As Ani grabbed him by the arm to lead him into his bed, Alon jerked his arm away from her and shot her a hostile glare.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

“Alon…” Ani’s mother said.

Ani gasped.

Mr. Alon Lokanok coughed and shook as he turned his head to the side. He was looking for his wife, but he couldn’t find her.

“Hanako!” he said, calling her name. The effort made him wheeze. “Where’s Hanako?”

“I’m right here, Alon,” she said. “I’m right here.”

He’d been looking in the wrong direction.

Ani slowly stepped back. “Daddy? Itay?”

Alon responded to his daughter’s words by turning his head to face her. Ani felt like she was looking at a bulldog that had just caught a scent—and that terrified her.

As did the emptiness in his gaze.

“Where’re my kids?” he said, panting loudly. “Gotta… gotta be somewhere.”

“Just help him into bed, Ani-chan,” her mother said. “He’s been losing his memories since yesterday.” Hanako was inexplicably calm. She was like that, from time to time, detached and aloof, even when it made no sense to be.

Ani did as she was told, and not just because it was her job. She was a good daughter.

Or, at least, she wanted to be.

Her father barked at her as she took off his clothes and helped him into the gown she’d gotten for him.

“Why are you doing this?!” he yelled.

Not knowing what to say, she guided him into bed. He didn’t put up too much resistance.

Sighing, Ani turned to her mother. “Why didn’t you call me earlier, Okasan?” Ani asked.

“I didn’t want to impose,” her mother said, softly, as if they were talking about the mundanest thing. She coughed terribly.

A couple feet beside her, Alon’s chest heaved as he laid in his own bed, his head propped up by the pillow. “You know what,” he said, “I bet they’re foolin’ around. They don’t have drive, my kids. Mga tamad na puki.”

Ani’s Costranak wasn’t anywhere near as good as her Munine, but she knew her father’s go-to phrases, and that was one of them.

It meant “lazy cunts”.

Ani’s lips quivered as she stared her father in the eyes, like she was a laser, ready to burst.

“Why would you call your children lazy cunts?” she asked.

One of the first lessons I’d learned about Ani during her time as my mentee was that she had a trigger word, and that word was “lazy”. I couldn’t count the number of times Ani had come storming into my therapy office muttering the word “lazy” to herself over and over again, sounding like a tea kettle about to boil.

“Everyone’s lazy!” Alon said. “They don’t got what it takes. You…” his gaze turned distant. “Matatag!” he said, jabbing his finger toward her. “You gotta be strong. The world don’t care. Namamatay ang maliliit na ibon. You gotta be strong. If you’re strong, it’s because you got it and took it. Otherwise, you’re lazy. Mga tamad na puki.”

Ani pressed her hands against either side of her hazmat suit, hoping that, maybe, if she squeezed hard enough, she’d be able to keep herself from screaming.

Around itself, time did coil; static and noise kissed the memory-fragment’s edge.

Hate. Love.

Ani hated her father and loved him, and she hated that she loved him and hated that she hated him, and hated that she hated loving him. Her relationship with her mother wasn’t as complicated, but not by much.

Ani remembered the loud nights the most, the nights where he yelled at Mom, usually because Mom had been yelling at him to stop yelling at the TV.

Sometimes her Mom would be just as bad, but in her own way.

Ani’s father liked beer; her Mom liked whiskey. They almost never drank together, but when they did, it was wine, and because her Dad only did things like purchasing wine when he wanted to be fancy, the wine would be pricey, so there wouldn’t be very much of it.

Ani only had one memory of her mother shattering a glass of whiskey after throwing it in a drunken fit, but the sounds of that moment echoed through so many of the memories Ani formed after the fact, you could piece her traumas together using those sounds alone.

Whenever something bad happened, Ani would hear those sounds in her mind: a clatter and a crash, followed by a yell.

And yet, those sounds were also next to one of the most cherished moments she’d ever known: when, the day after the fit, her mother had asked her to help her repair the antique glass.

That was when Ani had first learned about the ancient art of kintsugi: repairing what was broken.

Around itself, time did coil; static and noise kissed the memory-fragment’s edge.

Ani’s mother sat up in her bed. “Ani, please, look at me,” she said, softly. There was a broad smile on her face. It didn’t belong there, and Ani couldn’t understand why it was.

“Come here,” Hanako said.

