I wake up like every day and I look at the letter once more. It's not addressed to me, but it is for me. I know this because it is my birthday in a week, and no one else gets these kinds of letters, let alone reads them.
I don't open it.
I don't even touch it with my fingers. I poke it off the table with a fork and into the drawer with all the other unopened letters I have been getting for four years now. The drawer is starting to overflow.
Or maybe it isn't, and I'm just seeing things that aren't there again.
I get dressed and get ready for school.
"Lewis! Food's ready!" I head downstairs to her making breakfast.
"Morning Mom," I say. Her hair is up in a tangled bun, and she's still in her slippers. "You're home today?"
She looks over smiling I can see the fakeness from it though. "Yeah, I feel sick so I'm taking time off."
I take my food and sit down and don't say a word as I eat until I speak up. "Fired again?"
She sighs, then nods. "It's the economy," she says without looking at me. "You know how it is."
We both know how it is, though we pretend not to. We pretend like everything happens for a reason. We pretend because that's what makes it bearable.
"Money's tight, kiddo." She sits down across from me. "Don't make any crazy birthday plans."
"I'm not a kid anymore," I say, pushing my eggs around the plate. "And I don't even like birthdays."
The truth is, I wouldn't know what a normal birthday looked like if it bit me in the face.
Outside, the rain has started up again, a small drizzle that soaks the ground.
"Do you think—" she starts, but I cut her off.
"I'm going to be late," I say, standing up and leaving my half-eaten breakfast behind.
I head to school I get to my locker and open it seeing another letter. "God fuck you council." I toss it in the trash and as I leave the locker room I snap my fingers. "Burn."
When I get home, Mom's still in her pajamas, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book she's not reading. Her eyes follow me as I walk in.
"How was school?" she asks.
"Fine," I say. "Same as always."
She doesn't press. Instead, she gestures toward the kitchen. "I made pasta for dinner."
It's starting to feel like every night is pasta night, cheap noodles with whatever sauce she has left in the pantry. I'm not sure when we last had meat, but we pretend not to notice that too.
"I'll eat later," I say, heading upstairs to my room.
I open the door and go inside locking my door. I turn to look at my desk another letter. "God leave us the fuck alone." I jump on my bed and snap. "Ash."
The letter bursts into flame, the edges curling inwards until it is nothing more than a pile of cinders on the desk. I watch the ash settle, tiny fragments drifting toward the carpet and wonder if I'll even notice this one missing.
When I was younger, I used to think getting these letters made me important. I thought it meant that someone was remembering me on a day everyone else forgot. That was before I knew what they really were.
Before we ran away.
Now the letters are just reminders of how they won't let go.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling, listening to the rain tap against the window. "Mom!"
I wait for her to answer, but only the rain replies. "Did you see any more letters today?" I call out.
A pause, long enough to mean something. "Nothing here!" she finally shouts back.
I reach over and brush the ashes into my hand. They crumble to dust and slip through my fingers. I haven't figured out what to do with them yet. Maybe I'll just start a collection, keep them in a jar like fireflies. "God why can't they leave us alone."
"Lewis?" She knocks softly before trying the doorknob. "You okay?"
"Yeah." My voice is muffled by the pillow, but I don't move it away.
She hesitates. I can almost see her standing there on the other side, hand hovering in the air. "I'm heating up that pasta if you're hungry."
In 30 minutes I end up walking down. "Hey Mom." An awkward silence creeps in until my Mom breaks it.
"I know you don't want to talk about it," she says, warming her hands with the steam rising from the pot, "but we need to decide what we should do if—"
"If they find us?"
Her face tightens at the directness. She focuses on herself stirring the pasta. "They might eventually, Lewis."
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I know."
She plates the food and sets it in front of me, a soft clinking sound as the dish meets the table. "Maybe we should think about going somewhere else."
"It won't make a difference." The words come out before I can stop them.
She sits down across from me, her eyes searching my face for something she's afraid to see. "This time could be different."
"We've tried different." I swirl a forkful of spaghetti around but don't take a bite. "Nothing changes." I pause for a good 5 minutes. "Maybe we should just fight them at this point."
Her eyes widen. "We'd lose."
"We're losing anyway."
"I wish there was another way," she says softly, almost to herself.
I spin my fork against my plate until I drop it on my plate. "There isn't." We hear a distant bell. Me and Mom immediately look at each other.
"Don't answer it," I say.
She opens her mouth, closes it, then nods. The bell rings again, insistent on us to open it. She takes my plate and dumps the pasta back into the pot.
I follow her to the front room. "Go upstairs," she tells me.
"I'm not a kid."
The silence stretches on for a while. "Mom let's just fight them if there just revealing themself now, they may just be scouts we can take scouts."
I see her jaw clench, and something like fear flashes across her face. She reaches a decision. "Together," she says.
Her agreement surprises me. I look at her for a moment then nod.
The bell rings a third time, and we both jump. "EXPLOSION!" A voice calls out sending the door flying.
The wood splinters under the force of it, scattering across the room. Figures appear through the smoke and rain, their silhouettes sharp against the grayness outside.