By Leighton Tanaka, TIWP Student

Among the stars, cocoons of light ascend released by mourning, shaking, perished hands connected to a slight, bony body drowned in the sky above. As the light of life falls below the surface, these burning, golden lanterns, filled with smiles, calls, shrieks, whispers, and sounds of joy escaping their cracked lips, slowly float through the frail, murky clouds, filling the air with the chiming haunting melody of their swan song.

God save us.
It will be okay, mother.

Standing on the ground peppered with broken glass, under the cosmic sea of hope, blood-stained palms facing the fire, as the hands of time take their wrists, with fingers on the pulse, as they watch the rubble around them cave in.

Daughter, daughter, where have you gone?
I am right here, mother.

Warm bodies slip away, weary eyes, hungry souls, to the heavens they go. But not before passing the lanterns of hope, and cradling one tenderly in their arms, bringing it to their lips and taking a deep breath, and the ephemeral human watches the flame extinguish. The paper balloon plummets back to the ground where they are so far away from heaven they are silent.
It glides down carefully, mockingly, and cracks against the ground with a clang, as their hope turns heavy, the rain begins.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Ancient, anguished cries reverberate through the air, hanging like fog on a hopeless day. As the toll of the iron bell chimes, they breathe in the smoke and fall to their knees.
Empty eyes, empty minds, loving, longing, living, but with bruised bodies and hemorrhages pooling lifeless beneath leaden feet, and grit under fingernails.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
A baby cries in the distance, born in a world not yet over.
How is it not over yet? Please, God, let it end.
Echo, echo, echo. Eyes widen, bodies fall, life begins as it ends, again and again. Unfair, isn’t it?

Daughter? Are you there?
Mom? Mom?
No. Please don’t do this to me.
Mom?
You are not my daughter.
Mom?
Mom?




Stop it.