When she saw the letter in her mailbox, she knew exactly what it was. Before she even opened it, her mind had already accepted what she'd soon read. She hated everyones' obsession with the war, including how her own son would spend hours glued to the radio at a time. Back in her day there was no such thing; stories about war were brought home by soldiers, so those stories were easier to trust, nothing like the propaganda on the radio those days. She wondered if he still did that at his school, or maybe he'd finally found better ways to spend his time. Either way she wouldn't know, it's not like he'd bothered to write back anyways.
Of course there was still the letter. She asked herself why she needed to bother to open at all? Maybe she'd wait. They used to send men to knock on their door and tell people this sort of stuff, tough strong boys in full military uniform. She guessed the point of all that was if you sent some hard looking rapscallion in full naval dress than maybe a newly widowed woman wouldn't break down into tears right in front of such a man. Seeing as the widow was now single, what kind of a girl would want to doom their prospects in front of such good looking navy folk? Of course, things were different in this case weren't they. This letter wasn't going to tell her that her husband wasn't coming home, she didn't need a letter for something as silly as that. She'd accepted the truth about Parsov a long time ago, accepting the truth about the letter however was taking its time.
She thought maybe she was being selfish, holding the letter in her dirt stained hands. But it's not like there was anyone left to judge her. She just wanted to hold onto it, what's the rush? she thought. Why not savor these last moments as a mother, a mother of both her children. She didn't need to accept the truth, for those few seconds she might look up at the door and see her daughter burst back through. She'd be defiant as ever of course, for some reason she always seemed mad that her true father had left her behind. But he wasn't her true father and no matter how hard Alena tried she could never make her daughter see that. That man left Alena and her newborn daughter cold and alone, Parsov walked into that life, to raise a daughter he didn't know, to be a father and a husband in a family he had no obligation to be a part of, and all Tau could do was blame him for the truth. Her father in blood was a selfish bastard, that was the father she chose, the one she pretended was still out there waiting for her, and the dad who actually loved her was the one she hated. Oh what Alena would have given to shove that Irony down her daughter's throat, but hell, she figured if she could just see her again, she might even find the grace to forgive, to hug her daughter, to just nod and say "Yes, You are loved."
In her desperate attempt to avoid reality, she allowed her mind to travel to other alternative routes of thought. The letter could be a great manner of things, ever the pessimist however, Alena would only accept the worst possible alternative scenarios. It could be Arthus She thought. The letter had a government address and an official stamp, so she knew it wasn't one of the many letters he'd promised he'd write, but maybe it was him who had died? Maybe the rioters got to him or he was accidentally electrocuted by magic, maybe he just realized the truth about how everyone in the world hated people like him, so he stepped in front of a bus to get away from it all.
Alena loved having children, they let her pretend at least, to have hope, to be happy. They gave her life perspective and direction. Those days she'd get up in the morning and ask herself What is it today? What excuse can I make to put it off another 24 hours? when she still had children in the house the answer was obvious, it was strong. You have children who need you, She'd tell herself. But now the answer was weak, how would Arthus feel when he comes back if you're not here? If he comes back. If she comes back. If Parsov comes back. A life waiting for people to come home is no life at all, that much she knew.
Alena wanted to tear it up. The stupid letter. She had no need for it. They sent no letter when they took her husband, and she saw now that was a blessing. Being able to accept slowly, to do it over time, to start off having hope the stories weren't true, then the hope that he'd escape, than finally the last thoughts that he might of had an easy death. Grieving before accepting death, that was the best way to do it, but it can't be done without time. And the letter would not give her time.
She worked her broken fingernails into the seam of the envelope and tore it open without regard for the structural integrity of the letter inside. Unfortunately, the sheet of ivory colored paper seemed to have escaped any collateral damage. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. Her head wanted nothing more than to turn away as she forced herself to read the truth she already knew. The milky gray light from the overcast sky shined through her windows and illuminated the page,
Adressed to Ms. Alena Adana, 298, Shedran Rd, Polifax County,
We regret to inform you that your Daughter, Vice Major 1st Class Tau Adana was killed in action by enemy forces on September 2nd 1162. After completing her objective, her aircraft was struck by anti aircraft fire and reported crashed half a kilometer north of the target. According to preliminary interviews with her fellow pilots, the crash site was then swarmed by enemy combatants and soon later her plane suffered a catastrophic explosion. No effort to eject before the crash was ever identified.
Due to her heroic actions, available to you is the Queen's Own Medal of Sacrifice, awarded to soldiers of her Grace's armies who showed remarkable bravery against the enemy even in the end. Please report to the Ministry of Valiance in Zytriad in order to receive this honor.
