Lighthouse [Through the Looking Glass]

Abuela Marisol was the one that had made you pray. When you had a cold, you prayed. When you wanted the crops to come in full, you prayed. And when you sat in the middle of the night, hoping the knock at the door was nothing but the wind, you prayed extra. To whom it was never quite clear—Abuela Marisol was a mystic more than a follower of anyone—but that there was something stronger than anything on this earth was the only thing certain. You would be protected just as long as you were good, and you prayed. Because you were young and she was the wisest person you knew, it was easy to believe. After all, what sort of world would it be if things didn’t happen for a reason?

The lunch room was far more of a warzone than the training center floor. You dreaded the long walk along the lines, if only because there were so many faces that would stare back. Tables were lined with ones that had already found protection; others were already plotting revenge for slights that you didn’t know existed. You were ghost walking along the sea, ready to be swallowed up by the surf and never seen again. The smile that you plastered upon your face did little to hide the energy underneath. You twisted your index finger between your ring finger and thumb, waiting for the salad to be piled onto your plate.

There was one thing that could calm your nerves and put steel back into your spine. Between your fingers you squeeze the long chain of your abuela’s necklace, the one thing that was to serve both for protection and a reminder of home. Pray, and twist the beads, and then pray, and pray, until you can’t twist them anymore, mmm? You can see her tiny little shawl wrapped body waving a bony finger at you. Munching away at the greens on your plate, you place the long silvery chain alongside the table, close your eyes, and begin to think. You think about how when you volunteered, it was for everyone else. You think about how there are too many people here. You wonder whether or not you’ll fall in seconds, minutes, or last a few days before being snuffed out.

And you think, and think, until you hear the clatter of a tray at the table. You open your eyes and give your best smile. “C-can I help you?”