SILAS

Well. I'm back.

Never thought I'd be here again. Ever in my life. And I would have preferred it that way.

Granite Falls.

I don't even remember the first time we came here as a family. It's always been a staple. Our regular, summer, family getaway.

It's a resort, and a campground, though I can only remember us actually camping out the one time. Turns out my dad, the neuroscientist, was weirdly bad at setting up tents. It also sucked not having an outlet to plug my phone into. Mom wanted to do it again the next year, but I think the rest of us outvoted her. We preferred the ease and comfort of the cabins, not to mention the air conditioning. Yeah, you could always get in the water if you wanted to cool off, but eventually that got old, and it was nice to have a comfortable place to dry off while watching a movie, or reading, or playing games.

Granite Falls was just a place to chill out. Spend an entire week doing whatever we wanted. No rules—or at least, only a few—and no agenda. One day, we might go canoeing around in the wider, more open section of the river. Or we would try our hand at paddling upstream, toward the falls themselves. There were plenty of places to hike in the surrounding area, hills and trails. Mountain paths where you could get a head start, hide, and make loud cougar sounds to scare the shit out of your little sister.

And then there's this place.

There's no name for it. But we always gravitated to this particular spot. It was upriver, closer to the falls and a ways off from the resort itself, which usually meant that we had the place to ourselves. There were always less people the further out you got from the resort.

Here, it was densely wooded, and lush, with a number of big, leafy trees providing shelter and shade.

No. Is, not was. Here it is. Right here in front of me. Around me.

A gust of warm breeze wends its way among the trees, making branches click as they tap together, and leaves rattle like the echo of a thousand voices, somewhere far, far away. The wind is refreshing, despite its warmth. It is a reminder of the verdant life of the earth. Of what it means to be alive.

"Shiloh, we need to go."

I don't think she hears me. She stands a ways ahead of me, her back to me.

I step up next to her, practically wading through a patch of tall, fern-like grass.

Shiloh's hands are clenched, pressed together over her heart. She breathes deep through her nostrils. She seems to be savoring the sights and smells, and sounds. Things commonplace to me, experiences I've always taken for granted, but which she's probably only ever heard stories about. I have to wonder if she ever expected to see or feel these things. Ever.

She fidgets with her legs, bringing her feet up and down in the grass. She drinks deep the smell of life. The musk of life, and earth, and wind, all at once.

"It's like a dream," she says.

Yeah. A nightmare.

This isn't like before, the first person perspectives observed through the windows. We are, the both of us, inside the memory. The last place I would ever want to be.

I do an about-face, frantically searching my surroundings, hoping to find some kind of weird door or access hatch. Some way to get out of here. Some way to get out of this...simulation?

"Shiloh, we need to- Shiloh?"

She's gone. Moving at a fast walk toward the river.

Great.

"Shiloh, wait!"

I jog to catch up.

She stops in front of the water.

"I can't believe," she says, staring out at the water, the trees, the blue sky overhead, "The world used to look like this."

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"Yeah," I say. "It's...crazy. Listen-"

She's not listening. She's bending over to roll up the legs of her jumpsuit. Next, I assume she wants to take off her shoes. She wants to get in the water.

And why wouldn't she? But she doesn't get it. And she won't listen. She's too enamored. I'm not sure she'd stop even if she understood.

Something creeps into my periphery. Moving slow, along the surface of the water, heading toward my position as it heads steadily downstream.

It takes only the barest glimpse. Just the dark shape of it. But I know what it is.

My heart...stops. I- I can't breathe. Everything feels like it's shutting down. And honestly, I wish it would. I wish everything would just end. Maybe that would make more sense than whatever this is.

The world ended a long time ago, for me. Not in whatever post-apocalyptic event caused so many people to die, and damaged the planet so severely. Not in the advent of those bright, unknown lights on the highway, and the crash that ensued because of them. The world ended here, at Granite Falls. I may have gone on, living. But I was never alive. I don't think I ever will be, again.

I turn away, my back to the water. I cover my face with my hands. My strength seeps away, abandoning me, and I fall to my knees. Bent over in the grass. Hugging myself. Hating myself. Holding back the sobs. Because I don't deserve to cry. I don't deserve to have that release. I don't deserve the slightest bit of catharsis. These emotions, they are not a thing to be purged, or forgotten. Not ever.

