The little girl is falling through the cracks of the city. The city is clean and pristine and shining and glittering above her. But the girl cannot see any of that. All she can see is the darkness that envelops her as she falls, falls, falls. 

She hits the rough, filthy pavement of the downworld and it knocks the breath from her lungs. She lies there, lies there, trying to catch her breath, trying to get up from all the soreness and the pain, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. 

"You don't look like you're from here," a voice calls to her. Soon, a body is hovering over her, dressed in rags that are dirty and falling apart. The cheeks are sunken in and the eyes are haunted. Haunted, but unmistakably kind. Unbearably kind. 

The girl cannot speak, can only gawk. 

"Here, let's get you up." The person holding the voice stoops down and pushes her into a sitting position with one of his arms. She looks down at herself in muteness, down at her colourful, frilly, softly-shining clothes, and down at her clean legs and new shoes. 

"Do you want to come back to my place? We can talk there." The man's words are soft. And there is something weary in his voice. Something incredibly weary. The girl nods, and lets his filthy hand hold her clean one as he leads her through the streets. 

The downworld is dark, it's eerily dark. But not only that, it's gray, with the sun of white streetlights shedding just enough light to keep everything from being truly black. The streets are filthy, with layers of dust and grime coating them. There are rows and rows of looming brick buildings scattered all about, crumbling and dilapidated, the roofs caved in and the windows broken. 

She's never been in the downworld before. She's never been anywhere remotely like this. The city has always been beautiful, with its glittering buildings stretching towards the sky and its wide, clean streets and its quaint, colourful houses and its green lawns and shining cars. 

She is scared, and grips the man tight. 

"Don't be scared, little one," he coos to her, as if he can read her thoughts, "it's not as bad as it looks here. Not as scary as you think it is."

The girl still says nothing, but her grip on his hand loosens. Along the sides of the streets, there are people sleeping. Right there, on the street, with piles of cardboard under their heads and ratty blankets around their bodies. The girl thinks that these streets are too cold to sleep in. But she says nothing. 

Every once in a while a streetlight is broken and they pass through a darker patch than the darkness around them. The girl always shifts closer to the man during those times. He does not seem to mind it, letting her cling to him as they walk. 

Soon they get to a dilapidated building, squat and stout against the darkness around it. The man opens the door with a hard shove, the door not wanting to open, and he takes her up, up, up over the flights of metal stairs. The inside of the building smells queer. Stuffy and sour. And there is the muffled drone of chatter coming from the walls around them. 

"Watch your step," he softly warns her. She looks down to see two steps missing, forming a large hole in the staircase that one could easily fall through. She stretches her step over the gap and pushes herself up to the next step. She is impressed with herself for being able to do that. 

Soon they reach a landing, and the man takes her through darkened hallways where almost nothing is visible. They reach a rotting door with the paint peeled off of it and he knocks. 

"Who is it?" A woman's voice asks, with a hint of fear in the warmth of her words. 

"It's me, Jack," the man replies. "I've got this little girl with me. I don't know where she came from but it seems she has nowhere to go,"

The door opens up to reveal a small room, smaller than anything that the girl has seen before, crowded with only people sitting on the floor. There is a smoky fire flickering dimly in a small fireplace. And there is the scent of dust in the air, despite the fact that the room is clean. 

"Who might you be?" A young woman sing-songs in her direction. 

"My name is Maybell," she replies. 

"Oh, Maybell, what a wonderful name," an older woman coos. "I love the month of May. Though I've only heard stories about it."

"I'm Nora," the young woman tells the girl, "and this is my stepmother, Auburnee. And this is my stepmom's friend, Aunt June. And I think you've already met dad."

"Not formally, unfortunately," the man tells her. "I'm Jack," he says, turning to the girl. 

"It's amazing to meet all of you," the girl says in a calm tone, though she isn't feeling calm at all right now. 

"Come, sit down by the fire, where it's nice and warm," Aunt June says to her. She obliges.

"Where are you from?" Auburnee asks, looking at her strange clothes. 

"I'm from the city," she responds, soaking up the warmth of the fire. 

"Well how did you ever end up here?" Nora asks, voice tinged with confusion and concern. 

"I don't know. I kind of just fell."

"Oh that sounds like such a long fall." Auburnee's voice flows with soft sympathy. 

"I assume you're hoping to get back up there," Jack says with a hint of curiosity.

"Of course I am. I miss my family."

"That's understandable," Aunt June coos, "anyone would miss their family. Especially someone so young. How old are you anyways? Twelve?"

"I'm fourteen," she replies, slightly embarrassed. 

"Well that's still very young," Nora asserts, "you should get back home where you belong. 

"Thank you," Maybell responds. "But how can I get out of here?"

"Well, there is one way," Auburnee replies. "You could go up the trash tunnels, where all the trash from the city falls on its way to the dump. It's horrible there, but it's a way up."

"I ... I guess I could do that."

"Do you want to go up now? Or do you want to wait until the morning?" Nora asks. 

"I think I'll wait. It's getting pretty late."

"It is. We should get you some food and get you to bed," Jack agrees. 

They bring out a large bowl from atop the fireplace mantle and fill it with a box of something. They pour water over it and leave it over the fire to cook. Whatever it is, it doesn't look very appetizing.

"So tell me a bit about yourselves," Maybell asks her companions.

"Oh I've been travelling all over the downworld," Nora replies. "Jobs are hard to come by, especially ones that pay enough to get by. I wouldn't say all the jobs I had did that but I take what I can get. It's sad, having to leave all your friends and your family and the place you grew up in, the community that you're close to. But everywhere you go, the people are so great. They welcome you and take care of you and soon you have a new community, filled with new friends to call your own. Of course that doesn't stop the grief. But it helps. It really helps. 

