~May 15th, 125 AH~

~Lower Akra, Budding Roots Early Education~

I sit in the front of the classroom, hoping to catch my father’s—the teacher’s—attention.

I know he knows where I am. I know he can see my hand, held as high and straight as I can manage. But he pretends not to see it. He pretends not to know where I am, and instead directs his smile and attention elsewhere—this time to a corner in the back of the room.

“Zelen, why don’t you take a stab?”

Zelen. It’s a strange name that feels strangely out of place, here among children that grew up amidst crumbling concrete and rusted metal. Yet, despite its strangeness, it’s a name that feels familiar to me.

I often wonder about this. This familiarity of Zelen’s strange name. I especially wonder about this as I gaze upon the skinny, narrow-shouldered boy who even now shrinks into a corner in the back of the room.

In a room full of willful children that grew up amidst crumbling concrete and rusted metal—in a room where I am—why is it that this boy tries so hard to be invisible? Almost as if, by shrinking into his corner, he could shrink his way out of reality itself? And why is it that my father would direct his smile and attention at this boy that’s nearly invisible… rather than his own daughter who is anything but?

Why is it that I can’t take my eyes off him?

“Remember that story I told the other day?” My father again. “About the room that keeps getting messier on its own?”

Of course I remember. I remember everything my father teaches me. I remember everything that happens to me, because everything is real, and it’s important that I—

“Entropy!”

“Yes, yes, Tsetseg. That’s the one. What if I told you that up here…”

Just for a while, I forget about the boy in the back of the room. I forget about the boy as I listen to my father teach us about the room in our head and how it can grow bigger and messier, as long as we let it. Remember everything. Let my room grow. Let it fill with mess that I can touch, cherish, and be grateful for.

“Something the matter, Zelen?”

In the end, it all comes back to the boy, like it always does. This time, he does something he’s never done before, and it makes me wonder about him like never before. This time, he stands on a line, unable to decide if he wants to cross it, or stay on the side where he can hide and remain invisible.

The boy makes his choice, not without a little prodding from my father. But as he steps out of his corner to join my father, our eyes meet. Maybe for the first time that I can remember.

His are the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, even for a child that grew up amidst crumbing concrete and rusted metal. And maybe for the first time that I can remember, I think I understand a little. I understand why someone would want to hide and remain invisible, even though there’s so much in the world for them to touch and to remember.

I understand a little, and I also can’t help but notice the boy’s sad gentle eyes linger on mine as we walk home together, hand in hand.

~March 24th, 126 AH~

~Lower Akra, the streets of District Radicis~

I chase you through the alleyways, sure of foot and full of laughter.

I chase you through twists and shortcuts I know like the back of my hand. I drive you out of hiding, out of the shadows and into the light.

In the light, your eyes can’t fully disguise the hope and joy that bubble beneath your endless sorrow. In the open, you can’t hide your shy smile that lends tender solemnity to our afternoon dream.

I reach for you. Or rather, gravity pulls me into you. You give a gentle tug of your own, and we both tumble, onto pavement that I’ve touched and cherished for as long as I can remember.

In my surprise, my laughter takes on the vibrations of my not-so-secret desires. In our shared delight, your face melts into a mirror of my own secret fears.

Your hand stays wrapped around mine, won’t let go. Your warmth blends with my fragile courage. Your breath gives shape to the rise and fall of your chest—of my own chest.

I lean in, with fear and desire in equal measure drawing me closer to that breath. As I do, something solid and fragile falls out of my hair and lands on your stricken face.

A glass hairpin. Shaped like a flower petal. A gift from my mother, one of many that I cherish and am grateful for—even if she might not remember all that she gave.

The interruption is both timely and a little deflating. We’re at a juncture. Both you and I have a choice to make. But we both know it’s not really a choice. You’re the first to laugh, with your surprise softening into playful mischief in an instant. I quickly follow suit, eager to share with you the levity of an afternoon dream.

We both sit up, hands letting go. You pick up the hairpin, then lean in to help me put it back in place. I try my best to hide my blush, hoping against hope that you can’t hear how fast my heart’s beating. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched my hair, and a part of me is now glad for my hairpin’s timely and deflating interruption.

A part—no, all of me—will remember this moment forever.

Because, in your presence, I no longer need to seek, to search. In your company, I dream of possibilities, of a room that fills and grows with a constant warmth, yours and mine.

I want you to see me. I want to see you.

I never want to look away.

~???~

~???~

For how long have I been alone?

Memories still flit in and out of the hollow in my chest. That one place in the whole world that still retains remnants of half-forgotten warmth. But even those memories no longer feel like mine.

Memories flit in and out of the cooling hollow in my chest. They fill me with emotions as colourful and variegated as the memories themselves.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I fear for my mother as she recklessly berates an armed uniformed man that barges into our house of crumbling concrete and rusted metal.

I ache for my father as he kneels over an emaciated unrecognizable woman, shaking with tears whose origins are unknown even to him.

I steel myself for a flight into the fog of war, into the planet’s haze, as an ash-laden phantom calls forth more memories of destruction and domination.

I shudder with fragile hope as a hairless ageless creature bends her one obsidian arm around a lone red flower.

And I suffer and die with my warrior as he tries and fails to change his destiny, again and again and again and ag

For how long have I been everything I am and everyone I’m not? For how long have I been alone?

Still… a part of me is glad. A part of me understands that this is right. That this is the way of things.

Because I was nothing once. I was nothing until someone decided I wasn’t. And simply by virtue of my newfound not-nothingness, I received and became so much. So much for me to touch, to cherish, to be grateful for. So much for me to remember, even if those memories no longer feel like mine.

