Processing

It may have been 3 months or so since my grounding started when I woke up from the first nightmare. The electric blue blood dripping down my knife, fizzing against my wrist. My own blood running like water from a river, frigid and fast. The words the Hil spoke to me. Earth. Earth the planet? What humans were coming? Where was I supposed to run to? Where was Dad? And Rain? And Still? Why does mom keep looking at me like that? Like I’m going to die tomorrow? I wiped sweat from my head and sighed. It was summer, and the building was scorching. A perfect time to make use of the cold box in the back of our home. I opened the heavy door and sat in the musty wet room. Dad joked about his parent's drinking alcohol in one of these rooms after the “end of the world”. It was only a fraction of a degree cooler but that was enough to make a difference on a morning like this. Mom joined me shortly after and we sat together wondering silently. I wondered what her wonder was, but I didn’t ask.  

We hadn’t spoken much recently. After I came home, she had been emotionally distant, but physically more present than ever. “Mom?” I remember starting “What’s going to happen now?”  

Killing a Hil was never ever supposed to happen. I might as well have stabbed my own mother. She understood it was an accident, and I hoped the Hil did too but that didn’t seem to fix things. Hils were sacred, if anything on the dusty orange horizon was anymore. They were seen as helpers to the worms, helpers to the armadillos who needed a break. A peaceful, mutual force that dared not intervene. They felt nothing short of love for all that lived, and will live here. And I had wounded, possibly killed one.  

I had to know. Then and there. Did the Hil live. I stood and kissed mom’s head. “I have to know. If nothing happens while we are here then we will be here forever. If nothing happens when I leave then we will know we are safe.” Mom grabbed my shoulder with a force I had never felt out of her before. It scared me. She stared up at me with silent, strong protest and yanked me back to the ground. I sat and she spoke clearly, slowly, and carefully “Dirt, you will not leave this building until I come home.” She hugged me, I hugged back and refused to let her go. She stole for the door and called out “Stay put. I love you.” ‘I love you’. Something she said so often, but she never said it with as much feeling as that moment.