold, and cutting, and hollow. Alena wanted to scream. She wanted so very badly to scream. But she was afraid of what would happen if she did.
When they finally landed, they were not in the dusty makeshift military base they had left. Instead, they were in a strange new world. Everything was so clean. Everything was so shining. Everything was so straight and square and most importantly everything was so big. It was pretty. Definitely, it was pretty. But it was wrong, all wrong, so very wrong.
This time Alena did scream. She screamed and she ran back towards the plane and she tried to get back on. But the soldiers caught her and held her down and stopped her from getting on. She kicked and screamed and scratched and bit and flailed her arms and fought as hard as she could. But it was no use. There were just so so many of them and they were just so big. Still, she fought with all the energy she had, until all her energy left her and she was exhausted and too tired to fight back.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
A pale woman came up to her and crouched down beside her. She looked as if she was trying to look caring, trying to look kind. But in her eyes there was the same cold hard hollowness that there was in all the eyes and the voices of the Allitian people.
"We're in Allitia. This is a nice place. A safe place. A free place. We're going to find a nice family to adopt you and take care of you, and you will have a good, safe life."
This was by far the most devastating thing that Alena had heard in years. The only thing that could come close to this news was the news that her parents had died, many many years ago. It felt as though she had been shot through the heart. It felt as though everything inside her, everything in her soul, had become dark and dead and rotten all at once. She felt trapped, she felt trapped, she felt more trapped than she had ever felt in her life. She felt devastated, desecrated, and entirely destroyed. But she didn't have the energy to fight anymore. She didn't have the energy to fight back.
"I want to go home," she pleaded with everything that she had, her voice sounding sad and lost and desperate. Her voice sounding oh so small.
"This is your new home now," the woman replied, voice matter-of-fact. But this was not true. This strange land so far removed from everyone she loved was not her home. It would never be her home. Never ever. She was a prisoner here, and she was a ghost walking through the pale shadow of life.
"I want to go home," she repeated. "Please."
But they did not listen to her. They did not listen to her and they packed her into another car and they drove off, not at all caring how she felt.
This car went through many strange streets. Streets that Alena did not understand at all. Streets that were wide, so very incredibly wide. Streets that had so many incredibly fast cars and even trucks driving through them. The cars were so whole, so clean, so shiny. And there was grass lining the roads. Green grass and many, many buildings. The buildings were so very straight, so very shiny, so very perfect and big. There were no broken windows. No broken houses. No rubble anywhere. It was so strange. She admired it, but more than anything she wanted to go home.
They turned in to a street filled with houses. And the houses were all so big, were all so immaculate, were all so clean and pretty. They all had pretty yards full of grass and flowers and trees. There were no soldiers anywhere. There were barely any people anywhere. And all the people that there were were perfectly well-fed and whole.
They turned in to a large building. And there she was shown to a large, clean room with a soft, cushioney bed. She went immediately to the bed and she wrapped herself in blankets. The blankets offered a tiny bit of security, a tiny bit of comfort. But they didn't offer even a fraction of the comfort that her brother offered, that her people offered. They didn't offer even a fraction of the comfort that her family offered.
She lay in bed and she missed her family. She missed her family with all that she had. And she felt so heavy, so tired, so weighed down by their absence. She felt lost, absolutely lost. And she felt like everything all around her was poison, was blood. She felt as though she was breathing poisoned blood instead of air. And she felt as though she would never taste the sweet freshness of air again. There was nothing left of her. For she was nothing without her family.
Many families came to see her. Strange, clean families with pretty, elegant clothes. The clothes were so elegant and the shoes were so new and the eyes were so completely, absolutely hollow. But perhaps they simply reflected the hollowness she felt in her soul. Many families tried to talk to her. They tried to see if she would be a good match for their family or not. But Alena did not talk to them. She was holding on to the hope that if she didn't get adopted by a family, then she would be sent home.
