...

Five years. That's what Marisol got. When she received the sentence, her mother cried. It was a cry full of pain and sadness. It made Marisol want to cry as well, but she didn't. That would make it worse for her mother.

Marisol followed the officers out of the courtroom. She felt nothing suddenly. Maybe it was that she had lost all hope.

...

UPSTATE NEW YORK—PRISON

Marisol felt helpless in prison. She couldn't support her family here. She felt so lost. She had no friends, no one to trust. And to think she still had years left of this, it made her that much more hopeless.

The only place she didn't feel like she was falling apart was in the library. It was quiet. Usually quiet was bad for the mind but not for Marisol. She read best when it was quiet. When she read she didn't feel like she was in prison anymore. She didn't feel stuck in place.

Marisol wasn't a heavy reader during her high school years. As she grew up, she started turning to new things and in all those new experiences there wasn't time for reading. Now, all she had was time. But don't get it twisted, just because Marisol didn't read much didn't mean she wasn't smart. In fact, Marisol was incredibly smart.

Her dream was to become a brain surgeon. Even before she knew how much money they earned, she wanted to be one. But with the money she could support her mother in an honest way.

The honest way. Mari hated that phrase. She hated that whenever she needed something it wasn't possible the "honest way." Her dream required college and where she came from there wasn't a single dollar for college. Her family couldn't even live honestly. She hated that most of all. She hated that people looked down on her because of that. She hated that people thought there were a million other options, but it's never that easy.

"You're new here, right?" Marisol lifted her head from her book. In front of her, stood a woman. She was the most lively person Marisol had seen in such a place.

"Yeah." Mari answered.

The woman pulled a chair out and sat across from Mari. "You're always alone. I was thinking you could use a friend, especially here." The woman was young. It worried Mari. "I'm Angela."

What an ordinary name for such an extraordinary person. Marisol's mood was somehow lifted just by Angela's presence.

"I'm Marisol." She said it without the accent. She had been doing that lately. She hadn't spoke Spanish in so long, that accenting things wasn't so much of a habit anymore.

"Can I call you Mari?" The question was so sudden. They had barely gotten to know each other. And "Mari" reminded her of home. But Marisol needed friends and if this was her way to it, then she'd take it.

"Yeah sure," She answered.

"You can call me Angie."

Marisol was still surprised at how open Angela—Angie was being.

...

Their friendship was odd, but they grew close quickly. Just as Angie was nice to Marisol, she was mean to everyone else. Angie's small stature would fool anyone who didn't know her. Angie could go from talking about her family life to yelling at another inmate for accidentally bumping into Marisol.

All of their private conversations happened in the library. They sat in the aisle where others were least likely to go; the biography section. At first, neither of them asked why the other was in prison. Even Angie knew there was a time for that. They'd just talk about their life before prison.

Angie grew up in Chicago. She was part of a family of five. One brother and one sister, Angie was the youngest. Her fondest memories were those of when she was at Lake Michigan.

She loved swimming more than anything, and Marisol could tell. Sometimes Angie would lie on the floor, all her limbs spread out as if she was floating. Then she'd close her eyes and bliss relaxed her expression. Swimming made her feel free.

Marisol learned quickly that in order to get through her sentence she needed something to hold onto, a memory. Marisol had a favorite memory, even before she was locked up she constantly thought about it.

It was a sort of tradition between her family. The three women, every Friday night, would go up to the rooftop of their apartment building. It was when they had first moved to the US from Puerto Rico. Mari's mother was so full of hope then. Sofía was so much more gentle. They would look at the skyline of Manhattan. It was so bright and the buildings were so tall. Just looking at that could fill one with so much hope for the future.

"One day we could be in a place like that." Marisol's mother would say.

"I'm going to be in a place like that, Mama. And then I'm gonna take you and Sofía with me. We're all gonna live there." Marisol would respond, she was young. Her heart was still full of ambition and hope then.

Those few minutes Marisol spent up there, imagining what could be, she didn't feel like a nobody from the Bronx. The wind blowing in between her arms and through her hair, and it just felt like anything was possible. She wanted to just move with the wind and let it take her to the place she always dreamed of. A place where her family was happy and where they never had to worry about a thing.

But then her mother stopped going up there. She was too tired and her knees were too weak to go up all those stairs. Then Sofía stopped going up because she was always at work. So Marisol went alone, and eventually she stopped too. She stopped going up because dreams can't be accomplished alone. And because dreams are fairytales and fairytales aren't true. She didn't want Manhattan anymore. She wanted her mother to stop worrying. She wanted her sister to stop working seven days out of the week just to make ends meet.

But things were different in prison. Here, she needed to imagine she was up on the rooftop. The wind hitting her face gently and her family by her side. She needed to imagine that she wasn't alone.

...

Angie liked watching the news. She wanted to know what was happening out in the real world. There was only one tv in the prison. It was in the entertainment room and someone was using it.

Angie, with her back up straight and tall, walked into the entertainment room. Marisol was right behind her, just in case a fight broke out. Angie's bark was definitely worse than her bite. But the Bronx gave Mari street smarts and book smarts.

"Hey, why don't you put on the news?" Angie suggested with a raised brow. She always talked first.