Weyt Pollin, Assistant Minister of Valiance
She wanted to scream. She didn't quite realize why she couldn't. It was as if her mind was frozen in time. Frozen at the thought that her daughter would never come home. What more was there for her to do? It was obvious enough, she'd failed. Failed as a mother. There were no doovers with this, you only get one shot and she blew it. Tau was never of the military mind, not when she was younger. Back then she wanted to be the first girl in Zytria to both Sing and Dance as a musical performer. She wanted to live on a stage and have cheering crowds throw flowers at her. To be a princess. Where did the dreams of that little girl go? Did they lose them? Were they simply forgotten when Alena and Parsov hurriedly packed everything they could fit into a tiny suitcase and ran out the door to their car? Did they not remember to take her dreams out of the trunk when they arrived at the farm all those years ago? Because after they took her from her home there was no singing and dancing, her love of life had just faded. Alena used to watch her daughter spending hours at a time staring through the window watching the planes go by, till one day her dreams of song and dance were replaced by the mere hope that she'd get to make like those planes and fly away one day. Alena guessed that she finally did.
Alena couldn't cry, because her mind was stuck on one horrible thought, Who's going to tell Arthus?
No one She accepted. It was the only logical thing to do. He didn't need to know that his sister was dead. He was out there, chasing his dreams, who needs to know something as cold and dark as the death of one's sister in a time like that?
She started crying finally. Gripping that letter, sitting on the couch of a house that wasn't a home. She didn't want any of this. Never. When she'd lie in Parsov's arms and talk about their dreams, Tau sleeping like a stone in the cradle next to them. She'd dream of them, her him and Tau, a family that was love. But where did those dreams go? All up in smoke. Snuffed out in a gas chamber, blown out of the sky by a bolt of lightning. She was the only bit of those dreams left. Back then the picture of her future was so clear, now without them in it, it was all a blur. She didn't even know if she saw herself in that picture anymore.
There was a gun out in the tool shed.
She should have used that gun a long fucking time ago. She should have taken that rifle right out of the shed the day those hateful bastards showed up to take her husband away, they should have fought. They should have ran for Atheria. She should have taken that gun and blasted a hole in the radiator of the truck that took her daughter away to that fucking Air Academy, all poison, All of it. And she should have blown that radio to pieces a thousand years before Arthus, her wonderful beautiful son, ever got the idea that he could be a hero. If she'd done that, if she'd used the gun, if she'd fought for her family, then they'd all still be here. Determination, that fire that burns up into your veins, it can drive a mother to run a million miles for her family, to lift a thousand pounds, to sacrifice everything, but time is something so long and so deep that even that determination can't reach back through it far enough to change anything. If if if if if, if she had a second chance, if she'd known, if she'd just took a stand. But there were no ifs in the past, only the certainty of time. What has passed is ash, holding all who've experienced it in a prison called life.
The gun was still out in the shed.
If she'd stayed with her parents as a girl, if she'd never met that charming man in Drona, if he'd stayed, If she'd never fallen for the Sorcerer with a heart big enough to swallow the sea and a smile warm enough to melt glaciers, if she'd left him when the men came for their things, if they'd both gone to Atheria, if they'd picked a different farm, if she'd known who ratted them out to the Ministry. She was an old woman now, the best years of her life lost to her, just one long sequence of mistake after mistake after mistake.
A gun in the shed.
And what about Arthus? Did he need his mother anymore? He said he'd write back the moment he got there, but how many days had it been? For how many hours did he go out into the forest, blasting away at trees with his fireballs, afraid to tell his own mother? And how many years, did he spend staring at the photos of his father on the wall? Maybe that was why she never talked about Parsov in front of Arthus, she was afraid of losing him to the memory of a lost father just like she did with Tau. Of course it didn't help, he was over at that school, with other kids like him, with his magic and his pride. He'd totally forgotten about his mother, Alena was sure that he had a new family by now.
The Gun.
Maybe he'd come back to the house, maybe. Probably not. He'd probably die in the war. He'd never make it home to find out what happened to his mother, and it's not like they'd bother telling him all the way over there. The military would tell you if a military man had been killed, but the military wouldn't tell that very same man if his mother had died back home. The only way he'd ever know was when the letters stopped coming and that wasn't exactly a problem with Arthus.
This was all she had. This home, this farm, these memories. That's all this was, a monument to a dream that had been long since scattered to the dust. And she was to be its curator, to hold onto it. To stand guard, to remember, to be sad for all the things that had been lost there, because if she wasn't who else would be? Maybe no one should be, maybe it's just best to let things go, to move on.
Her mind had finally settled on a course of action, when the doorbell rang.