"I like looking at how each different part of the downworld is a little bit different, with different people occupying it who all put their own spin on the cultures that we all share. It makes me feel like, you know, all the downworld peoples are different, but we're also all the same. We're all parts of the same whole. And however the city tries to keep us down - no offence, and pun intended - we will always have each other.

"I like the sense of adventure I get from life in general. I'm always trying to find the beauty in things, to find the beauty even in all the ugliness around us. And I think it's possible. It's possible to see the world as a beautiful place, as a magical place, even amidst all the suffering and the horror in it."

"Wow, that's really cool," Maybell replies. 

"Always leave it to Nora to be a poet," Aunt June jokes mirthfully. 

"So how about you, Aunt June?" The girl asks, "what are your thoughts on life?"

"Life is hard. Life is weary. Life is always going to be hard and weary. But we can make it as soft as we can. We can make it as kind as we can. And we do that by being kind to each other. Because if we don't stick up for each other then no-one will stick up for us. If we don't help each other then no-one will help us. So we have to stay together, we have to stay united, and we have to make life as livable as we can for all of each other. For the sake of ourselves as well as for the sake of everyone else."

"That's very wise," the girl replies. 

"Well, I don't know about that. But it's what I believe. I try as best as I can to be a good neighbour, to be a good friend, to be a good mother and aunt and everything else that I am. I think it's very important to be responsible, and it's very important to be aware of the way that everything you do, everything you say, everything you don't do, everything you don't say, I think it's very important to be aware of the effects that all that stuff will have on other people. After all, all people are deserving of kindness."

"That's so true," the girl replies.

"I've been living in my room for how long is it? Five years. That's a long time. A long time to be anywhere in the downworld. I try to look after everyone in the whole building, I try to look after everyone in the buildings surrounding us. I try to look after the whole block. It's worth it, seeing the way all the little kids look up to me, hearing them call me Aunt June."

"That does sound very beautiful," the girl states, awed. 

"Community is very important," Auburnee agrees, "but what's the most important is building a good relationship with the gods. The gods teach you everything important after all. They teach you how to treat other people, how to treat yourself. So one must have faith in them. And they must have hope that they can affect our lives, affect our communities, make our worlds better."

"What gods do you believe in?" The girl asks. 

"There is the great god, Ameela, the creator of all that is alive and all that is good and all that is true. There is the the spirit of the eagle, the spirit of the sparrow, the spirit of the deer and the spirit of the bear. And so many other spirits. Of course, we are physically distanced from the spirits, just as we are physically distanced from the sun and the moon and the air of the outside world. The world that's up there. But I believe, no, I know that the spirits are still with us. It might be harder for some to see them, but they're still with us. And they are still protecting us. 

"I take very great care to remember all the stories, stories that my parents and aunts and uncles passed onto me when I was younger. Stories from back before there was a city, back before there was a downworld. And I tell all the stories to all the children that are around, and all the adults, anyone willing to listen really. The stories give them inspiration, give them hope. And it's so beautiful being able to share hope with someone. We must make sure the stories never die."

"That sounds very important," the girl agrees. "What about you, Jack? What's the most important to you?"

"Oh a lot of things are important to me," he replies. "My family. My community. All the people I've met over the course of my life. My goal in life is to make people realize that the stories are not just a thing of the past. I'm trying to make them realize that what we do now, what we do with our lives, they help us form new stories that are also powerful, just as the old stories were. I'm trying to make my life a story. I'm trying to make all of our lives stories."

"Wow, that's beautiful."

"Thank you. I think that, no offence, I think that the city needs to be changed. That their perspectives need to be changed. I think that we need to make the city people see. We need to make them see that they cannot keep doing what they are doing, that it's all not right. I think we can change things, somehow, if we all try." 

"And how are you making your life a story?"

"Oh, you know the works. I try to be a good husband, a good father, a good friend, a good neighbour, a good stranger. I try to give my kindness to all who need it. And I try to keep learning. Everywhere I go, everything I do, I try to keep learning. And I try to keep teaching people as well. I try to teach them to look out for each other, to stand up tall, to have confidence in themselves and in each other and in the future and in the gods."

"That sounds really important."

"Everyone's life is really important. Everyone's mission is really important. We were all sent here on this earth to fulfill a destiny and by following our hearts we can follow that destiny."

"The food is ready now," Nora remarks. 

Auburnee takes the bowl off of the fireplace and sets it on the brick ground. 

"Let's all dig in," Aunt June exclaims. 

"We have to thank the gods first," Auburnee reminds her. 

"Absolutely," she agrees. 

Everyone lifts their head up towards a sky that they are miles and miles away from, and Maybell follows their lead, doing the same.

"Dear gods," Nora begins reverently, "thank you or your gift of food. Please bless all the people in the world with an abundance of good, nutritious food and please bless all the people in the world with an abundance of good, humble love. Thank you for bringing us all together and please bless our paths so that we may do the right thing in our lives and in our futures. All hail."

"All hail," every person echoes, Maybell joining in. 

They then begin taking portions of the gruel out of the bowl with their hands and scooping it into their mouths. Maybell is taken aback, unsure of how to eat in such a strange way. 

"What are you waiting for?" Auburnee asks her, "dig in."

And so she does. The gruel is tasteless and there isn't enough of it but she eats her portion anyways and, strangely enough, it's the best meal that she has ever had in her life. She can't explain it. Something about it just feels ... so beautiful. Sitting there, surrounded by kind strangers, all eating from the same bowl in the same cold, crowded room. It's beautiful. 

Maybell sleeps between Aunt June and Auburnee on the rough brick floor of the room. They softly bid each other goodnight and tell each other that they hope the others have sweet dreams. The blanket on top of them is ratty. But the bodies around her are soft and she can snuggle into them as they all huddle for warmth on that floor.