Flicker by Anya Monroe

you wanting to go with your Mom. It sucks to leave the people you love, and if you don’t have to, I guess, why would you?”
    The cool air holds our whispered words as we tell our secrets to the night sky.
    “Who did you leave?”
    “It doesn’t matter, life goes on. But I know if I saw him, he’d hate me for not coming back.”
    “Can you go back, I mean, is it too late?”
    “Things change and sometimes, even if you want something, it doesn’t mean you can get it, or even should. Life isn’t good or bad, right or wrong. It’s more complicated than that.”
    “I know.” Drinking the poison-laced-tea was more than a bad choice . It was also a choice filled with fear, grief, and longing. A choice born from the desire to do good, that turned to something tragic.
    “You do know, don’t you?” He pushes his hair from his eyes and I’m pulled to him, starved for human connection. “Where did you come from?”
    I let out a short, sharp laugh. I don’t know the answer to his question, not anymore. Everything I thought was right is wrong and I’m left with nothing.
    “What’s funny?” he asks quieter.
    “Nothing.”  I look to the tent where Mom surely lies rubbing her hands together in worry, half expecting to see her face poke from the tent flap, waving me back. But the canvas tent is still, so I speak. “Look, I don’t know where I come from, but I know where I need to go. I need to follow my Mom. She thinks we belong with The Light, with the prophet.”
    I don’t explain that I’m curious to see this human battery for myself, that maybe Mom’s right; maybe we’re supposed to be there. Maybe there’s a reason my hand flickers with light, unravels ropes, cures my headache. Maybe I have a purpose bigger than anything I’ve been led to believe.
    I’m holding out hope that maybe there is a reason for all that’s taken place.
    “So she’s a believer?”
    “She wants to believe in a purpose.”
    “And you?”
    Not wanting to explain the reason why I want to get to The Light, I look up at the night sky, twinkling stars casting a blanket over the enormity of the universe. “I don’t know, I mean it sounds dumb, but I want a chance to see the world, there are so many parts I’ve missed.” I look away, feeling exposed by a person I know I’ll never see again once we reach The Light. “But more than all that, I don’t want to lose her, too. So this will have to be adventure enough.”
    “You’re a good daughter, Lucy. No, I mean it,” he adds, when I immediately roll my eyes, knowing I’m not being entirely forthright. “Most kids would just leave, strike out on their own. You’re different, you stay. Your mom’s lucky. And look, I won’t mention ditching your mom again, okay?”
    His words are a heart-salve, helping to mend my broken parts. He notices me in a way my family never has.
    I walk to the tent and turn my head just before ducking into the entrance.
    “Good night, Charlie. Good night, Lucky.”
    Charlie looks at me, “Good night, Lucy, Lady of the Light.”
    I don’t know what that means, but I do know sleeping will be miserable. My mind is filled with a strange cowboy smiling at me, mixed with images of dead men with blood-stained shirts, and the people I love lying beneath an apple tree. I pull the sleeping bag over my chest and turn my body towards Mom. She snores in her sleep, oblivious of my worry, and I wonder how we made it out alive. 
    I close my eyes, soothed by the light that fills me when my eyelids shut, lulling me to sleep, releasing me from the darkness of the day.
     
    ****
    My legs are sore in the morning when I wake, but Mom and Charlie both insist I ride with Lucky anyway. I know not to argue with Mom, so instead I find myself wincing at the tenderness of my thighs. We eat a breakfast and later a lunch, of jerky and blackberries, picking the juicy fruit as we travel along what was once a highway. Mom gives me handfuls while I try to stay steady on the saddle