The bugs

Carmina Wolf was an entomologist, specialized in bees and wasps. She had travelled the world tracing this little creatures and now headed off to her final destination: a UN summit in Geneva where she would be able to present her findings to a panel of experts put together by the FAO.

On the plane from Seoul to Geneva, she just kept thinking of the potential of her discoveries. It was terrible, of course, but it also meant something could be done. Nothing is definite when you realize it on time, or she thought.

The flight was really long but she couldn't sleep so she forced herself to watch some movies, none of which ere very interesting. She took her blanket and tried to sleep with some music on but then people started making noises. It was really annoying to get to Switzerland with no sleep and now people weren't helping. She heard them open their window shades, so she pulled the blanket over her head.

She stopped ignoring them when they started to scream and gasp and talk fast and loud. Suddenly all shades were being pulled up, so Carmina took a look through the window. She certainly wasn't expecting that...

High above the clouds and higher than the plane, a fire ball appeared to be falling down. The plane was very far but the ball could be seen easily as it's light was blinding, all white and powerful. It certainly was a scary moment but, for some reason, people were generally calm.
Short after, the pilot announcing all flights were asked to change course and go south. They haven't been asked to land anywhere close but there was still a possibility to do so.

An hour later, the ball of fire looked smaller but equally as bright. Carmina thought of the people below, and how scared they must have been. She checked her on board computer and realized they were flying over Russia, a country frequently hit by meteorites. A scientist she had met in a conference had told her so. But this meteorite looked massive or maybe that was because she had never seen one.

Suddenly the pilot spoke again and, this time, he said authorities of all the countries in the vicinity had decided to ground the planes. Carmina's one had to land in Astana, the capital city of Kazakhstan. The pilot did not know for how long they would have to stay there but authorities were trying to keep the planes down for the minimum amount of time.

It was shortly before landing that the explosion occurred. It felt and sounded awful. The plane was hit by the sound wave and turbulence was really bad. People were screaming, babies crying, food trays hitting the ground and even bags falling from the overhead compartments. Everyone was a nervous wreck so, when the plane landed in Astana, it was not a surprise when everyone applauded and cheered the moment. They were all grateful to be alive.

They were evacuated through the inflatable slides on each door, to make it faster. Then, the pilot stayed with the airport authorities to assess any damage to the plane as the rest of the crew helped the passengers to a bus, which took them to the terminal.

Carmina was tired, from all that had happened and because she hadn't slept for a single minute but when they entered the building she realized it would take even more time to rest. The place was filled with people, both incoming passengers and people who had not been able to board their flights. Her group stayed in a corner, to have better control over everyone according to a stewardess.

Everyone fell silent when every single TV set on the terminal started broadcasting images of the meteorite and how it had it the ground with violence. Although the news station was in Russian, every passenger could understand that the meteorite was big but, thankfully, not the kind of fire balls that cause extinction. However, it had fallen near Omsk, a fairly large city in Russia. Imaged of destroyed windows, trees on fire and a houses destroyed was broadcasted for the remaining hours and, against all odds, Carmina was finally able to get some sleep.

When she woke up, it was dark outside. She went to the bathroom where she met a woman crying with her daughter sitting by the sink. The woman tried to clean her tears fast so Carmina wouldn't see her but it was to no use. In her stall, the entomologist heard the woman speak in Russian to her daughter, again crying unconsolably. It was heart breaking, even without having a clue about what was going on.

When Carmina came out of her stall, the woman was not there. She washed her hands, her face and tried to comb her hair with her fingers but the result was not very good. She came out of the bathroom and walked around, watching hundreds, maybe thousands sleeping on the floor. All the screen were turned off and only security agents roamed the place, gently smiling when she stumbled upon any of them.

She arrived at the food court and realized how hungry she was. But every store was closed, which was obvious because of the time of day and the current situation. The tables and chairs that were normally for eating were now occupied by people trying to get some sleep.

Carmina decided to step outside, to a little balcony the terminal had for plane enthusiasts. It was very cold but that didn't bother her. She looked and counted the planes on the tarmac. There were at least twenty and suspected there were more on other places of the airport. Suddenly the door of the balcony opened and an older woman came out. She looked at Carmina and smiled and contemplated the place.

After some time, the woman spoke:

- It will keep happening, you know?

Carmina did not understand.

 - What?
 - It will keep happening, more and more frequently.
 - The meteorites, you mean?

She nodded. Carmina started to feel colder but was mesmerized by the odd look and mysterious attitude of the older woman.

 - This world... We just live here. It isn't ours and it certainly isn't living forever.
 - You think were all going to...?
 - Die?... Maybe. Not necessarily but it's no secret we are heading in that direction.

