“hello future,”

She walked through the stony path as a man’s jarring voice became muffled with every step. Murky clouds replaced the once golden yellow sky. The man’s voice rose with the harsh winds that tugged the wooden bucket towards the direction of her home. She winces before tightening her grip and continuing to tread towards their backyard until she reaches her destination—the water well. Leaning into the rough walls of the well, she hurriedly ties the container to the rope and warily lowers it. Her eyes followed as it sank into gloomy waters—a black hole that swallowed anything to come near it—until the only trace left of the bucket was the sturdy rope in her hands. As the piece of wood sinks to the bottom, she was soon going to be devoured, too. The water was ruthless. It wasn’t her companion. Refusing to let her mind wander any further, the girl hastily pulls the back up for her thoughts to be quickly replaced by the sight of a bag. How did that get there? She tucks the wet, unknown item into her skirt before lowering the container once again to fill it to the brim. She had to worry about the contents of it later. With both hands hugging the bucket against her chest, she takes the longest strides her frail legs would allow. By the time she reached the door of their cottage, the sky had turned completely dark, allowing the moon to cast shadows upon the isolated town. She takes a deep breath, and finally, opens the door.

e. S ilenc

“Dad went to buy fish at the town market and Mom is inside the bathroom. She said you could leave the bucket by the door.” her brother whispers softly. She pats his head in gratitude and heads in the direction of the bathroom. The girl knocks gently before speaking, “M-mom, the water is here.” “Finally! What took you so long?! I only asked you to fetch water and you can’t even do that without taking so much time!” “I’m sorry...” A loud click of a tongue was heard through the door and the girl took that as a sign to leave. Her breathing chases itself as she scurries to their shared room, immediately grabbing the brown paper bag on her bed and breathing into it. It’s fine, you’re fine. Her pocket seemed bottomless as she tried to reach for the pouch, hoping that it would distract her. An envelope was placed in the bag and inside it was a slightly damp parchment paper with someone’s handwriting. The ink was smudged by the water, some letters fading and turning a lighter color.

To little Alice, I won’t ask how you are doing, for I know how you are. There were some nights when you cried yourself to sleep, hoping the blanket would mask the whimpers and sobs. Other times when you ran out of tears to cry and so you lie awake—forced to listen to thoughts that become louder in the somber silence. Then came that day when you suddenly started gasping for air, breathing rapidly through the painful throbbing in your chest. Oddly enough, the exact opposite would happen the next morning—too much air entering your lungs and you try to convince yourself, “Just one more day.” I know everything. All the deafening voices, the dark colors staining your skin, and you flinching at the smallest noise. They tell you it’s for your own good, that the outside world is far too cruel for them to leave you innocent and untainted. Once you did realize, you couldn’t build the courage and bring yourself to ask for help, fear clawing at your stomach from the thought of losing the only people you ever cared for. Nor did you have the friends to confide in, being taught that, besides your family, all the other people you love will eventually betray and leave you. So you will continue to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders like Atlas, thinking about your younger siblings who barely understood how the world worked. You were once like them and you didn’t want them to end up like you—left on your knees as you spend the rest of your days bearing everything on frail knees. You resented yourself for doing so, of how cowardly your decision was.