Black Labyrinth

Life As We Know It

When I was little, I owned this book about stars and constellations. I can't count how many times I read through that whole book, front to back. I don't know why it was so impactful, why I needed to see the stars in person. So, I would slide myself out of bed after my parents had said goodnight and I thought I was being sneaky, I'd tip-toe over to the window, move the curtains and slide open the screen.

I'd do this every night for maybe a month, hoping I might see the stars for myself. Every once in a while I'd hear a little creak, the floor teasing me about my routine, of course I would freeze up. I'd do it every night. I'd lie there pretending I'm sleeping, you know as you do when you're a mischievous ten year old. Slide, tip-toe, freeze up and then open the window.

I never saw the stars, but it didn't stop me from trying, every night like clockwork. I think I was convinced that those were all bad nights and with just enough patience I'd finally catch them on a good night. Bargaining with myself, with this idea of what seeing the stars will mean.

So one night, you know same routine and I'm already at the window. I guess Mom came back in to check on me, she didn't announce it or anything. Instead, she walked up and got down on her knees beside me and we just stared out the window together.

"Looking for the stars?" She asked while she smiled at me from the side. With a little crick in my neck I responded, "Yeah."

"Do you know why you haven't seen the stars?" Her hand now placed on my back, running her fingers gently back and forth.

"No." This time I look over at her, she's still smiling but she doesn't turn her head away from the view.

"You can't see the stars from here. They're up there, but we just can't see them."

"Why?"

"There are too many lights coming from this island, from the whole city. They say this is the city where dreams come true, because we make our own lights here," she said it with a beautiful smile.

A beautiful smile, I looked for it in the smoke. The dripping exhaust created a horrifying rhythm.

You still can't see the stars, and the lights are barely running anymore.

Guess the dream is dead.

"Marcus."

I dozed off. Let my mind slip into a spell, replaying everything up to this point. If it weren't for the constant reminders otherwise, this could have been a dream.

A delicate nightmare.

"Marcus."

His voice got closer. I could see the shadow taking shape in my peripheral. I was facing the entrance of the town. A barricade of broken cars attached to a makeshift gate, that functioned using a pulley.

We lived on the Island of Manhattan.

Everything on the inside of the perimeter we named Fort Washington. The name of the city housing projects in what was once known as Washington Heights. We requisitioned the project buildings, claimed it as our own. Housing those who needed protection, people who couldn't fight, who still had a chance but no longer had the strength or will.

He was in front of me now.

His eyes were always the first thing to grab my attention, like small jewels of Jade popping out at me. He had his long brown hair tied up neatly in a knot.

It was Allen.

His arm extended out to me, with a pistol in his hand.

"You ready?" He smirked. Behind him I could see a group waving us over. I grab the gun.