Ikari and Hoku Ryoshi were ten and seven years old, respectively, when they lost their parents to complications from COVID-19.

They came from devoutly-religious families, but until he and his brother lost Mom and Dad, Hoku had never thought seriously about death or the meaning of life. Now he wondered whether there was any real happiness to be found in the universe.

Of course, when the little boy wondered about happiness, he wasn't thinking of happiness for himself. For him and for his oniichan, there wasn't any peace, let alone joy. But, out of an involuntary sense of sympathy, he projected his sadness onto every other person who had suffered pain.

Mom and Dad had suffered and then had left Hoku and his big brother, and he wouldn't know until the day that he, an old man, died in his turn whether he would ever see them again. Perhaps there were no spirits; maybe Mom and Dad were nothing more than the dust that their bones would someday become. On the other hand, perhaps there was a higher power, One who had taken Mom and Dad away because He was angry at Hoku and Ikari for failing to be faithful enough and never intended to allow their hearts to smile again.

Neither option was difficult for Hoku to imagine as truth, for he had struggled to believe wholeheartedly in the religion that his parents, aunts and uncles had taught him since around the age of six. The idea that a jealous God was closely watching and appraising him, his family and his friends now made him feel as though he must carry a crushing weight on his shoulders in order to survive. The thought of a meaningless life, on the other hand, made him feel hopeless. He didn't know what it would be like to cease to exist, never to think a curious thought, feel excitement or dream again. He didn't want to be reduced to dust, a part of the earth on which he'd lived, mixed in with the soil or clay or a stone in some mountain that would exist thousands of years in the future, when the world had been reshaped. He didn't like the earth on which he lived. But worse than any other fear was the thought of never seeing Mom, Dad or Ikari again.

The boys went to live with their Uncle Luqman and Aunt Mikoto. Uncle Luqman was kind to them, looked after them well and encouraged them to cope with their grief by having faith in God. These exhortations didn't help Hoku, but made things worse, and Uncle Luqman didn't understand.

Every night, lying in the bed that he and his Oniichan shared, Hoku cried, muffling the sound of his tears with his pillow to avoid waking Ikari, until he was almost too exhausted with crying to think of his sadness, his fears or anything except for rest. The tiredness numbed him a little, and when he drifted off to sleep, he always hoped that tomorrow would be the day when things were better. And every morning when he woke up, for just a few minutes, things felt almost normal, almost peaceful inside, and Hoku thought that the depression was leaving him. Then it came flooding back.

The brightness of the golden sunlight was ominous and seemed to reproach him, reminding him of Life. It's difficult to shut the light of the sun out, so the reminders of Life broke in through every window or crack in a door. Blooming flowers, crackling streams and glassy ice-capped mountain crests that caught the sunlight were the same way, and this was why he no longer liked the world. He heard news reports and low-voiced discussions of the spread of COVID-19, the deaths of children, little ones who were younger than he was, killings at the hands of the police and cancer and half-believed that he was to blame for the pain that the world was in. Ikari, quiet, steady big brother that he was, had to coax him to eat. Even looking at a morsel of food filled him with crippling pangs of guilt.

If mornings were reproachful, then late afternoons and evenings were gloomy, with their dim skies, and nights were silent and lonesome. Hoku never left his bed if he could avoid doing so, but lay there for hours, hugging his pillow or a favorite stuffed animal. Thin, pale, silent and withdrawn, both boys did poorly in school, which was being conducted online now because of the pandemic.

Because they had to avoid large groups of people and be wary of socializing, Uncle Luqman worried that the boys might be dealing with loneliness in addition to their grief. He arranged playdates for them with their friends from school sometimes or arranged for them to "visit" friends and cousins over webcam. Hoku knew that they all cared, and he tried hard to smile, but always faltered and failed.

The school year came to an end, but the start of summer break brought no happiness to either of the boys. Hoku no longer had a reason to leave his room regularly, so he retreated to bed, where he burrowed down into the messy cocoon of blankets that he had made for himself and remained there for days. Not even Ikari could persuade him to eat, and he emerged to use the bathroom only when he had sensed that noone was nearby to see him.