Hands. Tightly gripping my shoulders. Drifts of long hair fall, brushing against my face.

"Who is she?" Shiloh says, softly. Almost a whisper.

"My sister," I say. The answer is automatic, if hushed and strained.

"I'm sorry," Shiloh says. And she seems to mean it. I can't see her face. But I can hear her voice, the sincerity and gentleness in it. I can feel the way she holds on to me. As if to keep me from breaking apart, or slipping away.

I wonder if she knows, in some way. If she's felt grief like this, before. If she's lost someone.

Perhaps this is a moment that should, all at once, bring the two of us together as people. A spontaneous friendship, like in stories. But to me, it's all the more alienating for its intimacy. I don't know Shiloh. She doesn't know me. We are entire worlds apart. We're not even physically touching, really. None of this is real. It's just a manifestation of my thoughts, my memories. Shiloh is just passing through.

To her, this memory is a moment, and only a moment. To me, it is forever.

I can remember it clearly. Even though I was barely even here. Even though I was drunk out of my mind. I should have been paying attention. But...I didn't. I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Shiloh breathes, next to me. Is she giving her condolences for the second time, or apologizing for not listening to me? Either way, her voice breaks a little as she says it.

I swallow. Hard. Focusing. I can feel the tears trying to come. But I won't let them.

I shake my head. "It was...my fault..."

Drowning...it's not like in the movies. That's something I learned the hard way. It's fast. It's quiet. It happens right in front of the people who are supposed to be watching for it. And they don't even notice.

I might have. In fact, I'm certain I would have. If only...

If only.

My mother, on the other hand, did notice. But by that point, I think it was too late.

Gemma had been caught in one of those deadly currents, the one's down below, underneath the calm water. The ones you wouldn't believe were there. Until...well.

Mom. She was yelling. Pointing. I was closer, but at some point, I think Mom realized I wasn't present, mentally, that I couldn't understand her. She threw, more than dropped, the detective hardcover she'd picked up at a gas station during the trip. She took off at a full run. Splashed into the water. Dove.

And that was the last time I saw her. The last time I saw her before she was grey, and wet, and cold. And no matter the words I spoke, she would never respond to them. I could never apologize. I could never even attempt to make things right.

Everything...it was set in stone. And what am I supposed to do about it? Is there even anything to do? Is it only this? This feeling? This reality? Always?

Rationally, I understand I can't just sit here. Not unless I want history to repeat itself. Inaction is just as much a recipe to keep making these same mistakes.

But how am I supposed to fight this feeling? This overwhelming desire to just...go home?

And it's when I have that thought that everything starts to warp around me. The lights, colors, sensations—it all shifts, morphs, melts away. And what takes its place is...

My room.

I'm on my knees, on soft, thick carpeting. Gone is the smell of grass, and the feel of the wind. In its place is the stale air of my old bedroom—stale, and smelling just a little bit of B.O., if I'm honest with myself. A clock up high in the corner ticks away. It's a Final Fantasy clock; each of the numbers on the face is represented by the logo of a respective numbered entry in the Final Fantasy games, all the way from one to twelve.

I cast my eyes from one side of the room to the other. Behind me is the bed. Ahead, my two, small, open closets, stashed with shelves of books and videogames. Between the two closets is my TV. It's turned off, and there's enough light pooling in through the bedroom window to cast my reflection on the screen. I can even see Shiloh, crouched next to me. No, standing now. Alert. Startled. Excited.

It's at that moment there are three loud knocks on the door. And then I hear my mother's voice in the hall.

"Hurry up, we need to leave. We're gonna be late."

In the reflection on the TV, I can see Shiloh stepping backward, putting distance between herself and the bedroom door. Her legs hit the side of my bed, and she falls backward, into a sitting position on it.

Her reaction. It seems over-the-top, but I honestly get it. I'm a bit shocked, myself. I-

Well, not even that. I'm terrified. My mother is on the other side of that door, after all. And am I really supposed to face her? How can I?

"Silas?" says the memory of my mother, talking to me on the other side of a simulated door. "Silas, are you even in there?"

There's a tapping, scraping sound I know well. My mother's wedding ring on the door handle.

The knob turns. The door opens.