There’s a fly trapped in my suit. It buzzes on and on trying to discover an escape. Sorry fly I don’t think so. The buzzing sound is annoying. I can’t do anything about this but wait it out. I tried killing it in a strange kind of way. I tried forcing my body against the armor in the hopes that I would kill it.

After half an hour I gave up. The fly doesn’t want to die. But it can’t live this way either. How long do flies live for? For a month? For a day? What about if it has no food, or water, or fresh air? It should be dead by now, shouldn't it? The fly was apparently interested in the dead burnt skin. I wonder how bruised my frail body has gotten. I can’t take it anymore. Something inside me snapped viciously. I cry out. It’s not even about this fly. I desperately wish it was. It’s not even about my charred body. 

I miss my dear friends. Rachel and Titan. I miss them so much. Rachel desperately needs me. Rachel actually needs me. At long last, it’s not the other way around. And I can’t do anything about it. I’m in the middle of nowhere. And for all, I know she could be dead. This whole time I was telling myself I was fighting for me. To keep me alive. But that wasn’t the truth. I don’t know when the truth inevitably changed. But all I desperately wanted to do was to help her reach her former self. To help her get back the piece of herself that was missing. 

The fly left my armor. Mother Nature requests me to kill the fly as it flies erratically around me. Instead, I get the most peaceful weapons I can discover hidden around me. I take a cup and a napkin; I catch the fly and give her the cup. 

She asked me why I did that. I think critically about the right way to word my answer.

"If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just being alive and not bothering anyone. I merely hope I am greeted with the same kind of mercy."

I had a wall between my loyal friends and me. But slowly, they’ve torn down that wall. There was an overwhelming flood behind that wall. But they are taking it down, brick by brick and with each removal of a stone of separation, a little bit of the water flows out. Any faster, and they will be swept away by the raging sea that is my tragic past. Any slower and I will drown alone. But I can breathe again, thanks to them.

The elderly woman gently kisses me and radically transforms into a considerably younger woman. 

“What was that?” 

“Look at yourself.” Some of my visible wounds have been improved. 

“I did as much as I could. But you should feel much more rejuvenated at least.” 

I stretch and move aimlessly around a bit. 

By Cristina Collazo