I struggle along, trying to reach my goal. All I need is to reach that house before they find me. I see them in the distance, nasty dogs sniffing out my scent.

They look up and bark. I can hear it even from here, 2 kilometres away.

I turn and run. I don’t have much energy left. Why keep going, anyway? My dearest may not have even reached it. The house is still 1 kilometre away. They are only half of one, and going faster than I. My will to keep running is drained. I may as well be dead.

I almost collapse. Just as I’m about to fall, a parrot flys by me. They are incommensurable this far north, but they can be messengers, due to their being clever mimics.

It tilts its head. “Mom,” it says in my son’s voice, “I’m at the safe house. Please come. You can’t give up. See you soon.

-love, Sammy.

PS, I miss you.”

Message delivered, it turns and flies.

I find the strength to push on. I start jogging. I twist my ankle, but I don’t stop. I take one step…two… three. One… two…three.

I keep going. Somehow I reach the house. They are only a few minutes away. I clamber onto the porch. They can’t see the safe house. I’m safe.

My son walks outside and lifts me up into a hug.

“I knew you could do it,” he whispers, his six year old self able to lift me up,

“Are you ok?”