Most of his time he spent sleeping. This didn't change until the night that he saw himself and Ikari in a dream, making their way up a flowered hill in what he recognized as their old neighborhood, their home, on a sunny morning.

"Hurry, Hoku," Ikari urged him. "Don't mess around. We're going to be late for school!"

"Wait a minute!" Hoku saw himself slow down, then come to a stop. "We have to say hi to Mom and Dad."

A few feet before him, right in the middle of the grassy area that lay between the neighbors' fences and the sidewalk, lay twin headstones. Mom and Dad had been buried there. Someone had left a bouquet of blue and yellow flowers upon each mound of earth.

Together, Hoku and Ikari knelt, pressed their palms together and bowed their heads to utter a prayer. Hoku would not remember a word of the prayer when he woke up. He would only remember plucking flowers from the hillside afterwards and placing them on Mom's and Dad's graves, then rising with Ikari, setting off down the other side of the hill and leaving them behind.

This was too much for Hoku. Upon waking, he gave himself over to despair. He told himself that he no longer existed, that Hoku had died, and refused to speak to anyone, even Ikari. This state of affairs lasted for two days. Then things truly changed. He was not dead, and he was not ready to give in to despair. He was still too frightened to give up. He must do something - would do anything he needed to to save himself from this nightmare.

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At night, about an hour before his designated bedtime, when Ikari lay sleeping and his uncle and aunt were in their bedroom, conversing in soft tones, Hoku crept into the living room. He took the landline phone set and carried it as far into his bedroom as the cord length would allow, then shut the door. Though he didn't want to wake his big brother, he couldn't risk having a grownup walk in on him.

With unsteady hands, Hoku dialed 911. He couldn't help but to flinch at the sound of the operator's voice and glance over hus shoulder in the direction of the door. Was the phone too loud? Would Uncle Luqman, Aunt Mikoto or Ikari hear? For a moment, he considered hanging up; perhaps it would be safer to call in the daytime, sometime when there was more noise in the house. But - no. He might never be able to sneak the phone away in the daytime, and, in the end, he was more afraid of what was happening to him now than he was of what Uncle or Aunt would say. After a hesitation, during which the operator, a man, repeated his greeting and asked if he was still on the line, Hoku spoke quaveringly into the phone.

"My name's Hoku Ryoshi." He gulped, but the tears came anyway. "Please . . .come help me. I don't know what to do. If nobody helps me. . .I'm going to hurt myself." His voice cracked. "Please."

There was a silence, and then the operator spoke once again, gently now. "How old are you, son?"

"E-eight years old, Mister."

"And what's your name again?"

"Hoku - Hoku Ryoshi."

"Hoku-kun, what's wrong? Why are you so sad?"

"I - I don't know. I have a big brother, and our mom and dad died, and - I don't know. I'm s-s-scared."

"My goodness. I'm sorry to hear about that, son. That's alot to deal with - losing your mom and dad."

Though he had heard similar condolences before from his family members and family friends, the words caused just a little of the tightness to leave Hoku's chest and the hot tears to flow faster.

The operator pressed on. "Are you safe, Hoku-kun? Did something. . .did somebody hurt your mom and dad?"

"No, sir. They were sick."

"And where are you now? Who do you live with?"

"My uncle and auntie take care of me."

"Are they good to you? Do they take good care of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what about your big brother? How old is he?"

"Eleven. He's asleep now."

"I don't want you to think about hurting yourself, son. I know it's hard, but hurting yourself won't make things better. You're just a kid; your life hasn't even begun yet. You've got so many good things ahead of you, so much to do and see, and your mom and dad would want you to be safe so you could do and see those things. They wouldn't want you to talk about hurting yourself. If you hurt yourself, you'd hurt your uncle and auntie and brother and your friends - all the people who love you."

Hoku said nothing, and the silence stretched on. Ikari began to stir and shift, causing the bed to creak beneath him.