It was so strange. It was if... She knew more. As if she knew the same thing Carmina had suspected months before.

 - Sorry... Are you an expert of sorts?

The woman laughed and looked at her.

 - Not really, child. I'm just aware of things around me.

The woman looked one last time towards the tarmac, smiled at Carmina and entered the building. The young woman did the same, as she was feeling too cold. The words of that woman were all around her mind but it was silly to worry now. She had to sleep as the following day was a hard one.

All planes were allowed to take off so she got to Geneva in time for her speech. She wasn't able to change clothes and excused herself for her looks but told the audience it was worth the speech. Everyone laughed of course. Then the presentation began.

Carmina had been working on this for five years now, since she had finished her studies. And the findings of her research could not be contested. She announced to the audience that the bee population around the world was decreasing due to various reasons, primarily climate change but also human interference. She declared that the decline was so representative, that in some places many flowers and plants that were abundant were now almost extinct. And she announced the same was happening with crops, although no one realized it because of the amount of cereals being planted.

In short, Carmina had discovered that food, was going to be more and more scarce due the disappearance of certain insects. Without them, hunger could strike anywhere. She closed her presentation by saying that recent events had made her realize how fragile the world was but that we had time to make things right, to find our true place in the universe. And she did believe it, more than ever before.

Tomorrow

In his dreams, he had a perfect life, every night going to bed with the one he loved and doing what he wanted in life. The thing was that dreams left out the problem of financial instability, which was the biggest problem every person had in their lives. Not the relationships with others or the achievement or some dream or yearning, but plain and simple money.

He knew that every time he woke up and realized how it was not all that beautiful and calm, as in his dreams. In the real world, he still lived with his parents, had no prospect of finding anyone soon to have a love life or anything similar and, of course, money was not there.

He was prepared, meaning he had a career and further studies to say "I know a couple of things". But that was it. And apparently no one really cared. Every so often he would enter web pages to find a job, sent his CV to every single production company or creative group he read of and then waited. He couldn't do much more than that.

He had even sent his CV to major fast-food chains and retail stores, as he wanted money at least to buy himself a coffee every so often or for being able to pay a movie ticket at least once a month. But nothing. He thought he may have been overqualified for some jobs and under qualified for others. 

Besides, one had to remember how the creative world works: creativity is the least important aspect, ironically. There are no companies that hire someone for being creative. They hire people, anywhere, if they see they can use them some how. That's it. And most creative people don't let themselves be caught by that elegant form of oppression, so here you go. People then have to do things themselves and that takes much more effort and time.

Time... Something that seems to pass so fast. The boy we talk about has his school yearbook. One day, he decided to browse it after years of gathering dust on a shelf. He saw pictures of people he hadn't seen for a long time and then he saw his face on some of them and, for a moment, he wasn't able to recognize himself. It looked as he had age so much, although he had aged the same as every other person on that yearbook.

He then thought of the many faces he stopped seeing and wasn't surprised. He let it happen knowingly, as he didn't have the best memories of school. He had the yearbook as a memento his parents had bought for him but he wasn't keen of reading things people had written to him back them, knowing now how the friendships had fractured and, eventually, ripped apart. He knew he was to blame too, but that was the past.

He went for a walk after that to try to clear his head. He was thinking of useless things, such as the school and what hadn't happened. It was pointless. He walked for eight miles until his legs hurt and decided to sit down in a small park, away from any loud streets or sidewalks filled with pedestrians coming and going.

There he started daydreaming once again, believing there was something better out there. He knew that. But the problem was that many others wanted exactly the same as him: live a life doing the things they liked or knew how to do.

He wasn't a brilliant writer or anything but it came easy to him so that's what he wanted to do. He had no idea of real drawing, he hated numbers as he was incapable of understanding them and sports were not really one of his interests. So he only had writing to keep going. If someone took that away from him, well, he didn't wanted to know what would happen.

The young man checked his pants and realized he had some money so he walked a bit more to a mall. He got a coffee and something to eat with it. As he did, he looked at the many faces around and wished he could hear all of their thoughts. Was everyone as worried and hopeless he sometimes felt? Or were they really happy with everything, even when bad things happened?

That was his real need, his hobby if you will: just thinking on what people did and thought. Human beings were just amazing in horrible and excellent ways. People were capable of amazing deeds and also of such horror. And besides that, they have a large array of feelings and not everyone experience them exactly the same. That was what fascinated him and made his days go by a little bit smoothly.

He wrote every single day, no matter if he was inspired or not. He thought that even in a bad day, he could be able to write something great and even if it wasn't, an awful piece of writing could be the base of something much bigger and better.