But get adopted she did. A family found her and they liked her. She did not know why they liked her. She did not like them back. And she tried to make it apparent that she had no interest in being adopted by them. But still, they insisted on taking her home with them.
"She's so sweet," the mother cooed.
"Yes, she is," the father agreed.
And just like that the papers were signed and she was dragged out of the building and into yet another car. And just like that her fate was sealed.
The house that the family lived in was nicer than any house she had ever imagined. It was big. It was clean. It was ornately decorated. But it wasn't home. It wasn't home and it wasn't even a prison. It was a hell, a place of torture. And she felt as if she was being sliced into with knives of ice every second that she was in there. It felt as if her soul was being frozen in ice and tied down with iron.
The family tried to be nice to her. But they had that same hollow coldness that everyone from this strange country always had. They never seemed to see her, to truly see her. They never seemed to see her sadness, her misery, her aching inside. They never seemed to see her truth or the constant horrors she faced in her every waking moment. And they never seemed to care, either. They never seemed to care that she was broken inside, that she wasn't the perfect, grateful little girl who they rescued from horror.
There was a mother. And she was not anything at all like Alena's mother who had died. There was a father. And he was nothing like Alena's father either. There were two children, a boy and a girl, both older than her. And they were nothing like her brother. They were so carefree and careless and thoughtless. They did not understand that any emotions beside positive ones actually existed. And they did not understand why Alena was so wistful and withdrawn. This family was a family. They loved each other. But they were not her family. And they didn't love her.
It sank deep into her like a thousand jagged pieces of broken glass, the fact that the people in the house were a family, one that she wasn't part of. They loved each other. And they cared about each other. But they did not care about her. Not truly. Not while they kept her there, away from her brother and her people, and that cut into her so very deeply. It made her feel small, faded, ghost-like. She felt as though she was banished from life, banished from personhood, and trapped behind a thick glass separating her from the world. And everyone else around her was part of life, and part of each other. She hated it. It was unfair. It was so deeply, incredibly, intrinsically and fundamentally unfair. And it absolutely suffocated her.
She wanted, more than anything, to be away from this horrible family that stole her personhood from her in the same breath that they claimed to save her. She wanted, more than anything, to be back with her people, where she belonged. Her loneliness, her homesickness, her grief, her alienation, it all sank down through all parts of her, poisoned and freezing and oh so deeply wrong. Her soul was being boiled in crude, thick, poisoned oil. Her soul was having the breath squeezed out of it. Every single part of her felt ragged.
She had always had a baseline desire to die. It had haunted her for her entire life. And it had been especially strong, especially destructive and overwhelming when her parents had died. When they had died, her heart was screaming at herself to end it. To stop this horrible, aching existence of hers. Her grief had been devastating. And it had, after many many years, not diminished even a bit. She had always had to live with the heavy weight of her parents' deaths. A weight that had never gotten lighter.
But now, now that she was all alone, without any family, the weight of grief was far more crushing that she could have ever even imagined it possible to be. There was no part of her that wanted to continue living. To continue living with this family she wasn't truly a part of. Without any of the people who made her who she was. She was ready to just give up.
Meanwhile, Kumiko wanted to kill himself too. He thought that he had betrayed his sister. He thought that he had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable. In a way he did, but it was truly not his fault. But he hated himself. He hated himself so very much, in the very base of his heart and then out of his gut and in every other part that existed in him. He thought about Alena every single second of his existence, no matter what he was doing. He thought that her pain must be overwhelming. And he was right. His own pain was overwhelming too. Alena's absence weighed heavy on him, colouring everything he experienced with desolation. Her absence clawed and scratched at him. But there was nothing he could do. The deed was done.
One day Alena was lying in her soft bed, trying to melt into it and get as many of the meagre, faded threads of comfort that it offered. There, she made up her mind to finally go end herself. And so she stepped out of her bed, as softly as a feather, and she snuck her way to the bathroom, under cover of night, while all the others were sleeping. She meant to pick up a razor and slit her wrists. She felt like she was finally embracing the arms of freedoms.
