She told me that the stars were dead. What we saw stretched out above our heads was a burial shroud, soft, velvet, large enough so that the whole universe could share. The lights twinkling, juxtaposing its darkness, were just corpses that didn't know they were dead yet, pretending to still breath and live.
"Are you still awake?"
I turned my head to the left, bringing myself face to face with her. The tips of our nose grazed each other. "What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said. "Just making sure you're still awake." I turned my face back up to the sky. Silhouettes of tree branches shattered its smooth, glassy appearance by fuzzing up the edges, like a phone screen with a spider web of cracks surrounding it. "Would you be upset if I went away?"
These things are ghost stars. If a star four light years away went super nova then no one would know until four years later.
"Huh?"
"There's a resistance, hiding outside of the city, called Rebellion. I want to join."
"Why?"
"Because something is wrong and I want to help fix it."
"What's wrong?"
Silence.
"Tell me, what's so bad in this city that you have to leave it? If something so horrible exists, I want to go with you. I want to help."
"Go home and grab bags of supplies. Anything you think we might need."
I should have known. Looking back at her, framed and cocooned in shades of gray from concrete and cement, the only splash of color coming from the bright red ribbon tied around her throat, tight as a noose and dark as blood in the shadows, she stared forward, not even glancing sideways at me. I left her there, waiting. When I came back, weighted down with two bulging bags, she was gone. Just like I knew she would be. I just wanted to help.
XoX
I am in my room, curled up in the covers on my bed. The lights are off. Thin headphone wires connect into a triangle underneath my chin, making a small knot that tickles my adam's apple. The cord under the knot loosely tumbles towards a small, antique radio. The radio's red eye glows in the dark, blinking as the radio stutters.
"Beware of young girls dressed in odd clothes," the radio's voice warns. It speaks behind a wall of static. "These prepubescent females have been likened to superheros with their costume-like clothes, unusual weapons, and powers. They refer to themselves as 'magical girls.' The only way to individually identify them is by their unnatural hair/eye color and their costume, seeing as they never change clothes. The rest of their features, for the most part, are neutral and nondescript. "
A knock on the door. The radio spits out static as the walls vibrate and send it shuffling on the dresser. "Madoka, Madoka! Can you hear me?" My mother shouts at the door, her voice slipping through the pores in the wall and coming out strained, thin, and muffled on the other side. "Dinner's almost ready. Please come down and eat with the family, dear. I know you're sad because you miss your friend, but you won't help her by hiding in your room. Madoka?"
The radio says "Special news bulletin." The radio's voice gargles and stutters in time with each knock, punching emphasis with each punch from mother's fists. "The worst crime you can commit is in your own head. Stay away from the Rebellion. If you know someone in this illegal cult you are susceptible to guilt by association. And remember, that someone you know is no longer who you think they are."
"Madoka?"
And pressing my fingers into my ears to push the earbuds so snug that I can't hear over the rush of blood, I feel my lips move, forming the words "Be there in a minute mom." Then, almost as an afterthought, "May I go out tonight after dinner?"
The door opens and my mom peeks through the crack. The sudden brightness burns my eyes. "What," she says. There's a slight lilt at the end of the word but it's not a question.
"You're right," I say, trying to smile, trying to giggle, but they both come out nervous instead of light and airy. I yank the end of the cord and both earbuds come out with a pop. They swing, knocking against each other. A ball of earwax sticks to the rim of one of them. "I haven't been out in a long time. I should get some fresh air. I promise to be back before dark."
My mother stands in the doorway, afraid to cross over. Afraid of me. Afraid for me. "Alright," she agrees. "Hurry up and come down." She closes the door behind her. The dark soothes my eyes. I pick the wax off of the earbud and roll it between my thumb and forefinger. Rolling until it looses its stick. Until the amber turns black. Then I let it drop to the floor.