The days are slowly getting longer. The shadows are outrunning the stars. Veils of a stone keep and funeral incense fluster the black birds on the wire in a world left unkempt by savage people. The boy taps on black smudged keys on a keyboard that no longer works. He turns away from his blown-out computer and casts a glance toward the window. The way soft light hits the Earth makes his guts tumble. He’s always been moved by scenes of dusk and the polished versus the unpolished. The radiance versus the radiated. Streams of glowing black moon, the acrobats up there doing drills in preparation for another war. In an empty socket the boy plugs it in—his rechargeable gun. He watches, but nothing happens. He knew that, but somehow, he was still hopeful. But all he wants to do is color in a coloring book from the streets of Santa Fe with paper that smells like real life. The box of crayons sits on a shelf above his desk. It’s covered in dust. He pulls it down, blows, and makes a retracting face as the dust explodes all around him. The boy suddenly realizes he can do whatever he wants. His head is in the window again. The vacant trees are now black against the bruise-blue sky. It’s time to gather the lanterns from their hiding places… And be quiet doing it.

By

Aaron Echoes August