The doorbell irritated her, and she had truly every intention of just ignoring it. The doorbell rang again. Beyond annoyed and realizing she had very little life left to live, she decided she'd spend at least a final portion of her time in the world doing what she always wished that she could do, which was to give one of those stupid government officials a piece of her damn mind.
She pulled herself up off the couch, walked across the hickory wood of her floors, and flung open the door to stare down a man in a suit. She wasted no time venting her frustrations, "I am so goddamn sick of you fucking government types walking over to my house and being a bother to me on my time. I don't know how many goddamn times I have to repeat what I've already told the last guy, and the guy before that. I haven't seen any, not a single tribesman from the other side of the wall, so I'm real damn sorry that you guys can't keep track of whatever animals climbed over that black eyesore a hundred miles north of here but that's not my problem and it never will be. Now is that enough of an answer for you? or do I need to give you a tour of the back of my hand just to make sure you understand that the premises is clear of any foreign elements?"
The man looked stunned, "Uhh... I'm not actually here for that. My name's Clarence, I'm technically your banker." He was standing alone outside in a world made gray by rainless clouds. The degree of overcast was significant, but it was still surprisingly warm out. It kind of reminded her of summer nights in Drona.
"Oh." She shook her head, "Sorry about that. I've just been having a really tough day, although I suppose if you're here I'm probably in for even more bad news."
He nodded his head, "Yeah, that seems to be the case." He handed her a paper, "I'm very sorry, your farm is being foreclosed."
She shook her head, "It's fine. I wasn't getting much use out of it anyways."
"I actually am sorry. This is my 4th farm today. Ever since the war started the brass has been breathing down my neck about going after farmers who's harvests are below quota if they're even behind a cent on payment. I guess they want food for the troops. The whole idea is to stick new family's in to get more yield from the land." He just sighed, "If we're taking away people's homes just to keep the fight up, then sometimes I wonder what we're fighting for."
She smiled back at him, "No worries friend, the land is all yours. Do with it as you please."
He nodded, "I guess you've got a point. Sacrifice is necessary to win the war, I'm glad you can see that. With all this news about the elves in the south rebelling, we're losing islands in the eastern ocean by the day, hell I heard a guy on the radio talking about an Invasion. I can't help but feel like the walls are closing in around all of us." An apt clap of thunder emphasized his point.
Alena was annoyed that the man had decided to dump his whole life philosophy on her, "Well with those walls closing in I guess you better get back to it then."
"Yeah, I probably should. Well, I hope you have a wonderful afternoon mam."
Alena smiled, "Oh I intend to."
He turned around to walk away before whipping back around really quick and then saying, "You know, I feel sort of obligated to tell you this." To alena's disappointment he then proceeded to walk back and nervously stutter out, "Your farm can still be saved so long as you get back up to the Government Quota. I mean, if you ever have any plan to get back on track with your yields, just find me in my office or shoot me a phone call." He handed her his business card, "We could sit down for coffee or something just to talk it over."
Alena had seen the look on his face on too many men before. She took the card, "Thanks. You have a good one."
"You too."
She didn't wait to see if the man would turn around a second time. She quickly went back inside the house, detouring through the living room before heading out the back door. The tool shed was a bit of ways behind the house, near the barn. It was a nice walk, warm for a day like that. Before long the metal frame of the tool shed was entirely in view. It was small, about 6 foot by 6 foot and 8 foot tall, with a slanted roof and a sliding door on the front. As she stood with her hand on the door handle, she stopped herself.
She didn't know what she was waiting for. Nothing would come in the next 10 seconds that hadn't come in the past 10 years. She was just tired, so tired. Tired of the ups and downs, tired of false hope, tired of pretending that things would get better, that waiting would solve anything. Ever since they'd moved from Drona it'd felt like she was drowning at the bottom of the ocean, so cold and deep and dark that she didn't even know which way was up. She kept swimming and swimming anyway, but it never occurred to her that she might just be swimming deeper into the abyss. How long did she spend waiting for her hand to break through the water above? To reach into the light of day? The moment she opened that letter she felt her hand touch something, the cold stone of rock bottom. She'd made it, she'd sunk the whole way down, and she'd taken everything she'd ever loved down with her.
She pulled open the door, finally accepting that it was over.
A woman, and about 5 or so children, were packed like sardines in the inside of her metal tool shed. They were in fur clothes and seemed terrified, they were even more scared when she pulled the shotgun down through the trapdoor in the ceiling. "Who in God's good name are you?"
"Please!" The woman shouted.
Alena cocked the shotgun, "I'm not asking again. What the fuck are you doing on my farm?"
"Refugee!" She said, seeming to struggle for a word, "Refugees! We're-we're refugees!"
Alena knew exactly who they were panning the gun over to the children, "You're Tribesmen from across the wall."