The 26 year old man went back home and took off his shoes. He wrote about the people he had seen that day and what he thought of them, what he thought they might be keeping secret or the worries they had every day. Some were shallow and not very interesting but others were just a planet of opportunities and wonder.

It was not every day, but sometimes his parents would interrupt those thinking moments with a question like "Are you still looking?" or "You should be doing something". Of course he understood their worries, he was worried too every single day. But it hurt a bit to think they thought he was careless and only wanted to be a bum or something.

They wanted him to keep studying but he was done with that. He didn't feel he had any more to learn or at least not anything that was been taught anywhere. He had investigated schools and courses all around but they were all about what he had already learned and seen and he knew that so why pay big money to study the same thing again?

Of course he had interests beside writing but they thought of them as hobbies or just things he liked. Cooking was relaxing to him and photography had been extremely important to him at one time, but he didn't see those things as life choices. It would be a joke, he thought, to study cooking as he knew he didn't have many qualities needed to be a proper cook.

Same went for photography, with which he had a relationship that was now on a standby. He had used it before to overcome problems he had and to make him believe his world could be wider than he thought. But that was the past and now he felt a bit more mature and took things as they were. Evading himself from life wasn't the answer.

As he laid down in bed for one more night of sleep, he remembered he had had problems with himself, his self-esteem to be exact. It wasn't like he was done with that but he them now under control as his views had changed a bit but, of course, a problem like that doesn't just disappear. To be realistic, it never does. You learn to live with it and, after having a couple of breakdowns, he realized he needed to change the way he saw some things or he would get worse in a short time.

He finally thought of the love thing. That was a rather annoying subject he liked to avoid. In that moment of his life, he had no need or place for love. maybe for his family and friends but no place for that one person that is supposed to make you feel special. He couldn't afford, even if he believed in actual love, to have that right now. It would be the worst timing and it could only lead to unnecessary pain and he wasn't a masochist so why look for something like that?

Of course, he thought his life might improve and then he would be more open to love, if it were to happen. His self-esteem problems and thoughts on the world didn't really give him much hope to find someone that like him and no one else. It sounded a bit like an utopia.

To him, it was funny too how people thought doing things every second made them better, more prepared or prone to better things. It just meant they were active. And there are many ways to be active. People tend to forget there is more than one way to do something, even love.

But then again, like they said on a movie, tomorrow will be another day and no one knows what the future holds for anyone. It's a box full of awful and great surprises and even if we sit down and do nothing, the world will keep moving forward.

She won't come back

Laura wanted so much more of life. She was a nice person, dedicated, humble and worked hard when things had to be done.

But things had not gone her way. The world required to much effort, unrewarded work and suffering that made no sense. When she came back from work, she always thought it wasn't what she  had dreamt to do in life. She couldn't be thankful for the money as the pay was not very good.

To make things worst, she did not considered herself a typical post college girl. She wasn't eager for anything in particular anymore. Her dreams and old drive had died rapidly after she had attempted, for years, to find a job. And she finally got one, she realized how empty everything was.

She did not make friends with anyone at work. It made no sense talking to people that she didn't care in meeting. Chatting and making friends with everyone made no sense to her, as she thought that as a human, she had every right not to like someone or something.

Most of the others, if not all, were her exact opposite: they loved to go to every party the company made, they wore costumes in Halloween and played secret valentine and gave meaningless presents in Christmas.

Laura tried to be "sick" at home all those days. She hated people being a bit more fake than any other day. It was unnerving for her.

And that happened for almost three years. Work and work and work and then some holidays when Laura visited her family. She felt as if the past had come back after her. Everything reminded her of, what she once thought, were good times. They weren't. It was just a bit easier back then but also nightmarish in different ways.

She was happy sometimes but not often and always because of the little things that no one really payed attention to.

It wasn't surprising when, the following march, Laura was found dead in her apartment. She had taken a lot of different pills at once and then waited for the end. Her mother and brother (her father had died years ago from a heart attack) came to pick up her remains. She was cremated and then the ashes were scattered on a lake they all used to visit as a family. It was one of those really happy places for her and had always wanted to go back to.

Her mother was affected by her death in many ways, specially because she lived alone. At first, she felt guilty because she felt the relationship she had with Laura had not been the best. She never bothered in really knowing her, what she liked or disliked.

It was up to Ellen, Laura's mom, to go to her daughter's place and clean it up, pick the things that she wanted to keep and throw away the rest. She had a whole day and had asked her son to join her but he was now a busy doctor and couldn't afford to leave his patients.

