The apartment was more of a box, really. More of a box than an actual home. It could fit Alena and it could fit her brother Kumiko and not many people else. Their parents had once lived here too, which made the little hut much more crowded but much more homely. But it couldn't fit many people. That was okay. The hallway was large enough. Was large enough to fit all the people in the floor in. If only because it was long, its length making up for its lack of width. It often felt like the building itself was their house, and not just their one room. 

Kumiko knew that they should not get too comfortable. That the building could collapse at any time. They could be bombed and then, and then what? They would have to leave this place that had come to be home, they would have to leave these people who had come to be home. And they would have to start over again somewhere else. If they even survived the bombing, that is. They might not survive that. They might die at any moment. 

And he knew that his sister knew that too. His sister, Alena, was just six years old. Just six. Far too young to be thinking about dying. Too young to be thinking of her friends dying, of her home getting blown to bits. She was too young for the constant hunger that spread its corrosive fingers through all her experiences, too young to be constantly struggling to survive. But this was what she was faced with, what she had to deal with whether she wanted to or not. 

Kumiko wished he could give his sister a better life. His sister who he loved more than anything in the world. All their many neighbours wished they could give these orphans a better life as well. They were, all of them, glued together. Glued by bonds of desperation and love. And they tried to make each others' lives as bright as they possibly could. 

Alena felt at home when she was with her brother. She felt at home when she was with her neighbours. She knew that the war all around them wanted to take everything from her, wanted to take every security that she had. And she didn't have security. Not really. Every night bombs fell. Every day there was rubble and hunger. There were soldiers patrolling the streets. But she still felt strong, she felt soothed, she felt at home when she was with her people. 

Alena awoke before Kumiko one day, as she so often did. She got up from the clay floor she was lying on with her brother. The electric blue shine of the just-before-dawn seeped in through their narrow window. The sky was filled with promise, and the ground was filled with rubble. There was something destroyed about the world at that moment. But there was also something alive, and something tranquil. 

"Kumiko. Wake up. It's morning." She gently shook her brother, rousing him from his sleep. Kumiko's eyes were weary, just as they always were. And they were tender, just as they always were when he looked at his sister. 

"Hi, little bird," he whispered. "How was your sleep?"

"I had nightmare again," she stated. 

"I'm so sorry. I wish I could make it better." Alena often had nightmares. It was a side effect of living in a war zone. 

"It's okay. I could cuddle you. And that made me feel so so much better." 

"You're so sweet." Kumiko gave her a tired smile. 

"You are too."

"Aww, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"So, we should get going, should we not?" Kumiko began. "I'm sure you're hungry. And there's food in the childcare centre."

"I am hungry."

"Let's go, then."

There was no food in the house. There was rarely ever food in the house. Kumiko's day job as a mechanic paid enough for rent, paid enough for meagre rice and lentils for him, but Alena got her food at the childcare centre run by the Allitian military, one of the two militaries battling it out in their home. The food at the childcare centre was more plentiful and more nutritious, and for that Kumiko was glad. 

The two siblings brushed each others hair with their fingers, rinsed their mouths, and went out to go face the world. They walked down the broken streets, the broken streets made of dust, the broken streets filled with too-thin, ragged people with desperation in their eyes. The people were all like them. They were all devastated in their souls. 

There were also soldiers walking through the streets. These soldiers were muscular, were armed with camouflage and guns, were filled with hatred and harshness in their eyes. They were not fighting, thank the gods. They were not fighting here. Instead, they were keeping an eye on the common population. They were making sure that the common people were following the rules, were staying in line, were not causing trouble. 

There were many ways to cause trouble on the streets. One could, for example, be saying things against the military, or against the war. People could be gathering together. They could be singing. They could be trying to steal from the soldiers. They could be distributing banned literature. They could be chanting, anything really. They could be telling each other classified information. They could be getting into the bomb-proof trucks the soldiers used. The soldiers had to make sure they weren't doing that. 

