"Kumiko, wake up," Alena whispered. "It's morning."

"Hi, sweetheart."

They went out for the day, just as all the other residents in their block did. They started walking in the directions they needed to go. 

"You, there!" a soldier shouted at the pair. "Where are you going?!" He wasn't Allitian, this soldier, which meant that he looked a bit more like the civilians. But not much. He was much more strongly built and muscular. 

"I'm just dropping my sister off and then going to work," Kumiko replied timidly, submissively. 

"Not without showing me your papers you're not!" the soldier barked out with hatred in his voice. Kumiko was not too worried about this. He always carried their papers in a small bag with his tools. He got the papers out and handed them to the soldier. The soldier spent a good amount of time looking through them. 

"These are out of date!" he spat finally. 

Both siblings' eyes went wide with terror. No-one was ever allowed to go anywhere without their papers. The brother and sister pair could easily be killed. The soldier in front of them very well might be the one to do this. Was this the end? They moved closer to each other. Held each other tighter.

"I'm going to let you off this time," the soldier pronounced, "but if I see you ever again with out of date papers, you're dead!"

"Yes, sir!" Kumiko replied. "Thank you immensely, sir."

The soldier left, leaving both siblings pierced through with dread and staring at each other. 

"We need to get new papers," Alena stated. "We need to do that right now."

"Yes."

Instead of going to their normal destinations, they started going in the direction of the house of the registrar. They tried to move as quickly and quietly and unassumingly as they could, so that they didn't get the attention of the soldiers. They knew that if another soldier stopped them now, if they asked to see their papers, then the siblings were dead. They knew they couldn't be walking out in the open like this, unsheilded by their official passes. 

Finally, after what seemed like both a millennium and a moment, they got to the large house of the registrar. The house was made of stone, and had many stained glass windows. There was a wide stone staircase leading up to it. It was impressive, and it was untouched by bombs. Before they could get to the top of the stairs though, the door opened and a man in ripped clothing was thrown down the stairs. The siblings stared at the man for a moment before making their way up the stairs. 

"Who is it?" the elderly registrar asked when Kumiko knocked on the door. 

"Kumiko an Alena Daydali," the brother replied. "We're looking to get our papers renewed."

"Come in."

The house was even more impressive on the inside. There were many soft chairs, many bookshelves filled to the brim with an unaccountable number of books. There were many little crystal things decorating the room. There was a crystal chandelier. And there was space. There was so much space. 

"Sit down," the registrar with his white beard told the pair, gesturing at a soft fuzzy sofa. They sat, and he sat in an armchair opposite to them, with a polished coffee table in between. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Our papers are out of date," Kumiko replied, handing him their papers. "Can you get us new ones?"

He calmly looked through the papers. 

"Sure," he replied. "I'll mail you your new papers. It will take a week, though. Where do you live?"

"Thank you, sir." Kumiko gave him their address. And then they took their leave. 

One week. One week. The new papers would take one week to arrive. Both siblings were perturbed by this. They would not be able to go out during that week, for fear that the soldiers might find them and kill them for not having papers. They would not be able to go to the childcare centre where Alena got her meals. They wouldn't be able to go to Kumiko's job, and earn money for rent. How would they survive?

"What will we do?" Alena asked Kumiko after they got home. 

"We'll stay right here. We'll stay right here and we'll rest," he replied.

"At least I'll get to spend time with you."

"Yes. At least."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I'll talk about anything you want to talk about."

And so the two of them talked. They talked though their throats were dry and they talked through the banging, clanging, all-consuming waves of hunger pangs that crashed over them and crashed over them and crashed over them. They were accustomed to hunger, but this was too much for even them to stay strong against. They were overcome with hunger. And the hunger weighed like thousands of stones crushing their souls. But still, they had to bear it. They had to bear it. 

When their neighbours got home they told their neighbours what had happened. 

"We won't have food for the next week," Alena explained. "Can you help us?"

"Absolutely," Saki responded. "We'll give you what we can."

Kumiko smiled. That was appreciated. That was appreciated immensely. 

But it wasn't enough. The neighbours were all poor as well, they were all very poor. They gave what they could give, but what they could give was not much. And so Alena and Kumiko were still far too hungry. And not only were they far too hungry, but their neighbours were far too hungry as well. And it wasn't fair. None of this was anything remotely close to fair. But it was what they had to live with. What they had to make do with. 

"I can't take it anymore," Alena whined the next day. "I can't, I can't, I can't I can't."

"I'm so sorry my girl," Kumiko tried to placate. "I'm so sorry. I wish we had more food."

"I hate it. I hate all of it so very much."

"What do you hate?"

"This war. These soldiers. These rules. This hunger. It's all terrible."

"It is. I understand. I agree." 

"I can't bear it anymore. I can't keep doing this."

"Can't keep doing what?"

"I can't keep living life when this is life."

"Do you want a different life?"

"Yes. I want a different life."

Again Kumiko thought about the offer that the Allitian lady had given him. He could save his sister from this life, from this unbearable life. And he could give her something better. But would it be better? Would it truly be better?

"Would you want to leave me to go live your different life?" he asked. Her eyes went wide at this. 

"What? No! Without you, what is the point of life?"

"Okay."

"Don't leave me. Don't go away."

"I won't. I promise."

But was it a promise he could keep?