The woman arrived early and brought with her a few boxes. She couldn't help it: Ellen cried when she entered Laura's room. It hit her, again, hard. She knew her daughter would never come back and she would never again hear her voice.

By midday, she had already finished. Laura did not have much to pack or sort. Mostly work related stuff and books and so on. Ellen decided to keep only two things: a dress she had always looked beautiful in and Laura's computer. She wanted to check it out before disposing of it or giving it away to some one who may need it.

The rest of her things was donated or thrown away. The week after Laura's death, Ellen received a letter from the company. She threw it to the garbage without seeing it. It was such an impersonal and stupid thing to do. "What do they care", she thought.

Days passed until she finally decided to call a technician to help her look up her daughter's computer. They help her break the password and then gave her a card, if she needed help selling the item.

Laura loved clothes or so it seemed by the sites she visited. Furthermore, Ellen found various drawings she had apparently done with some sort of program on the computer. They were really beautiful, all in a folder called "Four Seasons", probably because of the various colors and styles.

Ellen also found some porn sites (which she decided no to go through), cooking blogs and then she got to her email accounts. They were all filled with work related stuff. Laura got, at least, six emails from her boss and then there were more form other people working around. Ellen could see they demanded a lot from her.

The last thing she found was a blog. It was poetry or so it seemed. Laura did not write very often. Ellen read some pages of it and realized how frustrated her daughter was. It was impossible not to cry over it, not to feel sorry for someone she loved so much and had no chance of really knowing.

To be honest, Ellen thought parents were there not to be friends but rather like tutors. She probably needed to have done a bit of both to make her daughter com closer and confide in her.

But it was too late, and now the woman was crying over her dead daughter's computer. She was dead an no one could change that or the fact Ellen thought she had failed in many ways.

The next day, she called the technician again and asked him to take the computer. Just like that, no money, no transactions, nothing.

Months later, Ellen pressured Ronald, her son, to come for Christmas to her home. He brought his soon-to-be wife, who happened to be pregnant. Ellen knew about it, but was surprised when she saw the young woman enter her house.

The day after their arrival, they all went to the lake and left a few flowers on the edge. Ellen cried in silence and asked Laura for help and peace. On the way back home, she told Ronald to be the best father he could be, as she didn't wanted him to feel as destroyed as she felt right then.

Far & Below

* This is a recording made on January 1st, 2237.

My name is Amelia Granger. My ID number is 208341295. I am the medical officer on space station Hawking, currently stationed near Jupiter's moon, Europa.

For me, this is day 53 in the spaceship. Today we celebrate new year's although we're really celebrating our achievements in the last days.

Scientific officers Namadi Gutembe and Ali Ro released their heated missile yesterday. The device successfully penetrated the surface of Europa and in around five hours, got to the inner ocean of the moon. They released the probe resting inside the missile and have already discovered over ten new species in the liquid environment.

However, no creature shows any degree of intelligence. They are all botanic life, showing no reaction to the tests done by the probe. The officers decided to let ir roam around the ocean for the night, as we had a party on board.

Captain Michaud and first officer Ramirez joined us too. We are currently over 20 people inhabiting the station so the celebrations went on for several hours. Having no alcohol, we all ate a lot of cake and dried fruits and many other things we have in the galley. Our cook is worried we may not have enough until the next ship comes in with food. We're a month away from that.

I ran tests the last week of December to every single person in the ship. I'm glad to say only one individual appears to be affected by the gravity issues and the sun's radiation. It might be nothing but I want to be sure as one patient with cancer would have to immediately leave for Earth to receive proper treatment.

Engineer Kaamat has been specially kind, showing me every single machine they make and finish here before it's used. It's thrilling to see everyone work in what they love. Sometimes I would love to have more to do around here. Keeping the diets in order and giving check ups every so often gets boring really fast. But I guess it's better for everyone if I don't have a lot to deal with.

Nothing more to day. Granger out.

* January 9th, 2237

This is Amelia Granger. ID number 208341295. Medical officer on space station Hawking, now near Europa.

Things have drastically changed this past week. First, I'm sorry to announce scientist Griselda Coon has cancer. We have already sent word to Earth for them to pick her up. She's not well, at all. She has started fainting, vomiting and is now quarantined in her room. It's not contagious but its better if she keeps away from others.

It isn't cruelty. It is because everyone has been too busy looking at the recent findings. The Europa probe has discovered many more species but we are looking at two in particular. The first one appears to be a whale, or so I understand. It seems it's not as intelligent as the ones we have on Earth but its pretty big.