"We're refugees!" The woman shouted in defiance, "We came here for safety! We had no choice!"
"I should turn you in." She glances over to see the open bag of harvested potatoes in the corner of the room, "There's a war on, the last thing we need is someone stealing food."
"Please! You can't, they'll kill us."
"If you go in voluntarily they'll just send you back, which is where you belong."
"It's death to go back there. You don't know the things I've seen on the other side of that wall."
"You're right. I don't know, and I don't care."
Then one of the children spoke up, "No thief!" It was a little boy who spoke up, He was holding a potato, "No thief! From dirt we take."
"My dirt means my potatoes you little shinky." The boy flinched at her use of the slur.
The woman spoke up again as Alena returned the shotgun to her head, "Please, just let us go. We'll never come back here, please, we'll never come back. Just don't turn us in."
"I've had the government breathing down my neck about runaways, and here I've got some right under my nose."
The woman was crying now pleading with Alena, "Please! Don't you know! Don't you know what it's like to try and protect your family? To try and protect your children? Have mercy!" Alena paused, gripping her shotgun like a vice in her hands, "Please. When we came to your farm it was so cold, we needed a place to hide, none of us had eaten for days!"
She lowered her shotgun, "Fine." The woman seemed to calm a bit. Alena spoke honestly with the woman, "It doesn't matter, you're fucked anyways. This whole place is crawling with secret police, they're looking for runaways. Stick to the forest if you want to stay out of sight."
The woman nodded as Alena stepped back through the sliding metal door, "Thank you so much. God will hear of your mercy." She hurried the children through the sliding metal door.
"I'm sure he'll be hearing from me real soon." She muttered under her breath, The woman and the children walked quickly away from the house. Alena knew exactly what that woman was thinking in that moment, it was a thought she'd contemplated many times over the course of a life frequently turned upside down, What's Next?
Alena finally didn't have to worry about what was next. She stepped into the shack shotgun in hand and closed the steel sliding steel door behind her. The door clanged shut and everything in the room went dark. She didn't need the lights for what would happen next.
Then, the rain came down.
The pitter patter of rain startled Alena. The Shack was water right, but as it turned into a torrent of rain she began to worry about her crops in the field. Then she remembered that it wasn't her problem again. She fumbled with the shotgun in the dark, puzzling what was the best way to do something like this.
It was a monsoon.
It sounded to Alena like God had just decided to piss away the whole damn universe. The sound of the rain was almost mesmerizing. Like something she could fall asleep to. Once again she worried about her crops, it was a damn shame to think her potatoes might get washed away. That's no way for a farmer to die. For the authorities to come across her body, brains splattered across the tool shed, and potatoes bobbing up in down in her fields like somebody flooded a vodka distillery. What a shame. A shitty mother and a shitty farmer. But she guessed dead failures didn't have much to worry about.
Damn it.
She couldn't stop herself. She wanted to, so bad. She wanted to just forget, to finally put it all behind her and move on. But the thought still found a way past her walls and right into her head, They'll freeze. The woman and her damned kids would freeze if Alena didn't do anything. Pneumonia would set in in mere minutes. They were in loose furs after all, hardly water proof.. Her hands fumbled in the darkness, she wondered how she'd managed to lose her grip on the shotgun, but she quickly realized what had actually happened as her hands came to grip around an emergency oxygen torch.
She stood up, unscrewing the cap off the Oxygen Torch which quickly lit up into a deep red. She forced open the door out of the shack and stepped out into the torrential downpour. She started shouting, "Hey! HEY!" Waving the red shining flare in the air like an insane person. She could see the silhouettes of the tribesfolk walking their way through her fields, "HEY!!!!" She ran as fast as her body could carry her, "PLEASE!"
It must have been a shift of wind that carried her voice through the roaring sound of rain and into the ears of the Woman, who turned to face Alena as she scrambled unarmed through the potato fields. The woman looked very concerned as Alena stumbled before her, "It's too cold. Too stormy. You-" She took a deep breath, "You won't make it. You'll freeze in that fur." Woman looked at Alena Confused, "You can ride out the storm with me. Then" she coughed, "Then you get off my farm, you go anywhere else." The little boy that Alena had chided for stealing potatoes previously was shivering uncontrollably. Alena shrugged off her jacket and wrapped it around the child, "You need to stay warm. We need to get you dry."
The woman looked up at Alena, shouting over the rain and wind, the suspicion thick in her voice "Why the change of heart?"
Alena stood there, shaking and soaked to the core, "My Heart didn't change, I just started listening to it." She gestured to the shivering children, "They'll freeze."
The woman looked back at the kids, and then at the gasping coatless woman standing before her, then back at the kids, "Let's go."