Those humans. Always thinking they’re better than us, living in their giant boxes and walking around on their hind legs. Now look at them. Hovering by my dinner and making loud noises at each other.

The girl looks angry. Good! I’m angry with him too. He’s always shooing me away from the metal can where he stores the best food. Yesterday, he threw a rock at me. My shoulder still hurts from that.

She pushes him hard and he bumps into the metal can. It topples over, and out goes the most delicious waterfall of colors. Push him again! Maybe something else good will happen.

I slink my way over to the pile on the ground and dig around a bit. I don’t look up until I hear a door slam shut. The girl is gone but the boy is still standing there and running his front paws through his hair.

I grab my finds and scurry away. I hope he doesn’t see me and throw another rock. I might drop my dinner.

You’re a butcher, Cutting here, slicing there, Removing pieces that Don’t require

Your touch.

Let’s be honest You’re good at it, Intangible wounds You’ve inflicted by

Your words.

But I think It’s your absence That hurts most. A painful silence.

You’re gone.

I settle on the wooden bench along the wall. The sun spills through the bay window on my right, interrupted by passersby heading to work. Droplets race down the glass, flickers of light captured within them. How rain falls while the sun still shines I’ll never know.

It’s quiet here. In the other room, muffled sounds of creation mix with vague voices and laughter. I place my notebook on the table in front of me and take a deep breath. Smells of earth, cocoa, and sugar cane fill my lungs. The rain stops but the remnants on the glass remain. With a smile to a stranger who sits close by, I open my book and lift my pen. All the pieces are falling into place, and inspiration is rising.

Think, brain, think. What should I write? There’s a word I learned today, something that rhymed with earth. Birth, surf, serve, hors d’oeuvre. Oh, that’s not even English. And you call that a rhyme?

Try again, brain.

Dearth! Ah yes, there it is. The word of the hour - but what does it mean? Come on, now. You can’t remind me of a stupid word without coming up with the meaning too. Honestly, brain, why do I keep you around?

Oh! It means an inadequate supply of something.

Brain, I’m afraid you have a dearth of important things to write about.

I feel them rolling Down my cheeks, But I don’t know why.

Think, think, but nothing Comes to mind. What brought them to my eyes?

I guess, sometimes, The body remembers What the mind forgets.

So let them flow, Feel the relief Of yesterdays tears.

I am made entirely of flaws, Stitched together By good intentions.

From friends, I painfully withdraw When desperately I need direction.

I looked at mirrored me and saw A boy with promise But poor complexion.

Red-stained hand and chiseled jaw, What good is a man Without recognition?

I am entirely made of flaws Stitched together By good intentions.

A forgotten mess of hay and straw Left outside As decoration.

Cards in hand, Faces stilled. Ancient rules And hardened wills.

Fighting death, Not by choice. Lost my breath Found my voice.

Time is short, Make your move. Ticking clock Time to prove

Who you are, Where you’ve been, Where you’ll go Before the end.

Close your eyes Breathe it in. Feel it rise To the brim.

Victory Close at hand, Draw the line In the sand.

Now it’s time. Finish him. End the game. Smile and win.

Caden looked up at the starry sky. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and now a million pricks of light danced above him.

“Does the sun get lonely up there?” he asked. “I mean during the day. All the other lights run away when he comes around.”

Father shifted on the blanket before speaking. “I suppose you’re right,” the man said. His voice was deep but hushed. “But maybe they don’t run away. They stay right there behind the sun and cheer him as he goes by.”

“But I see them moving. Look,” said the boy as he pointed to the sky. “They’re all running away.”

“Of course they’re running away. They’re playing tag, and the Sun is it!” Two large hands wrapped around Caden’s waist and tickled him furiously. “Stop!” he giggled.

After a moment, Father spoke again. “Don’t worry about old Mister Sun. He may never catch up with those stars, but he’s got you and me for company every day.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Caden said. He listened to Father name the constellations, then they went inside as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Do you get lonely down here?” he asked as Father carried him up the stairs.

“Sometimes,” the man said.

“Do you miss mommy?”

“Always.”

“Me too.”

I see them standing there, swaying side to side, feverishly tapping their feet. A long line of bright, young faces. Some of them are my friends. I wish I was standing there with them, waiting to write my name on the volunteer sheet. Do they know how badly I want to fight? Do they realize what I’d give for the Commonwealth? But I can’t fight. “Unfit for duty,” they said. Now I have to watch my friends ascend into glory without me.

It’s not fair.

…

I see them standing there, feverishly tapping their feet. A terrible line of bright, young faces. They remind me of old friends, long gone. I wish they were here with me now, but they died long ago. These young men and women, do they know what they’re fighting for? Do they realize what this Commonwealth asks of them? No, they don’t see the final cost of war. I watched my friends descend into bloodshed and death without me. Now these bright, young faces will do the same.

It’s not fair.

Morning sprung, the soldiers Were gone.

Outside, nothing left But long trails Of mud and blood.

Our land is poisoned, But darkness Has abandoned us.

Morning has come, the soldiers Are gone. And so we step timidly Into the dawn.

Forever changed, But together We remain.