Alena was terrified of these soldiers that prowled up and down the streets. Kumiko was afraid as well. That's why they held on tightly to each other. That's why they walked closely together, clinging to each other, finding shade in each other's shadows. They saw each other as a force field against the world, though they each knew that the other provided meagre protection against the soldiers. 

But Kumiko wanted to protect his sister as much as he could, and Alena knew that. 

Thankfully, the soldiers did not accost the small family today, and they were able to drag their aching feet across the aching streets and get to the childcare centre. 

The childcare centres was a sturdy building, one built to withstand bombs. The Allitian military did not really care about the civilians in the war. That should be evident, seeing how they regularly bombed people. It should be evident seeing that they regularly captured and tortured ordinary civilians. But they wanted to seem like the good guys. So every once in a while they did something nice for the civilians there. For example, this childcare centre, which had some education but not enough, which had some food but not enough, which had safety. It was rare, to get a spot in a place like this. Kumiko knew he should be grateful. 

"I'll miss you," Alena pouted at her brother, not wanting to let go of his hand. 

"Don't worry, I'll come pick you up at the end of the day," the brother consoled, crouching down to her eye level. "I have to go to work. You know that I have to go to work. I have to make money. I'll see you at the end of the day, I always do."

"Okay," Alena responded, worry in her voice. She did this every day. She acted as if her brother would not come back for her. But he always did. 

"Come on, young Alena," the strangely pale and well-fed Allitian woman inside the building called to her. "We've missed you. We're going to have another fun day!" All the Allitians were strangely pale. They had pale skin and pale eyes and pale hair. They were strangely happy, never being able to see the energy of the people around them. 

Alena's brother smiled at her, and he walked away. Alena looked at him for a second, feeling as if he would never come back. She was so afraid. She was so, so very afraid. Losing her brother was her worst fear. It has always been her worst fear. And it was a fear that made her feel like her heart was being constricted in her chest, like she couldn't breathe, like all that she was was being ripped off of her bleeding soul. 

But Kumiko did come back. He came back in the evening, as he always did. And Alena was hungry. And she missed him. She smiled widely when she saw him. She smiled like a small child. She was a small child. But it was seldom that she could smile like one. She went to go hug him. But she could not. 

"Kumiko," the Allitian lady pressed, "come with me. I have to talk to you in private."

Fear flashed across Kumiko's eyes but he did what he had to do. He followed the orders of the woman, face drawn with darkness. 

"What is it?" the brother asked the pale lady when they were in a small room lit with dim flourescent ceiling lights in long rows. 

"It's nothing bad. Don't worry. Your sister has been doing very well in her lessons. She's very smart."

"Thank you." Kumiko knew that Alena was smart. He had known that for years. He was just sorrowful that he could not give her a proper education. 

"She is exceptionally bright," the woman continued, "and that makes her a perfect candidate for adoption to a nice Allitian family."

Kumiko's eyes went wide. Mostly in horror. 

"If she were adopted," the lady explained, "she would be able to live in Allitia. She would be safe from the war, and she would be well fed and well nourished. She would have access to good healthcare, and would have a bright future ahead of her. What do you say?"

"Will I be able to come with her?" he asked.

"No, of course not. The adoption placement is for her alone. You are far too old. But you are her guardian right now, and we need your permission before shipping her to the homeland."

Kumiko thought about it. He really did think about it really hard. He thought about how amazing it would be if Alena was safe and well-educated and well provided for. That was his wildest dream. It was everything that he wanted for her, coming to fruition. And it was such a special chance, a chance to get her out of this accursed country plagued by endless wars and famines and pestilence. 

But he thought about what Alena would want. He thought about what Alena would need. And he knew, he knew deep in his heart, that being separated from her brother would be the worst thing possible for her. He knew that it would be beyond devastating to her, that it would drown her in sorrow from which she would never be able to rise. 

"I'm sorry," Kumiko started, "but she belongs with me."

"You are letting go of an incredible opportunity," the lady countered. 

"I know. But she needs to be with her family." 

"If you ever change your mind, let me know. There will always be an opening for her."

"Okay."

"What did she talk to you about?" Alena asked Kumiko when they were finally reunited. 

