Chad Transtrum

Mirena squeezed her arms around him. His body was shaking, his head was hot, and his face was wet with a combination of perspiration and tears. He tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but she held him tightly, repeating softly over and over, “It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re all right. I’ve got you.” Within a few minutes he stopped the squirming, and a few minutes later the crying had all but stopped as well. She held him quietly then, listening as he gulped in deep drafts of air. Finally his body seemed to melt into hers and his breathing became more steady. She kept him pressed up against her for a few more minutes until, convinced he was asleep, she rolled away from him and back onto her own pillow.
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Korvin eased the brakes on. It had been a long haul, and he was glad to be at the end of it. Although he had been driving for over 12 years now and considered himself the equal of any other driver out there, this particular stretch was quite a challenge. The desert was flat, hot, and unchanging. The road was straight for the better part of 300 kilometers, with perhaps a little bend near the midpoint and then another stretch just as boringly long. No matter how many times he made the pull, he always felt a little groggy by the time he reached the processing facility.
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“I don’t remember my grandparents at all.” Yrial lay on her back, the invigorating smell of the fresh cut grass surrounding her. Spring was at a peak, and she loved being out in it, drinking it in, letting it caress its way over her body, filling her senses. Eloa sat beside her in the park. She smiled up at him. Although he seemed to appreciate her love for nature, he apparently didn’t fully share it. He’d accompany her, but he always held back a little. He wasn’t quite as free as she liked to be.

“Not at all?” he asked her.
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It wasn’t until lunchtime that he caught up with Yrial. She had beat him in line and was already seated at their usual spot when he hurried over with his tray.

“I had another dream last night,” he said quietly to her as he slid into his seat.

She looked over at him, her eyes alive. “What was it?”
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Eloa opened and then closed his mouth. His eyes shot up to the ceiling, then down to his hands folded awkwardly in his lap. He unclasped his hands and set them down again, one on each leg. “I, uh…” he stammered.

“I’m not making you nervous, am I?” Thrrivel asked. He was getting to this boy. That was a good sign.

“These aren’t the sort of questions I was expecting,” he said, looking up to meet Thrrivel’s eyes. Thrrivel stared coolly back.
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Eloa glanced at his sandwich. Olive loaf? He choked down the single bite he had taken from it. He grabbed his cup and quickly took a gulp, washing most of it down. Bits of it stuck to his teeth, though, and it was all he could do to keep from gagging as he forced his tongue to work them out and swallow them. He leaned back on the blanket and glanced up at the clouds.

“It sure is pretty today,” he announced.

“You don’t like your sandwich,” his mother said. It wasn’t a question.

“My sandwich is great. I’m just not feeling all that hungry today.”
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As they had done for the past two weeks, Eloa walked Yrial to her apartment, and as they had done for the past two weeks, Yrial stopped him at the doors.

“Thanks for walking me home,” she said to him. “I can find my way from here.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her.

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You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve heard about it. You’ve studied it your whole life. You think you understand it. But until you find yourself out there, surrounded completely by the blackness, you can’t truly know it. You don’t know how you’ll react. It’s possible you may even be fine. But if you’re at all like most of us, at all like me, you’ll crumble under the oppressive weight of eternal night.
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Briggin terminated the call and shook his head. Every mother thinks her kid is the smartest the world has ever seen. He went back to his breakfast—a cup of black coffee and a glazed donut, both delivered fresh this morning—and purposefully ignored the quiet tone that told him he’d received an urgent message. He glanced up only long enough to verify that it was from Mirena. As if he had time to drop everything to look at a picture colored by an eight-year-old. He had enough to worry about these days.
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