When she got to the bathroom, she softly closed the door behind her. And she turned on the light so she could dig through the drawers.
"My child," a voice called out to her, soft and gentle, and she turned her head sharply towards its direction.
There, kneeling down so that they were eye-level to her, was a person dressed in clouds. They had a softness in their eyes. A deep, aching kindness. And a deep, aching sadness. A deep, aching sadness that perfectly reflected her own.
"Who are you?" the young girl asked.
"I think you already know who I am."
"But ... Alemi? Why are you here?"
"I can't do much for you, child. My powers in this mortal world are limited. I wish I could do more. Especially for you, my dear, sweet child. But I can do this."
The room seemed to be bathed in a strange white glow. And when the little sister looked at herself in the mirror, she saw that she had earth-brown, feathery wings that matched the colour of her eyes. She reached back to feel them. And the feathers were whole and strong. The place where the wings connected to her back was thick and strong. And she saw in the mirror that the wings were large and thick and formidable.
"These will carry you where you need to go. Trust in them, for they can keep flying indefinitely, and they will fly in whatever direction you bid them to go. And they will take you to the ground whenever you bid them to."
"But how will I know the way back home?" Aleni asked.
"I will give you the knowledge needed to find your way." The God held their hand to Alena's forehead. And all at once, the calm, flowing knowledge of how to get home washed over her, like clear flowing water, like a calm breeze of air.
"Thank you, Alemi."
"No need, Alena. Simply follow the knowledge and you will get back to your home, to where you belong."
"I will, parent."
Alemi then kissed the little girl on the forehead. And then the God disappeared.
Alena quietly padded to her room and got a large shoulder bag from her closet, which she slung over her shoulders with great care, making sure to place the strap between her two wings so that they would not encumber her flight. She stepped carefully into the kitchen, in the barely-there light of the night. She had a large meal easily worth three meals, scarfing down the food as fast as she could. She went into the large pantry and filled her bag with food of all types, food that would survive the long journey back home. She also filled up all the water bottles in the house. When she had had about four days worth of food and water she went back.
The little sister softly snuck back to her room, taking great care not to wake any of the family that inhabited the grand house. She softly closed the door behind her and she opened the window. The night was calm and clear and cool. The darkness coated everything in an air of soothing, an air of promise. And it was clear to her, what she must do next. What she could do next.
She stood up on the windowsill, in front of the open window. And she flapped her great, powerful wings. She took off without making a single sound. And she left that house behind her, the window still open.
She soared above the darkened neighbourhood. And from up so high, the huge houses all looked so very small. They looked small and unassuming and altogether powerless. Nothing like the high, hulking monoliths of perfection that they looked like on the ground. She soared higher and higher, until she was no longer able to be seen from the ground. And she began her long journey.
There in the night air, she felt so incredibly free. She felt as though she was finally herself again. She felt as though she could breathe. The cold of the night washed over her, bathing her in cool, clear rejuvenation. And the air all around her, flowing over her skin and stroking through her hair, it was healing her soul and filling her with a soft yet strong and constant hope.
She felt at one with the night. And she felt at one with the sky. The night, the sky, the air, they were all a part of her. They all flowed into her and she flowed into them right back. They gave her a constant embrace of strength, and helped her heart to have a constant embrace of strength within it. She felt as though she was in the arms of Alemi, of her parents, or her brother. She felt as though she was in the arms of the whole world.
The shoulder bag carried by the strap on her back quickly got heavy. It got heavy and it burned and it was such torture. But still, she knew that she had to keep carrying it, because it would provide her with the nourishment that she would need for her journey. She knew she had to keep going. Because she was going home. The night and the air and the sky gave her strength to keep going onwards. And the knowledge that she was going home have her strength. It gave her so much strength. And, through the aching and burning in her back, she could go on.
