Sere had tried to say goodbye.
In the fireplace lay the ashes of a letter that urged her to flee immediately. It had arrived by runner, handed to Sere by an out-of-breath girl with road-dust all up the front of her skirt.
The letter was from Jeska White. Make goddamn haste, for they come after you with deadly intention, it said. Please take care, it ended.
The first version of this story was written more than five years ago, when I was barely done being teenager and the news was alight with the protests of the Arab Spring. I picked it up to revise it while protesters marched in Ferguson.
It’s a story with a happy ending, and it’s about people in power, not those being oppressed, but it’s the only story I could write, and I’m very glad that it was published at Beneath Ceaseless Skies this June.