What concerns all of us is the other one. We have had no sight of it but there are traces of the species all over. It appears it is a marine creature that is able to walk overground. Scientists are still not sure if the creature has ever pierced through the snow but it is possible.

What makes it possible is the fact that a rover we had seen prior to the missile lunch, has been destroyed. We have no idea how or by what. The site of the destruction has been scouted with instruments but there are no major traces of the rover or of the creature.

I have to be honest. I am scared and I think many of the others are too. Not only because the rover was destroyed but because the creature appears to elude us on purpose. Everyone says it must be smart because the instruments and the probe are too advanced for primitive live to hide from them.

Oh, I almost forgot. There is something else. We have received word from Space Station Africa, over Earth, that our next shipment of food has been delayed. Apparently there are shortages on Mars and they need our supplies to help the communities there. We understand but this makes our cook go even more crazy. Now I have no issues controlling diets.

We hope they come for Coon as soon as possible. I hear they might take her to Titan, to the new hospital orbiting around it. I hope that is true. She needs help.

Granger out.

* January 12th, 2237

Amelia Granger here. This entry is rather hard, in so many different ways.

I have always loved what I do, helping others and trying to make everything better for everyone. I came here because I thought it would be a challenge, a field of lessons to make me a better professional and a better person too.

Mrs. Coon has died. It happened yesterday. We never received word from Titan and no ship departed Earth to pick her up. Apparently Mars has been hit by solar wind and the situation is critical so every space station is now on its own. We have her in a secure bag, here on medical bay. It makes me shiver, the thought she's dead and close to me. I never thought anyone would die.

It's not stopping, either. First officer Ramirez and Science officer Ro are both down here, in the infirmary. Apparently the sun is also affecting us. The station has changed its position and all windows had been blocked by metal, to protect us. I am certain that if we don't receive help, these two new patients may face the same fate as Mrs. Coon.

What also has the crew in critical state is the fact that the communications with Earth having been down for the last few hours. Many were expecting to tell their families what was going on in here but that is not possible at the time. I haven't spoken to my father since I came here, but that's for different reasons. Lack of communications don't affect me much, except for the wellbeing of my patients.

There' something else, of course. As the chores in the station are limited, I have been helping around and I was in the lab when the alarm went off. I twas another attack on the surface. Some equipment left there by a flying probe was destroyed. The strange thing is we now know what it is.

Pictures were taken by cameras and a probe was sent after it happened. I am not a biologist but the creatures looks like... Well, like a monster I once saw on a movie. I think it was one of those old monster movies from the museum. The creature has a three legs, no real feet. Its like a tree that way. But its upper body resembles the one of a human. It even appears to have a chest.

It has no arms. Nothing like that. Biology head Yu told me they believe it uses it's legs as arms. The most impressive part is "the head". Not really a head but a promontory on his shoulders, as if it all was the same section of the body. No eyes but rather a black line that appears to turn on and off. Some reading say heat emanates form that slid. No mouth either.

We are all scared now, not even the biologists are eager for their discovery. At least three have been sighted above ground and the marine probe has detected one. They swim fast, really fast.

I think we will have a lot of time to investigate them, that is if they...

...

Sorry. It was the speakers. The captain wants us all in his chambers. He says the probes have been destroyed and that he got another warning from Earth.

To be honest, I'm not leaving the planet ever again.

Granger out.

The Mark

His eyes move, a lot, still asleep. His hairs is all on one side so we can easily see, on his forehead, a big mark. Red, with lines and black dots.

The man, or boy pending on your definition, wakes up rather fast, opening his eyes as if he had been scared by the boogieman in a dream. He doesn't move, as the physical pain of his forehead comes to him and he has to relive everything again.

He finally gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. With one hand he holds his hair and stares at his image. The red mark is centered right above the nose. Frowning hurts a bit but he has no way of doing some other facial expression. He lets his hair down again and pees and then washes his hands.

As he walks to the kitchen, he thinks that at least it's not bleeding now, as it was yesterday night. He touches his forehead with care and then watches his fingers: clean.

In the kitchen, he pours some juice into a glass and drinks half of it as if he had been walking across a dessert for years. When he's done, he goes to the living room and sits on the sofa, to watch people go by.

Have they ever done that too? Have they ever caved to their urges and fears and weaknesses?

Who knows... He just watches them as he finishes up the juice and, once again, touches his forehead.

He then remembers being in school, twelve years old or something like that and being mocked for having peed his pants. He was so afraid of speaking to anyone he had held his urge for too much time and accidents happen. No one was kind, nor nice, nor decent. They were all animals and he hated them for it. He was just a kid and from then on, he felt rejected, an outcast.