Ani complied.

Her mother’s face was sagging and ashen. Hanako had always had a slim, petite build, but now, it was like the life was being sucked out of her.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Ani had seen the same fate in so many others, she just never expected to see it in her mother.

“I don’t understand, Okasan,” Ani said. “How can you be so calm? Do you not care? Have you just given up?” She scoffed. “You, giving up? After all the shit you gave me growing up? After buying the apartment.”

Because Alon was poor, the Lokanoks couldn’t afford one of the fancy townhouses in Elpeck proper. So, when it came to purchasing the house in which they’d raise their family, the Lokanoks had to choose between a cramped apartment in the middle of the city and one of the cookie-cutter bungalows out in the Valley. Alon chose the latter—a nice little home in Polly Brooks, mostly because he wanted to have a house with a great green lawn.

Polly Brooks was to Witchriver—the neighborhood where I’d grown up—what my childhood home was to my house on Angeltoe Street.

When Ani had been in college, age and a bad back had finally forced her father to retire from his job as a construction worker, and as a result, they were forced to sell the house. Ani and her brother had found places of their own by then, but there wasn’t enough room for a crotchety old man in either of them. Fortunately, Hanako didn’t give up, and with some help from her church friends, she was able to find a dirt-cheap apartment in the middle of the city.

Hanako might have been quiet, but she didn’t give up easily—at least, most of the time.

“Listen to me, Ani,” she said, unshaken by her daughter’s anger. “Ani: listen to me.” Though scratchy, Hanako’s voice was calm and even-toned. Reaching out, the woman grabbed her daughter’s hands—but gently; ever so gently, clinking the metal and lakelite bracelets she wore on her wrists.

“What?” Ani asked. “What is it?”

“These are the Last Days, Ani-chan,” Hanako said.

“Mom, not you too…”

Hanako laughed, though that laugh quickly became a cough. “I would be a fool to deny what I’ve seen with my own two eyes,” she said. “First those horrid Norms; now, armies of the living-dead?”

“But…”

Hanako shook her head. “Why are you troubled, Ani? I know we have had our… disagreements, but I have always thought you were one of the noblest souls I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

Ani’s voice broke. “Mom…”

“You have nothing to fear,” Hanako said. “Soon, we will die, and the Angel and His Blessèd Chosen will guide us to Paradise. We will be together there, for ever and always.” She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself so. What will be will be. We cannot stop it.”

Ani stepped back in shock. “How can you believe the Angel would want this?” she said.

Her mother’s expression darkened. “Ani, it is not our place to question the Angel. We are not strong enough, not wise enough—and we never will be. We are not meant to play god. If we were, we would be able to open windows in the air, and get to Paradise ourselves. Yet we cannot.”

“Okasan…” Ani said.

Hanako put her other hand on Ani’s hand. “But, Ani… where we fail, God endures.” She nodded. “There are truths that are not ours to know. That is why we worship. That is why we believe in something greater than ourselves. We believe in that which endures.”

“I believe that Love endures,” Ani said. “The Angel will save us. I know it. We’re going to pull through.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “You’re gonna get better, Okasan, you and Dad both. I know it. And the Angel will help me do it. It’s kintsugi, just like you taught me. Things break, but then we put them back together and make something even more beautiful than what we had before.”

Just like Jonan, Ani thought.

Jonan Derric was the most authentic person she’d ever known. He was brilliant, and sexy, and passionate, and bitterly funny, and had a work ethic that would put a machine to shame. As men went, he was an inch short of perfection. His only fault? He wasn’t quite sure how to be good.

But Ani had long since resolved to fix that. Jonan was one big kintsugi project, and she’d happily dedicate her life to seeing it through to the end. Jonan had too much potential; the world needed him to be good.

As did she.

“You know how I like to say Jonan is my kintsugi project?” Ani said. “Well, now you and Itay are, too.”

Ani wanted to apologize for not having said this earlier. These words were many years too late.

But, better late than never, right? Ani thought.

As she looked her mother in the eyes, Ani realized her mother’s gaze had drifted away from her own, going over her shoulder, toward.

Dad, she thought.

Ani had perfect timing. She turned around right as her father spoke.

“Hey, mamsir,” he said, addressing his daughter.

The words made Ani tense up.

