Haven

Prologue

When Edmund was a boy, his mother would stroke his hair and tell him stories of the world before the war. She would lay in bed with him, and he could still feel how his head of hair pressed against her protruding collarbones, as she whispered into his ear all the stories of the world outside the walls.

"Listen, bambino," She would say, and her voice sounded like bird song, "When I was your age, before the war still raged outside of the city, and before the skies were filled with smoke and fire, there was a peace so great you could taste it. Carnivals and festivals and movie premieres and red carpet coverage and the ocean."

"What's a carnovol, Mama?" Edmund asked, his eyes big but full of sleepiness.

"Car-ni-val, bambino," She corrected. "It was like, hmm, like a big show! Full of exotic animals and people of all kinds, doing tricks and amazing feats of bravery for our entertainment and laughter. Every color of the rainbow laid right before your eyes in ruffled skirts and sashes and ribbons."

"What kind of animals, Mama?" Edmund felt so sleepy.

"Well, let me show you," She said, pulling out her tablet from her pocket and speaking into the microphone. "Elephant." Suddenly, pictures of a strange wrinkled grey creature appeared, it's nose so long it looked like arm arm out of its face, and horns curled out of its mouth and into the sky. Edmund's eyes opened a little wider. "That's an... elephant?"

"Good job, Ed, yes! That's an elephant. But what's so amazing is, elephants? They're as big as our kitchen."

"Liar!" Edmund said, laughing, "There's no way!"

She tickled him, and he shrieked with laughter. "I'm not lying, you rascal! They're as big as a room, bigger, even! Tall as the living room ceiling."

"No way!"

"Yes, amore mio, yes."

After telling her stories, she would sing to Edmund until he couldn't stay awake anymore, and sleep always came so fast when she sang the reaping song.

A head of hope,
Blossoms in the trees,
Listlessly calls out,
To both you and me.
We bound towards the trunk,
Fall to our knees,
And pray that the war
Will end by Tiding's Eve.
But when that head of hope
Sheds its little leaves
That fall onto us
The realization sinks:
War is to end
But there is just one thing
That can end all the death,
End all our misery:
Lay down your arms,
Open up your mind
For the War is to End,
When we lead love to shine.

Edmund would pretend he was asleep as his mother shuffled from the bed, kissed his head, and made her way for the door. "Goodnight, bambino," She would whisper. "Dream of elephants and the end of war, and one day, you'll make it happen. I know it." The door would close.

The last time he saw his mother was on a night like that. But he didn't dream of elephants that night, and when he woke up, she was gone.