No, not the moment for that. He goes to the kitchen again and makes a sandwich. Somehow, he's starving. He must have had an awful dream or one of those were you run like crazy, not knowing why.

He goes back in the sofa and eats his breakfast as he sees a man helping a woman with some boxes. They smile and each other and are oddly kind. People are not like that, almost never

He then remembers what it was for him to turn into a teenager, parties and all. And still feeling left out. It was incredible how much he had hated everyone in school so much, and none of them knew. They had no idea he never wanted to see them again. He didn't wish them harm or anything but he didn't care about their happiness. He was too hurt and alone.

The last year of school was different. He was just himself, as he knew he would never come back again. And college was another story, with different disappointments. No, not all was bad. Friends, real ones, were there.

As he finishes his sandwich, he touches the mark again and goes back to the bathroom. He puts some cold water on it and on his hair, to flatten it so people cannot see it easily. It shames him. It's a mark of shame and despair.

He washes the glass and the plate and enjoys the feel of water on his hands. He flattens his rebel hair again and then goes back to the sofa, now with his laptop. He puts on some music and finds himself reviewing, mentally of course, his bad luck in love.

He had grown tired of going out, dates, getting to know people. They didn't even tried to know him, at least to fake interest. No. They just didn't care much. Sex was first many times and he caved as it was fun and felt good but soon that ran out and it wasn't enough.

And the world wasn't helping. He had grown up to see how he had to look and behave and he wasn't that model everyone was supposed to be. And if you weren't, you lost. And he did, or so he felt.

He changes the song, to something a little more upbeat. Starts reading an article about sea creatures with incredible strength and the people that look out for them.

And again, thoughts. His brain was his enemy, no doubt.

Now he remembered, as if he had forgotten, that he had no money, no job, nothing. He had become bored too of sending his damn CV to every single company, even to fast food restaurants and retail stores. No one wanted him. And that felt awful. It hurt a lot to feel no one needed him, or appreciated what little he could do.

He shook his head, feeling some pinches, as his brain now was trying to escape, to move away as he too had become bored with him. He closed his eyes in pain, trying to push everything inside, deep, never to come back out again.

Suddenly he heard a voice and opened his eyes. It was his mother.

 - Hi.

 - Hey.

 - How are you feeling today?

 - Better. Thanks.

 - Sure?

He doubts.

 - Yeah.

She sighs and moves on to the kitchen.

After hitting himself with the first object he could get his hand on, he stroke his head too with his fists and he had a physical strength that scared him. He had caved to his inner fears, his demons, everything that was eating his brain.

He bled alone and cried as he hadn't done in so many years, when he thought he had kept it all behind. No. The past always comes back to have a bite of your brain, to torture you slowly.

And he, fed up, had taken matters in his owns hands and almost broke his skull.

As his mother made breakfast for herself, he took a few deep breaths and calmed down. He had to be strong, as she had said. "Take control of your feeling. Don't let them control you". And he knew she was right.

He hoped, really hard, that things would change soon. But that is something no one knows, until it happens or it doesn't.

To Heal and Live

 * This piece of writing is dedicated to all young men and women that have died because of the narrow and hateful minds of others. Love and peace.

  We were never the kind to dwell on anything. It was simple really: we were officially not wanted anywhere in the world. It wasn't surprising or confusing, just a bit painful.

People in general didn't care. That had enough with the war ravaging life here and there. Human rights were not really on the top of the list of things people cared any more. They just wanted to live in peace, like before. We did too and that's how we decided to leave.

Eric had learned that Iceland was a safe haven for many people and was being overlooked. This wasn't World War II, planes didn't need to stop in the middle of the ocean as they could easily do the trip.
Besides, Iceland had signed a pact with the Confederation: they wouldn't mess with them as long as they didn't mess with Iceland. Fair enough. The Confederation wasn't really interested in them, at least not yet, as they had bigger fish to capture.

The day Eric got with the news of our future journey on the Aurora, a freight boat bound for Canada, it didn't came up as a surprise when we the news broadcasted live the invasion of West Africa by the Confederation. Horrible images of gruesome deaths and bombing were broadcasted daily and, as the country had surrendered to the confederation, they had to show it all, no editing.

We gathered the few possessions we still had, put them on one big suitcase and hugged goodbye our families. It was clear that it might be the last time we saw them, so we were sure to say it loud one last time, in case they died or we died. That was the reality of things.

For one whole day we hitchhiked to the coast. Many men and women were heading there: they thought that there was still a chance to head out of the country as the Confederation hadn't invaded yet. The government, strangely, didn't care or was sure no one would be successful. No one really knew.