"The news? Who the hell wants to watch that? We don't wanna hear about all the terrible stuff going on outside." The inmate with the remote replied.

"Well, I want to hear about it, so change the channel." Angie's voice got lower and she wasn't asking, she was demanding.

"Hey," Another inmate injected. "Just give her the remote."

That was Angie's power here. Marisol assumed she had to have been here for over a year to establish herself that well.

There was a pause. The inmate with the remote looked prepared to fight. Marisol tensed up and took a step closer to Angie. The inmate stood up and looked Angie right in the eyes. The other inmate was taller than Angie, but it changed almost nothing. Another moment. The inmate suddenly pushed the remote into Angie's torso. Angie snatched it from her grip. And the inmate walked away.

That was a sign of weakness and everybody knew it. About fifteen people were in that room, and they all witnessed it. Angie came out on top while the other inmate didn't. She looked angry when she walked away. And it gave Marisol a bad feeling. A bad feeling just like the one that got her in here.

Angie switched to a national news channel and pulled up a seat. There was a breaking news headline. The lower third read: "BREAKING NEWS: UN VIENNA OFFICE BOMBED"

"We are now getting word of a suspect but no further details have been revealed on the suspect," The female news anchor began. "For those just now tuning in, a suspected terrorist bombing recently took place in the United Nations office in Vienna, Austria. Many were injured, and some were killed. Most notably, King T'Chaka of Wakanda."

The entire room was silent and watching the screen. They were shocked. A bombing was exactly that but, the fact that it happened at a UN office made it worse.

The anchor began listing the dead and which country they represented. Each name pushed an even more somber mood on the room. Then they began talk of potential war. Eventually, Angie couldn't listen anymore. Without a word, she switched the channel. A sitcom was playing.

She got out of the chair and still said nothing. Marisol knew it was best to go follow her, her friend needed some uplifting.

They walked the halls to their beds. It was mostly empty. Neither woman said anything for awhile.

"Mari," Angie began. "Where's Wakanda?"

Marisol had taken a geography class in high school and her memory was pretty good. She remembered her teacher quickly going over the country of Wakanda. It was a third world country and its exports were not significant whatsoever. They were a subtle country. No wars either. Until today, Marisol had no idea that they had a king.

"A country in Africa." Marisol responded plainly, as there wasn't much else to say.

"That's it?" Angie asked. She seemed angry, as if they needed to be more than just a country. "What's so important about their king then? What was the point of killing him?"

"Bombs usually aren't meant to kill one person. They're meant to make a statement. And one was made."

Angie stopped. There were no other inmates around. It was silent. Marisol stopped too and could see the anger in Angie's eyes. Angie was an emotional person. As tough as she acted and yet, her heart was so tender. She hated when people were mistreated and she hated hearing about death, especially if they were innocent.

"It's crazy, Mari, it really is." Angie began. Her expression of anger reminded Marisol of her sister.

"What are you talking about, Angie?"

"That we're the ones locked up but the people that actually pose a threat are out there!"

What Angie said struck something in Marisol. She was right in a way. They were in a minimum security prison. Some of the women here would never hurt a fly, they just did things the dishonest way. Like in Marisol's case, some of these people women were just trying to make ends meet. The dishonest route wasn't fair to those who had it as their only option.

"It isn't fair, Mari!" Angie yelled. Marisol immediately recognized this. Angie was having a breakdown. Her emotions were just all coming out and she couldn't stop them, no matter how hard she tried or wanted them to. "We're locked in here!" Angie was beginning to cry.

"Come on," Marisol said. Angie needed a space she felt comfortable in. She needed the library and the biography aisle. So, Mari would take her there. She grabbed her wrist and guided her quickly. Angie wiped her eyes while she followed Marisol.

...

It was quiet, except for Angie's light sobs.

"I never killed anyone but I'm still locked up like I did." Angie said. "This is my second year here."

Marisol turned to Angie. She felt as though Angie were going to tell her something monumental.

"How do you know that? You told me you don't keep calendars around?" Marisol asked.

"I only watch the news so I can see the date." Angie laughed. It was such a pained laugh. And her tone was different. She was so relaxed somehow. "Today would've been my brother's 27th birthday. And I missed it. But that guy—or whatever they are—that had that bomb, they get to go home tonight."

Marisol didn't know what to say, because Angie was right. That person would go home, they'd be searched for, but they'd still go home. And it was her brother's birthday. That had to hurt.

Angie was disappointed with herself. Her family was probably disappointed too. And that hurt more.

...

WAKANDA—AIRSPACE

T'Challa had never felt such a harsh loneliness before. The event kept replaying in his mind. He was too late. If he had just realized a few seconds earlier, he could've saved his father. Just a few seconds.

Those few seconds also saved him. Had he gotten there earlier, and covered his father, he would've gotten the full force of the blast. T'Challa would've died. Part of him thought 'would that have been so bad?' He threw away the thought as quickly as it came. He couldn't think like that, not now. He had people who needed him. But who did he need?

"Maybe you should talk to Nakia," Okoye, T'Challa's most trusted guard, suggested.

He thought about it for a moment. Nakia was also a close friend of his. She offered support and could help T'Challa think clearly.

He looked up and before he could respond Okoye spoke. "I'll begin a course to her location." She said with a comforting smile.