Hoku froze. Was he waking up? If he was, it was too late for him to turn back, anyway - but, please, please, stay asleep, Oniichan.

"Do your uncle and aunt know you're thinking about hurting yourself?"

The bed groaned, and Ikari's shadow materialized against the wall behind the bed.

"Hoku?" His voice was hoarse with sleep. "What are you doing?"

It took several moments for Hoku to decide whether to answer his brother or the operator.

"Hoku-kun? Are you still with me, son?"

"Yes, sir. They. . .they know."

This wasn't quite a lie or the truth. He had confided in his uncle about his anxieties, but that had been about two months ago. Uncle Luqman had done his best to comfort him as he had cried, and Hoku had indeed felt significantly calmer afterwards, albeit still sad. He'd hugged Uncle Luqman and told him that his words had helped some, then had retired to bed to sleep it all away, but in the morning, all of his sorrows had returned. It seemed that he hadn't been able to benefit from his uncle's kind and earnest words; he had felt calm because he had cried himself into exhaustion. He couldn't tell Uncle Luqman that, though, so he hadnt broached the subject of hurting himself again.

"Are your uncle and auntie in the house with you?"

Hoku wondered whether he ought to lie, but didn't know what would happen if he claimed that his aunt and uncle were away. "Yes, sir, but - but they're asleep."

"Can you wake them up for me?"

Ikari left the bed. He shuffled across the bedroom floor, and, with a click, the lights came on. "Hoku?"

Hoku bowed his head. I'm sorry, Oniichan. I didn't mean to wake you up. I don't want to do anything bad, but I can't help it.

"Yes, sir, but. . .I don't want to. They - they have to work tomorrow."

"They'll be all right. I'll need you to get at least one of them on the phone since they're the ones who take care of you. I'll wait on the line while you go and wake them up. Everything's going to be just fine, okay?"

Hoku felt that that was easy for the operator to say, but he could see that he had no choice but to obey.

As he spoke to the operator, Uncle Luqman's face was inscrutable, as was that of Ikari, who sat on the bed and studied the floor. When Uncle Luqman phoned his health insurance provided, however, sent Hoku for paper and a pen, and wrote down the address of an institution, Ikari cut in.

"Don't send my little brother away without me. Wherever he's going, I'm going."

Ikari declared that he, too, was depressed and afraid that he would hurt himself. And so, that night, the little boys packed small bags, and Uncle Luqman had to drive them a long 20 miles away.

Uncle Luqman's health insurance company had recommended Kaireinomiru Orphanage and Institute of Behavioral Health for Children to him. It was a privately-owned establishment that was considered one of the better mental health institutions in the region for people of moderate income. Children who had lost or were legally-estranged from their parents, regardless of whether they were coming to the orphanage to live or only for treatment, received all care and services free of charge except for medication, which, for young patients who were not wards of the orphanage, must be handled by their guardians where applicable. The current owner was A'raj Shinsetsu, who had acquired the institution three years before.

Hoku, Ikari and Uncle Luqman arrived at the lobby of the inpatient care center after an hour-long ride, during which noone had said very much. They pulled up into the parking lot, then got out and headed for the entrance. Upon the glass doors had been plastered signs admonishing visitors to be sure to wear masks and to make use of the jug of hand sanitizer that had been placed in a basket nearby.

Ikari went to the basket first. He pumped hand sanitizer into his left palm for himself and into his right palm for Hoku. Hoku accepted the glob of sanitizer. The silence remained unbroken even after they entered the lobby, but when they were seated side-by-side on the leather-cushioned chairs and Uncle Luqman was up at the desk, conversing with the lady who stood behind it, Ikari took Hoku's cold, sanitizer-perfumed little hand into his own and squeezed it.

"Oniichan, I'm sorry," Hoku ventured to whisper, at last. "I didn't mean to do anything bad - didn't mean - to make you . . ."

"Shhhhh." That was all that Ikari said. He motioned for Hoku to draw closer, and they rested their heads upon eachother.