Her wings beat automatically, of their own accord. They both were hers and were not hers at the same time. They were given to her as a gift from the God. And they still belonged, in a sense, to said God. To said God who was helping her to get home. Her wings beat fast and strong, and carried her forwards and forwards through the air. They did not get tired no matter how long or how fast they beat. And she supposed that that was due to their magical origin. She was brightly thankful for them, for the help they provided.
The sister knew that she must go east. She knew that she must go east and she knew in which direction east was. East was towards the horizon where the sun lifted itself out of the ground and into the sky each day. She followed that horizon, and she knew that with each beat of her wings, she was getting closer and closer to her home. So she went east, and she went with knowledge, with wisdom, and with purpose. A sense of purpose that was so strong that it shone hot and burning through everything that she thought, felt, and experienced.
This was not to say that she was not sorrowful. She was an orphan, she had experienced war her whole life, and she had been ripped away from what was left of her family. Of course she was sorrowful. Of course she was sorrowful and anguished. Of course the pain hurt too much and there were parts of herself still screaming at her to give up on life. Of course everything hurt, going on hurt. Her past haunted her, her present haunted her, and her future haunted her. But amidst all the sadness, there was still strength, there was still power, there was still glory. There was love and there was joy and there was soothing darkness and energetic brightness. She had to see her brother, and everyone else, again.
She flew east until the night faded and the morning rose. The sunrise was beautiful, and it coated the whole sky with pinks and purples. The clouds were supersaturated with colour. It felt like Hope. It felt like Hope being shot straight through every part of her. And it felt like love. The world loved her, the sky loved her, the sunrise loved her. They could not do much to help her, but they still loved her all the same.
She saw, once the sky was blue again, that she was flying over a forest. There was so much dark green below her. And so she landed, because she was sure she would not be found, between two evergreen trees on the soft forest floor. She took her shoulder bag off and ate some of her food, sitting in the tranquility and the crowdedness of the forest.
The forest was beautiful. It was beyond beautiful. The forest floor was soft with moss and leaves and pine needles. There were trees of all types all around, thickly crowding the landscape with their strength and their tallness and their verdant leaves. There was a stream nearby which she could drink from. Birds sang in the trees and a squirrel scurried through some branches. She looked around and she saw a great brown bear staring at her with knowledge in her eyes.
The forest was alive. All parts of it flowed and burned and shone and flowed with life energy, with love energy, with spiritual energy. The forest gave her strength, gave her love, and gave her courage. It rooted for her on her journey homeward. And it told her that it was cheering for her, it was cheering for her, it was cheering for her to succeed. The forest was holding her like a parent, and the forest was giving her all of its kindness, was sharing its life force and its energy with her. Every tree, every shrub, every plant. Every animal big and small. The earth and the sky and the water. It was all rooting for her and giving her encouragement.
After finishing her food, she bid goodbye to the forest. She thanked the forest for its cover, its secrecy, its connection, and all its help. And she took off to the sky once again, continuing on her journey.
This time she fell asleep in her flight, her wings still beating as her body slumped over, not holding itself up anymore. When she awoke, she felt sore but well-rested. It had become night time. She knew she needed to eat again, but she saw no wilderness below her for her to land in. And so she decided to take a risk and she landed on the top of a large skyscraper. There she ate her meal, as quickly as she could. Thankfully, the night had provided cover for her. Those who did see her figure descend upon the building could not figure out what she was. And when she once again rose to the sky, no-one could figure out what she was.
When it was morning, she found another forest to hide in. And during the night she found more tall buildings. When the daylight came again, instead of a forest she found rolling fields to have her dinner in.
These fields were wide, they were filled with all sorts of grasses and wildflowers and shrubs. Everything around her was burning green, burning gold, and burning all colours in between green and gold. The wildflowers shone in potent and powerful colours, dotting all throughout the landscape. And the shrubs shone in the sun. The wind blew through the landscape, making everything wave backwards and forwards as if they were waves in the ocean. There was a river snaking through the landscape. And the sky stretched out a brilliant blue on all sides. There were prairie chickens and ferrets and prairie dogs, and a heard of buffalo in the distance, all grazing together.
