Leaving - End of Issue 3

The stars are still out when you make the decision.

Your mother is asleep.

So is Norah, her breathing shallow but steadier now. Her body curled beneath the jacket, face turned toward the warmth.

You sit between them, knees pulled up, your rifle across your thighs.

The weight in your chest is too familiar now. A blend of guilt and responsibility.

You exhale softly and begin to move.

Quiet. Efficient. Final.

You take your rucksack and unpack it, laying the last of the rations near the firepit. Water. Half a field med kit. Bandages. Matches. A flare, in case they need to signal.

Then, slowly, you unclip your rifle, crack open your vest, and pull the last of your mags from the pouches—checking each one, fingers moving like clockwork.

Three full. One half. It'll have to be enough.

You don’t say goodbye. You don't need to.

You just stand, sling your gear, and begin the descent down the ridge.

Every step away from them feels like it takes a piece of you. But the village is calling. Your people are calling.

They need you now, too.

So you go.

Alone.

Through the silence. Through the shadows.

Back toward the war.