I said goodbye to my city too. Bombings and rioting had left the mountains hollow at some points. It had always being a rather grayish city but now that gloomy ambiance was permanent and real.

The rest of the journey was easy: several days on the Aurora, helping the sailors and becoming sailors ourselves. We worked hard, helping with everything but we knew nothing of the sea. We didn't feel relieved when we got to Saint John: we had learned to loved the sea in just those few days and we felt the ocean might be the perfect getaway from the crumbling world around us.

But we had to go on. We were careful as the Confederation had been in control of the territory for quite some time but they still permitted life to go on as normal as it could. For three days, we avoided contact with anyone, hiding in almost destroyed buildings or in the surrounding wilderness. Finally, one night, we entered an oil tanker bound for Reykjavik and prayed for the boat to sail soon.

And it did. They discovered us but we begged for them to let us go as soon as we got to the mainland. Of course, we had to make an agreement: we were slaved for the duration of the journey. Everything from kitchen duties, to moping floors and cleaning bathrooms. I cried every night, wishing all would end. Eric couldn't infuse me with positivism as he felt exactly the same.

We we got to Iceland, we realized the journey wasn't over. The capital was filled with confederates and we needed to avoid them at all costs.

The truth is that we were part of the resistance, the one that existence for just a few weeks before the invasion of our country and the signature of the annexation treaty. A puppet president, a former president to be exact, was established and we became something less than a colony. Eric and I met for the first time after I had put a bomb on an official's car. He saved me from being arrested and I thank him for that up to this day.

We offered our work as fishermen and soon we had steady jobs, fishing herring of the coast. Our boss was a fat oppressive man, but he was fair nevertheless. He never missed a payment and even let us live on one of the boats.

Two months after arriving in Iceland, we were sent to Akureyri, a small port in the north coast. We sailed alone, the two of us in our boss's boat. I think that was when I really fell in love with Eric. The beautiful scenery, the relative calm and the fact that we could finally be open without anyone looking, pointing or eavesdropping, were all ingredients for it.

But life was a bitch with us, with all the letters. In Akureyri we met with the boss's son, who wanted us to fish in some dangerous places. We were obliged to do it as we had no papers and, officially, immigrants were banned. So we did it, we had to use explosives for fishing and I almost blew a hand off when using one.

It all ended one night, after we had arrived from our fishing trip. We were exhausted and in need of food. We didn't had much money so we shared a plate of herring and a beer. And then, again, the looks came back. It was like being in our country all over again. We finished fast and left the place.
A group of men followed us, surrounded us and beat the crap out of us, with a metal pipe and their arms and legs.

We thought that they were going to leave us there, in a dim lit street, but they decided to put us on one of their cars and rode for more than an our. I was on the edge of fainting but couldn't. Eric did faint but he was woken up when they got us out the car, by the road and the started again. They spitted us at the end and one of them peed on our heads. They laughed and threatened us and then they left. I finally fainted, wishing I was dead once again. I thought that if needed, I would kill myself if I woke up.

Sure enough, we didn't died. I woke up to a sniffing and licking dog. He was a shepherd dog. I recognized it as my grandfather had one when I was little. I could only open my eyes a bit but not talk or stand. I couldn't see Eric and I thought of his death. And I cried, with horrible pain all over.

So it happens, the dog's name was Odin, as the norse god. And his owners were farmers. They owned sheep in a small farm near Lake Logurinn. I have no idea how these two elderly people could do it but hey put both of us on the back of their car, alongside bags of manure and dog food. I fainted and had a an awful dream, of the beating and Eric dying. It seemed to go on forever until I woke up.

It was a beautiful little house, made of wood, as if it had been taken out of a fairytale. The room was small, only big enough for a double size bed and a furnishing with some drawers. After I had overcome the pain of my injuries, I noticed Eric sleeping besides me. He wasn't dead. I hugged him, hard, not caring for our physical pain. Him being there was everything.

We recovered slowly but steadily. Antonia and Carl told us we reminded them of their two sons that had left the country to fight the Confederation in Canada, some years ago. They decided to pick us up and help us as they thought of our parents.
We told them our story, nothing edited out of it and they offered us their home and kindness. They lived on the cotton they could sell and asked us for help so we learned the craft and in a few months we became farmers.

It was painful but, in order to fit in completely, I had to change my name. I became Johannes. Eric's name was just perfect, as he was after all that happened. Often alone on the hills and fields, we could really fall in love with each other. sharing every single part of our lives. And we were fine with it. Only taking his hand made me feel safe, even if this place seemed to have been forgotten by the world. The Confederation never came here, we were told by our friends, they only cared for resources and the vicinity was deprived of minerals or anything they would care to steal.