The days bled together, one after the other. Each day was unendurably long, was unendingly long. Each day was an endless rough rope of coarse hunger being pulled through their insides. Each day was desperate and wanting, was longer than the last, was more unendurable than the last. And yet, they had to keep on enduring. They had to endure on. 

Hunger was a rough, grating, jagged piece of serrated metal cutting and cutting and cutting deep into the body, deep into the mind, deep into the heart, deep into the soul. Hunger was a superheated electric wire, running from the pit of the belly to the hollow of the chest, through the arms and legs, through the throat and up to the head. Hunger was a thousand thorns all over their insides, twisting and writhing. And hunger was an enormous lead weight on their joints, on their muscles, on their organs, on their bones. Hunger was inescapable. And it was everywhere. 

What was worse than the constant pain in their bodies was the constant pain in their souls. The hunger pulled at and squeezed and grated on their souls. The hunger took a cheese grater to their emotions, to their sense of life, to their sense of safety, to their sense of stability. The hunger weighed heavy on them and weighed heavy on them and squeezed the breath from their hearts. It left them screaming inside, left them wailing inside, left them drowning inside and clawing for an escape. And still. Still they had to bear it. Still they had to go on. 

They clung to each other. They clung to each other with everything they had. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Socially. They exchanged closeness and they exchanged kindness and they exchanged many many words, spoken with desperation, as if they were the last words they would ever speak. As if they were the most important words they would ever speak. 

When the neighbours came home, they all talked together. They talked of their hurt and their hunger and their rage. So, so much rage. Rage against the war. Rage against the soldiers. Rage against the inequality. Rage against the disaster capitalism. Rage against the stupid rules they were all forced to live by and rage against the people that hade made life like this. 

They talked of hope too, in little bits and pieces. To be honest, there was not much hope. Not in the midst of this unending war. In the midst of this unending occupation. But there was always hope, in every situation. And they dreamed that they could break out of this situation one day. That their children could break out of this situation one day. Or their children's children or their children's children's children. There would surely be a chance one day. 

Eventually the week was over. The week was over and Kumiko was able to go back to work, and Alena was able to go back to the childcare centre. But it had been a long week. Far too long. Far, far too long. 

And what was the worst thing was that this wasn't the first week they had had to live like this. No. By no means was it the first. It was fairly common that someone in the building was out of work. Sometimes it was Kumiko, sometimes it wasn't. But they had had to scrape by on weeks or sometimes even months like this a couple of times every year. And each and every time they had just had to bear it. They had just had to get through it. There had been no other option.

But now Kumiko saw that he had another option in front of him. He could give his sister to a family that could take care of her. Of course, that would be worse. That would be so much worse. But this past week, combined with the many, many years they had had to spend living like this, had taken too much from Kumiko. He didn't have the strength to fight anymore. He didn't have the strength to keep his sister with him. The promise of her being fed and clothed was too much, it was too much to turn away from. 

He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to lose his sister. He didn't want his sister to lose him. But after that hellish week, after so many hellish weeks, after every week of their lives having been hellish, what could he do? He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no. He wanted so very much to say no. But how could he? How could he say no when these were the circumstances Alena was faced with? 

Also, he thought of the fact that hunger wasn't the only thing they were facing. Poverty wasn't the only way to fall into the jaws of death. The brother thought of how close he and his sister had been to getting killed by the soldier. He thought of how close they had been to meeting their end in front of the barrel of a gun. There were so many people killed by soldiers. And they weren't all shot. Many of them didn't even do anything to incur the wrath of the soldiers. But they died anyways. He didn't want that to happen to his sister. And the bombs, too, were a constant threat.

He had no choice. No choice at all really. Let the person you love most in the world starve and die or give her up and send her away, what kind of a choice is that? So he took his sister Alena to the childcare centre and he kissed her forehead. Tenderly, desperately, as if he was trying to pour all the love he had for her into that single kiss. Which of course could not be done. Love is infinite. 

"You're coming back, right?" Alena asked worriedly. 

"Of course, little bird," Kumiko promised. But Alena was not sure that he was. She was not sure at all. 

After Alena had finally been dragged away from the door, dragged away from her brother, and pulled into the dark interior of the sturdy and looming building, Kumiko stepped into the building as well. He knew that his sister was off somewhere doing something, and she wouldn't see him. So he asked for the lady from last week. 

"Did you rethink my offer?" she asked him, her pink-painted lips twisted up into a knowing smile. She looked like a snake ready to strike. 

"I did," he replied. "And ..." he tried to keep his voice from faltering. "And I'm really grateful to you for having given such a kind and generous offer to my sister. I would like to inform you that I have agreed to hand over her care to whoever you deem the most competent. And I hope that she can find safety in her new life."

"Thank you." The lady's words were too sugar-sweet. They were too poison-laced. But Kumiko smiled and turned away, tears welling up in his eyes. 

This was the worst thing he had ever done in his life. And he knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his sister would never forgive him. And he thought that he would deserve her not forgiving him. But still, he could be sure that his sister was getting food, was getting water, was getting safety and security and education. That was something. That was something at the very least. Or at least, that's what he tried and failed to convince himself. 

He wanted so very badly to just die. But he thought, if Alena would have to be cursed to continue on living life, then it would only be fair that he should be too. And part of him held onto a faint sliver of hope that Alena would find him one day. He did not know why he believed that. But he couldn't stop himself.