So much debt for me to repay.

And so… this is right. This is the way of things. The way for me to mend my warrior’s broken world, one reality at a time. As many times as it takes. I should want for nothing more. I should want for nothing more than to be left alone with my secret [TEARS].

Because everything I have are borrowed memories. None of them are real… except to the people that dreamed them, to the people that still need them. None of this is real… at least not to me.

But if it's not real… why does it hurt so goddamned much?

Silon.

The voice is familiar, like the afterimage of a faded dream. It warms my hollow just a little bit. Knowing that I can still remember things that feel distinctly mine.

Silon.

The voice is more insistent now. Like it wants to be heard. But who would want to talk to me? To someone that’s not even real?

You’re not alone.

Where have I heard that before? Something from a borrowed memory. And I can’t help but let it warm my hollow… just a little more.

You’re not alone, Silon. I won’t let you be.

It’s not just a voice anymore. Not just borrowed memories. Because I see him. I see his face. His eyes of gentle sorrow. And now that I’ve seen them, I never want to look away. Never again.

“Zelen?”

Zelen. It’s a strange name that feels strangely out of place, here in the confluence of failed dreams and broken realities. Yet, despite its strangeness, it’s a name that feels familiar to me. A name that belongs to me. And I to it.

Yes, Silon. I’m here. God knows I’ve taken my sweet time… but I’m here. I’ve found you.

“Zelen… it really is you,” I whisper words that don’t really feel like mine, in a voice I barely recognize. “All of you.”

I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why it felt like the right thing to say. But as soon as I say it, I understand. And as soon as I understand, my heart aches anew. My hollow shakes and rocks with the force of half-remembered fears.

“But… if all of you are here, that means…”

Yes.

“You remember everything.”

I do.

Somehow, I feel my eyes brim with tears. Even though I have no eyes with which to shed them.

“Then… I’ve failed you, Zelen.”

How so?

“I… I was meant to be your anchor to your immediate reality. A place for you to seek validation of your triumphs, to find solace for your suffering. That I may sustain your war… for as long as you needed me to. And when it got to be too much…”

To put me out of my misery, when it got to be too much. Just like… just like I’ve tried to do the same with you… in this and countless other realities before.

“…”

It’s bizarre, isn’t it? When you really think about it? We suffer together, until one of us decides that the suffering is too much for the other, and that’s when we decide to suffer alone.

“Zelen, I—”

The voice leans in, and his face—and body—along with it. Somehow, I feel his hand brush against my hair. Even though I have no hair with which to hide the blush of my cheeks.

You’re wrong, Silon. You never failed me. I remember everything… because I choose to.

“But, Zelen… all those wars. All those losses. All those deaths. How could you… how could one man bear so much—”

He pulls me by my arms and takes me in his. Even though I have no arms with which to return the embrace. He’s unsurprisingly skinny, with shoulders as narrow as I remember them.

I’m not one man. And you’re not alone. Not anymore.

My tears fall. Not the secret ones I hold in the hollow of my chest. But the ones that flow from tear ducts I don’t have. The ones I lay bare for all the world—for Zelen—to see.

“There’ll be more suffering. More that you—we—will wish to forget.”

I know.

“I won’t always be by your side. Wherever you go from here… I might not be able to follow.”

Go wherever you need to go. Be whatever you need to be. And if you need me, then I’ll come find you again. Just like I did here and in countless other lives before. I’ll never stop looking until I find you.

Along with the tears, I let out a cry. Even though I have no throat that could burn with the heat of my anguish, that could shudder from the depth of my yearning.

“Do you promise, Zelen? I can… I can trust you?”

I do, and you can.

I shudder with more tears. Oh, how I want to believe him. How I want to believe that I—we—can be more than what we are.

It’s time, Silon.

A glass hairpin falls on a boy’s stricken face. The interruption is timely… and just a little deflating.

It’s time for you—us—to make a choice. To become more than what we ought to be. To push, to dance, to fight… against the edges of what could be.

For a moment, I see these same edges Zelen dreams of. With eyes that are unmistakably and resolutely my own. I pull myself closer into his embrace, with arms that tense with remembered strength. And I blink away the tears of a frightened little girl, so I may yet imbue all of my infinite and [POSSIBLE] [TEARS] with new dreams.

Because, for as long as I’m not nothing, then there’s still so much for me to touch, to cherish, to be grateful for.

To remember.

“Do you still remember, Zelen?” I ask in a voice that is solely and uniquely mine. “About the room that keeps getting messier on its own?”

~~~

~~~

~~~

~April 28th, 140 AH~

~Sector Capricorn, Vallemor Desert~

Asena Shiranui watched as the black shadow over her sky dissolved into red tears.

She watched alongside her fellow warriors—both the wounded and the fallen—as the Mothership crumbled like brittle concrete and fell away like rusted metal. The Mothership, along with the whole of her immensity and incomprehensibility, fell away, with each of her assimilated parts having served their purpose for the last time.

The Mothership fell away and was no more. And in her place, [TEARS] burst forth into the overcast sky, melted into the planet's haze, and began to fall upon the barren earth as raindrops. Soon after, this novel and unprecedented rain cast the skies over Vallemor Desert and beyond in a hue that was at once alien and familiar to the wounded warriors who watched it fall. It was a reddish gloam: the colour of grief and the hope contained therein.

Asena watched the rain fall. And no matter how long she watched or how hard she looked, she never again saw a midnight-blue phantom point his ash-laden frame into the planet's clearing skies.