A year after our arrival in the country we were able to build a small house near our friends home. We did it ourselves with stones and wood. I think that helped us regain some trust in ourselves and makes us heal psychologically.

And that was our life. For five years, before the Big Battle, we were happy and everything was perfect. It wouldn't last forever but that wasn't important: we were given time with each other and to heal and I have always being grateful for that.

New Freedom

Official Transcript # 485

Interrogation officer: Please, state your name.

Inmate 3063: My name is Jordan Skye.

I.O: Louder, please.

J.S: I'M JORDAN SKYE!

I.O: Occupation?

J.S: Special agent of the UN special forces unit.

I.O: Can you prove that?

Silence. Jordan sighs.

J.S: Not at the moment.

I.O: Why?

J.S: No papers, man.

I.O: Please sum up the events occurred on September 6th.

J.S: That was the day after the invasion.

I.O: Proceed.

J.S: I was part of a small group that came in with the rebels, on their ships. As they took the city, we had a special priority.

I.O: Which was?

J.S: Capture Minister Sumter.

I.O: What were your orders regarding him?

J.S: Capture and bring him to justice.

I.O: Which justice?

Again, Jordan sighs, tensioned.

J.S: Had to take him to Geneva.

I.O: What happened September 6th?

Jordan fists close, as if imagining the man's neck.

J.S: The rebels were winning. You were winning.

I.O: We know.

J.S: I fucking bet that.

I.O: Keep going.

J.S: My team was composed of seven men and women. Three of them had to secure Sumter. My partner and I were the ones that had to going in his office and take him.

I.O: Partner?

J.S: My husband.

I.O: The new government overruled those rights. Are you aware of it?

J.S: I don't give a shit.

The interrogation officer moves on his chair but doesn't say a word.

I.O: You failed. Why?

J.S: Supporters of Sumter overran me and my team. They started to chase us. I lured them to me in order for my team to be extracted by fellow rebels.

I.O: No report of that on our data.

J.S: Secret operation, genius.

I.O: You were captured by those men, correct?

J.S: That's right.

I.O: Then, you were rescued by the new government on September 10th, correct?

J.S: Rescued is a strong word.

The room feels too cold. Jordan wraps his arms around himself trying to the cold not to diminish his spirit.

I.O: What happened between your capture by those men and your extraction?

J.S: You know what happened. You did the tests.

I.O: Please, sum up for record.

Jordan tries to talk but his mouth feels dry. There's a glass of water on the table but he doesn't take it. He wets his lips with his tongue and talks.

J.S: I was held prisoner in some old barracks or a hangar. I don't really know.

I.O. Hangar A-03, Sumter Military Base.

J.S: Ok... I was tortured by the group of men that captured me.

I.O: Were you visited by Sumter during that time?

J.S: Never.

I.O: What kind of torture were you submitted to?

The man looks at the officer and smiles.

J.S: This is fucked up.

I.O: Please state the nature of...

J.S: They raped me, ok?! They fucked me with a stick or something and tortured me with water and punched and hit me, for hours.

I.O: Were you given food or water?

J.S: What a fucking stupid question.

I.O: What happened on September 10th?

J.S: You people showed up and apparently took me here.

I.O: What happened before that?

Jordan stands up, annoyed.

J.S: None of your business.

I.O: This is a report for the republic. We need...

J.S: You don't need shit!

I.O: Our team extracted a body along with yours. Whose body was it?

Shadows do not allow Jordan to see his interrogator well but he tries to glare at him, hurt.

J.S: You have his body?

I.O: Yes. Who is he?

J.S: You have my husband.

I.O: Those rights were...

J.S: Fuck you! That man got in that airbase and attempted to save me. He did something as you stood there, forgetting what we did to let guys like you keep on living.

I.O: He was unsuccessful.

J.S: They caught him. He was framed. They beat him up in front of me. They made me watch...

Jordan has started crying, in silence.

J.S: Then, they told him because of his bold act he had to see me go. Turns out, right in the moment they were going to kill me, the gang's leader changed his mind and shot him in front of me. I fainted after screaming my lungs out. I woke up here. In this prison.

The interrogation officer stands up and exists the room. Jordan walks to the door but they shut it. He then hears a voice on the speakers.

I.O: Thank you, Jordan Skye. You may go to your cell now.

Another door, on the opposite wall, opens. But Jordan does not walk towards it.

J.S: I told you everything. Let me go now.

I.O: You will be released in due time. Have a good sleep.

Two men enter the room. Jordan tries to fight but they have a needle, the needle he has learned to fear. He slowly falls asleep, letting go, again.