"Oh, nothing," Kumiko lied. "Nothing important." He didn't want his sister to worry. He didn't want her to worry that he could abandon her. 

But, as they walked hand and hand down the broken, dusty streets, Alena knew that something was wrong. She knew that something was very deeply wrong. But she could not do anything about it. She felt so lost, so helpless. But at least, she thought, she did not feel alone. She did not feel alone and that was what was the most important. She clung to her brother even harder, walked even closer to him, as they made their way home. 

Kumiko kept thinking about the offer that the woman had given him. He wondered if he was making the right choice. He clung to Alena. But he had his doubts. 

When they got back into the building, their neighbours greeted them heartily. 

"How are you doing, Alena?" young Eojay asked her, brightness in his dark-drenched eyes. 

"Not too good."

"I understand," Ameni responded. "It's hard, living like this. You're alive at least. We all are. That's good."

"But what about Raya and Jayvali and Parthi? And Raybanna and Layto?" Alena asked. These people used to be neighbours. They were dead now. Raya killed by a stray bullet, Parthi was beaten to death by the soldiers, Jayvali was killed in a bombing at their workplace. They were all far too young to die. Raybanna and Layto had both been babies when they died, and they died of illnesses that their parents could not afford to see doctors for. The undernourishment that everyone faced also likely played a part in making them sick. 

"I miss them too!" Little Kata added in. 

"I know you both miss them, sweethearts. We all do. So much. Hopefully they're somewhere better," Saki stated. She held a squirming baby Kabi in her arms. "And we will be able to see them again. I promise."

"And how's the brother doing?" Karlti asked. 

"Fine," Kamiko responded, but there was something deeply perturbed in his eyes, something deeply disturbed. But thankfully, the neighbours did not press the issue any further. Kamiko accepted the sleeping toddler Cayjay into his arms from Ameni.

"Do you want to hear a story?" Karlti asked the small crowd gathered in the hallway. They were met with a chorus of resounding yesses. 

"There was a rabbit one day," they started. "A rabbit that lived in a city where there wasn't any food."

"Like us!" young Eojay exclaimed.

"Yes!" Saki replied.

"Anyways," Karlti continued, "the rabbit was very hard pressed for money. But they did not have any. The rich people in the city loved dining on their fine cakes and pastries, and they always wanted more flavourings. One day, the rabbit got an idea. They pooped onto the ground. And they put that poop on a plate. And told the rich people that it was an expensive, rare form of chocolate with a distinct taste."

Everyone started laughing. And the laughter was resounding. They knew what would happen next. And it was resoundingly filling. They wanted to know what would happen next in the story.

"What's next?" Kata pressed.

"The rich people tasted the 'chocolate' and they thought it was a very strange flavour indeed," Karlti responded. "But they though, this must be what the most expensive and rare chacolate tastes like. So they payed the rabbit many silver and gold coins for the 'delicacy.'"

There was more laughter all around. 

"If only we could do that with the soldiers," Kumiko spoke. 

"Would they be that dumb?" Eojay asked. 

"Of course they would be!" Alena answered.

The people, the neighbours, the family of bonds, they continued talking in their little hallway. Trying desperately to make each other believe that in that tiny moment, they were safe. Trying to make each other feel as though they could protect each other. Though, in truth, they could protect each other in a way. They could protect each other's hearts and minds and souls. And that was the best kind of protection that there was. 

Eventually, everyone retreated into their individual tiny shacks. And they talked amongst themselves. 

"I really liked that story," Alena told her brother. 

"Karlti's very creative, are they not?"

"Yes, they really are. And very funny too!"

"You're really funny too!"

"Aww thanks. You're really funny too. We're all really funny."

"Well, we have to be, don't we?"

"I like jokes. They make everything worth it."

"Do they really?"

"Being with you and everyone else makes everything worth it."

Kumiko thought once again about the lady's offer. 

Eventually the two siblings went to bed, cuddled close together for heat, for strength, for an entirely psychological sort of safety. And they went to sleep for one more night. When they woke up, the sky was dark.