This landscape too filled her with life. If filled her with life and encouragement and love. Everywhere she turned was life. And everywhere she turned, life flowed into her heart and soul. The prairie loved her. It loved her beyond measure. And it burned for her to be successful in her journey. And she in turn burned back. She was connected to all of the life, and to the earth and the sky and the sun and the water. She was connected to all of it, and she was one with all of it. She might have been the only human there, but she was not alone. She was not alone at all.
The next morning, after another night of flying and stopping, she came upon a desert. At seeing the desert, her heart soared with joy. It was still weighed down with lead tones of sorrow, but it soared with joy anyways. Because coming upon a desert meant that she was getting nearer to her home.
She landed, and took in the magnificence of the desert all around her. There were cacti dotting the lands, tall and green and strong. The sun burned just as she remembered it burning in her home. And everything around her was burning bright with spirit and energy and glory. The dry earth was burning, the rolling hills were burning, the great and strong rocks were burning. There were badgers and foxes and a heard of wild camels. Out in the distance she could see the green of an oasis.
The desert felt like home. It felt like home. And it called her to keep going homewards, to keep going home until she was all the way home and back with the people who she belonged with. She drank her water thirsting and she listened to the voice of the desert. She listened to its voice, a voice like a parent calling to a child, and she wrapped her heart in the desert's spiritual embrace. She had not ever seen the desert before, despite living so close to it. She had not ever seen it before because it had been on the other side of the soldiers' military encampments. And trying to cross a military encampment was suicide. But now she was in the wilderness that was meant to be her's all along. And it felt rebellious. And it felt good.
She thanked the desert and she once again took off to the sky. She realized now that the military bases were close by, the war was close by. And that meant that all the many airplanes of the different sides of the war were close by as well. So she flew higher and higher into the sky, until the air was frigid and cold, and the airplanes could not see her due to how high up she was. The air was thinner here, but if she breathed rapidly she could still get all the oxygen she needed. She wondered why she was not feeling dizzy due to the lack of oxygen, and she chalked it up to the work of Alemi. She fell asleep and woke up again in the night.
She followed the knowledge that the God had given her and she turned and flew towards the direction of the little apartment she shared with her brother, and the small building that housed it. When she had gotten to exactly the right place, she hovered high up in the air. She could still hear the faint rumbling of airplanes far below her. She hoped that they were not bombing her house. Fear sparked in her chest, making her heart jump to her throat.
But as the night grew darker, all the sounds of the airplanes faded away. She stopped beating her wings, dropping down like a falcon. And once she was near the ground, she unfurled her wings all at once and they caught the air and stopped her fall. She softly landed herself on the ground, in front of the building she called her own. Her wings vanished, and she knew this from the lightness on her back. She knew then, that her journey was over.
She quickly went in through the door to the building, and stopped in front of the door to her apartment. She knocked frantically, heart beating lightning-fast with excitement. This was the moment.
"Who is it?" her brother called sleepily.
"Open up," she replied.
The door quickly opened and Kumiko's eyes went wide with ecstaticness. He couldn't believe what he saw. He couldn't believe it, but he oh so deeply wanted to. Alena's eyes sparked with joy, her heart burned with joy upon seeing her brother, despite the inky black sludge that was still all over her heart. She felt so much exuberance. She was home. She was finally home! And her brother felt the same exhuberance right back.
"I missed you so much!" Alena declared, tears of joy and heartbreak falling from her eyes.
"I missed you too," Kumiko replied, crying as well. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"It's okay. We're together now." Kumiko could not believe that his sister had forgiven him, but all Alena could think about was the fact that they were together now.
The two siblings melted together in a desperate and desperately tender hug.
"The others will be so happy to see you again tomorrow," Kumiko exclaimed softly.
"I know," Alena replied.
———
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