In Costranak culture, “mamsir” was used as a polite term of address for a stranger; one of the many quirks that resulted from Trenton’s centuries of colonial occupation of the Costranak islands.

“You’re a doctor?” he asked. “Make lotsa money? Nabubuhay sa magandang buhay?”

Her father’s demeanor had changed. The man she now saw was the one who schmoozed about with his friends at the recreation center, in between rounds spent marinating in the janky jacuzzi or swimming laps in ice-cold pools. It was smarmy and unpleasant.

But at least it wasn’t yelling.

As much as it broke Ani’s heart that her father didn’t quite remember who she was, there was a strange opportunity in this cruel situation. For once, she could talk to him without fear of reprisal.

So she did.

Ani pursed her lip. “Why does life have to be about who makes the most money?” she asked.

“Money is power,” he said, his eyebrows rising. “And power is life.” His expression soured, turning angry and bitter.

“I… I was a alipin. Mama and Papa alipin, too,” he said. His eyes widened, as if he was beholding a dream. There was no strength in his voice. No anger. Just pain.

Seeing that made Ani’s anxiety melt away. This… this was her father. This was the man underneath the hood, someone who’d been hurt so bad by what life threw at him, that he never quite learned how to love, or how to be happy.

“Worked our hands raw on the Big Man’s land. Sugar cane. Sugar cane. Fucking sugar cane. Leaves are like knives. Ang kagubatan ng ngipin.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dad,” Ani muttered.

The dying man’s face contorted with anger. “No one cared! No one fucking cared! We had nothing! No one gave me nothin’!”

“Daddy—itay—it’s me… it’s Ani.” Ani wept. She pointed at herself. “Don’t you recognize me? Don’t you remember?”

He stared at her. His black-shot eyes narrowed. “You’ll never be good enough. Nobody’s good enough. Lahat ay nagkukulang sa kaluwalhatian ng Diyos.”

Ani glanced at her mother, whose expression was crestfallen, to say the least.

“Please, Ani, don’t do this to yourself,” Hanako said. “Your father isn’t himself.”

Ani shook her head. “Since when did him being himself ever make things easier?” she said.

She turned to her father.

“Can’t I just be me, Daddy?” she asked. “Does everything have to be perfect? Can’t we just love each other? Can’t we just be kind?”

Alon stared through his daughter. “Kind?” He laughed bitterly, and soon broke into a coughing fit that scattered green-dusted ooze all over the bed. “I got a daughter. Isang batang babae. She so kind. Kind and stupid. Stupid and kind.”

Ani tilted her head back. Her mouth and cheeks churned, as if she was trying to keep a frog from leaping out of her throat. Indignation burned in her eyes.

The dying man struggled to lift his head as he attempted to flick it in consternation. “She don’t appreciate nothing!” He scoffed. “In Costranak, she’d be dead. Bleed out on the sugar cane leaves.” He trembled. “She don’t know how hard it is. The world’s gonna break her, and I, his voice cracked, “I can’t keep her safe.” Alon wept. “Couldn’t keep my itay safe.”

“Alon…” Hanako whispered.

For a moment, the two women looked at one another. Neither of them had ever heard this before.

“I don’t get the world,” Alon said, in a quiet, frightened voice. “I don’t understand. Everything’s big and fast. The world is cruel. It’s gonna eat Ani. And I can’t stop it. Can’t stop nothin’.”

Ani’s voice broke. “You kept me safe, Daddy, you—”

“—Ani?”

Once again, Alon stared at his daughter. But this time, he saw her.

“Don’t be lazy,” he said, his tired eyes looking away. “Go study for your exam. Gotta be the best. Don’t be a fucking B student. Huwag mag-settle for less.”

And then he spasmed as a seizure rocked his body.

Around itself, time did coil; static and noise kissed the memory-fragment’s edge.

Ani didn’t blame her parents. They were victims, just like everyone else. Alon had had it harder than most: a first-generation immigrant who’d never so much as set foot on a college campus until his daughter’s Orientation Day following Ani’s acceptance at Elpeck Polytechnic. It wasn’t his fault that he’d had a hard life.

The world wasn’t perfect. Good, yes, but not perfect. Mankind had sinned. For better and for worse, that was how the cookie crumbled.

She could save them. She would save them.

She needed to get to Dr. Skorbinka, right away.

Around itself, time did coil; static and noise kissed the memory-fragment’s edge.