Zak:

1 1/2 years earlier.

The days are inevitably long. To have enough food to eat in the evenings, I would have to work at our neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Buckingham’s farm. It would be laborious, sweaty work from the moment the sun came up to when it disappeared down the back of the wheat fields. The red orb turns the harvest into beautiful flames of gold. Their tongues reach up to the ball of fire, swaying in the blistering breeze.

But it isn’t evening yet. The Sun perches itself low in the sky, just out of the reach of the stocks of wheat. They sway, calling him to give place to his smaller framed twin, the Moon. I have always enjoyed her much more than the Sun. She doesn’t stand tall and proud like her brother, but is humble and stays crouched in the corner, letting her gleaming children play across the vast blackness. The Moon isn’t desperate to impose her presence like the Sun, who scorches the prairies and fields, dimming any other source of light that could overthrow him. Rather, she slowly travels across the dark night sky, only casting soft, silver-coloured light. I can glimpse her on the opposite side of the Sun. The Sun casts a red, tired glow, not powerful enough to push away the growing shadows. I do not see it as now, but later, looking back on the memory, I would see him as blood staining the darkening sky, smeared in every direction. I can hear my younger sister, Keira, crooning my mother’s old song. I straighten, feeling the joints in my back protest. I push a piece of black hair from my face, stuck with sweat. The moon slowly climbs up to the sky. I can hear her humming softly in tune with Keira. Keira looks up at the sky before redirecting her gaze to me. I wait for her to reach me before slowly making my way back to the house. Keira’s forehead glistens with sweat. Her skin holds a faint reddish glow from the burning sun. The air is still thick and warm. Humidity hasn’t had a show. It’s only pure, scorching heat. The air is dry, parching my throat as I force it down to my lungs. Keira's dark brown hair had neatly been tied away from her face, but a rebellious strand sticks to her face. Drops of sweat glisten their way past. Her warm brown eyes look up at me, fatigue hiding behind.

We count off our fingers' adjectives for our day.

“Hot. Sweaty. Blistering. Brutal,” she says as we pass her hideout in an old, rotted tree, “Oh and clammy.”

“Ooh, I like that one.”

Pride surfaces in her inexperienced eyes. Little did I know this would be the last time I would list adjectives.

***

The air is still and warm. Outside, the only light is from the stars. Yellowish glows follow our dinner, illuminating our faces. My mother’s kind face smiles on her children as we hungrily plow through the scanty meal in front of us. The table is low. We all sit on crates and wooden buckets. The twins poke each other with their forks. The room smells of salt and baked potatoes. My mother sits in her rocking chair, heavily pregnant. She runs her hands over her belly. Her face occasionally contorts in pain. My eldest sister, Daisy, glances worriedly over at my mother every few minutes. Her dark features are illuminated only faintly, putting in evidence her profile. They are sharp and well-defined. As I look over my five siblings, it isn’t hard to see all the resemblances. My fourteen-year-old brother has a straight, symmetrical nose, with brown eyes and dark, straight hair, reflecting my siblings. We all have a squarish jaw, bluish-green, hazel or brown eyes and definitely don’t exceed in weight. The twins have thin limbs and you can sometimes count their ribs down to the last one. The rest of us resemble but have thicker arms and legs from working all day. My mother groans. We all stare at each other significantly. The baby is a month and a half early, but the twins were two, and Daisy, three and a half. The sound of a late rider comes from the dirt road. Daisy gets up and grabs my mother a blanket. Keira elbows me in the ribs. I turn toward her. She nods towards the door. The rider has stopped. Anxiously, we all look at each other across the table. I get up to help my mother and Keira follows me. The young twins stand on the low bench and begin jumping and making faces. The small, one housed room goes into chaos. Daisy had said she thinks the baby is actually babies, and I have to agree. My mother is a small woman, but even then, her stomach is huge. It seems almost bigger than when she was pregnant with the twins. I can’t help but think, We’re going to be eight siblings, and all living in one room. Our dog runs excitedly through our legs, and I have to try not to trip on him. Why do we need a dog? I would much rather leave the house, but Daisy calls for me and Keira. Noise echoes in the small house. The door swings open and for a moment, everything goes silent except for my panting mother and the dog. In the doorway stands my dad. He is in leather armour and glares at us with torturing eyes. General Sanderson.

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“Hazel,” he says with a hint of respect.

My mother doesn’t reply but moans even louder.

The room goes into chaos once again, and I try to avoid my father’s gaze.

“Boy,” he calls to me. I ignore him and help Daisy, “Boy!”

He repeats the word with force.

“Your wife is giving birth here. Sorry, I’m a little busy,” I reply without turning. He marches up to me and presses a knife against my mother’s throat. I can tell it doesn’t choke her, but a worried expression passes across her face. The room goes completely still for the first time in probably years.

“Boy, you’re joining the army,” he says, pressing his words into me with force.

And then the most unexpected thing happens. My mother kicks the general where it matters. I guess he won't make my mother have any more kids. He falls to his knees.

“No one, you hear me? No one can send my son into the army!” she says, punching him on the cheekbone.

My abs clench at each blow. We stand still for a moment, staring at our father on his knees. Then, everyone moves at the same time. I don’t know where I’m going, just that I have to move or else the world might fall apart. An angered cry makes everyone turn once again. I see Keira with a knife at her throat. General Sanderson holds her by her hair. Dread fills me. Keira hasn’t learned to fight back. She can’t pull an Angry Mom. There is a tense silence. The general glares at me meaningfully, raising his eyebrows to ask me the question. I can feel anxiety vibrate through the air like lightning. Every muscle clenches in my body.

“Fine,” I growl in a voice so low it scares everyone around me, “Just let Keira go.”

The world swims and I’m vaguely aware of General Sanderson pulling me behind him and back outside. I can hear Keira call after me, tears strangling her.

I’m sorry, Keira. I will come back to you. I promise.

And I'm pulled away into the darkness, knowing that I will never return.

I’m sorry, Keira.