Now that the pain in the poor boy's face looked a tad unperturbed, Daniel decided to stay inside his bedroom, for it was the only thing he could do to forget yesterday's loss. But like a trapped man inside a cave floundering around to find his way out, his mind became badly muddled as he slid along the four walls of his room, round and round, recalling the details of the unfortunate incident. It's awful to lose a friend when you don't have many, he thought. His sunken eyes sank more because of his dizzying activity. Beads of sweat slipped from his forehead and then were caught by his knitted brows, distraught by the dubious fate of everyone trying to seek happiness for the end of the world.

Drabness poured over him, thinking that perhaps Abraham would disappear too. The gathering of sweat on his brows slid off, running like tears on his cheeks. Then, he heard the blustering coughs of the old man piercing through his shut windows.

Abraham was coughing all night, and it was getting worse. It reminded the little boy that the old man was fighting for his life. To live not just for himself but also for others, to look after him. He couldn't come up with the thought of the selfless elderly not hearing his beautiful narratives.

However, in the back of his upside-down thoughts, he knew the day would come when Abraham would join his grandson. His chapped lips wore away more, pondering this remote imagination. He crossed his fingers and tipped his head back, facing the ceiling and casting some kind of enchantment to save the old man, to save him. Be by myself again? It will never happen. I'll make sure of that, he thought. He continued with his ritual of pronouncing his concocted hymns.

Abraham cracked another blustering cough, disturbing the boy's concentration. Engrossed in his oddity, he seemed strangely dumb but indomitable, levitating over the mattress and casting his illusory powers. His odd way amazingly made the room brighter, driving away all the melancholy nonsense stuck inside it.

The first light shone on the horizon, gorging the crumbling splendor of the cliff. Abraham stopped coughing as if the series of the kid's ludicrous verses charmed the sun to rise and restore the old man's health. It was like a miracle but just lasted for a moment because he heard another whooping cough emerging from the outside. What was I thinking? Would my words heal someone? A stupid boy, you are, he thought.

Daniel then asked himself a couple of times about the things that might transpire sooner or later but then gave up because his response was a little disconcerting whenever he did. He covered his mouth with his palm and breathed deeply. His facial expression was as if he had changed instantly from a hopeful little boy to someone who ran to a safe room, locked the door, and completely shut the windows. The aches seized his remaining vigor hastily.

It became clear that in addition to believing in some kind of magic and miracle, he had seen the truth, an unpleasant revelation that he couldn't do anything, that he was only a human. There was nothing almighty that could save them. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to feel that there was hope left for humanity.

Nevertheless, there was a tiny cinder inside his chest, still spewing out a glow illuminating the bleakness the way it illuminated his heart to endure. He visualized his mom through the wallpapered wall, facing the embroidered curtains again, climbing her calvary ever since the babe's death, craving to see a glimmer of hope to help her cope with her grief. "Perhaps, I need to take in some fresh air," he whispered, grabbing the leather jacket and aviator hat pinned on the ceiling. He slothfully wore them. "Just do, Daniel, what might help you to forget. Perhaps, distractions are on the way," he convinced himself.

Daniel pushed the door and glided through the corridor bathed in diffused yellowish light. Suddenly, the mellow illumination dimmed while he made himself out of the long hallway. He didn't mind it at first. However, the fluctuation of the light, bright then dark, sunny then shadowy, annoyed him. He gave it a look to see if he could tell what was wrong behind the secured window.

The curtains were drenched with sunlight, he observed, casting crooked horizontal and vertical shadows upon it. He drew closer toward the end of the corridor, hoping to capture and learn what caused the lighting flux. The light show is over. Maybe it was my mind playing illusions at me again, but this time to cheer me up, he thought.

Before he shifted his focus away from the absurd investigation, which was too rough to spare some serious attention, caught in the corner of his field of vision was a fleeting glimpse of shadows going up. Curiosity possessed him, and he rushed to the living room and found the same shapes of shadows. The silhouettes of figures were like birds spreading their wings and soaring up the azure skies. Well, if they were actual birds, one can assume that the sunshine stopped inflicting infernal agony, he thought.

The boy stretched an arm to the front door and grabbed the knob. When he swung the door open, the warm yellowish sunlight inundated the neighborhood—a typical view whenever the sun was out. The shadow play was unexpectedly over and done just after he stepped a foot outside. Daniel gave himself a gentle nudge, lurched forward, and felt the sun's rage as he hovered an inch off the parched lawn. He was wrong about the ball of gas. It retrogressed. It was messing more with his lucidness and luridly luring him. His eyes peered through the wilted shrubs, past the iron gate, and into the silent street. All he could see was the asphalt road ahead with dancing mirages scorched by the sun.

The boy sucked in a lungful of air, and it did a great trick of clearing his mind. With a hardly upward glance, he noticed the sky was strangely filled with floating birds—actual plumy fowls—however, dead and petrified into stone. His eyes widened, wanting to see more of those lifeless birds engulfed in the cloudless dome. He dove toward the old brick building to his right, passing the forgotten garage. Then a narrow aisle greeted him, the space about a meter from Abraham's sill to his window. Slowly he slid along the brick walls of the lofty edifice. His fingers got entangled with cobwebs. His sneakers brushed against the dirt as he passed the open window of the old man above, hoping that he didn't disturb him. He inhaled. Finally, he got through to the very edge of the aisle, facing up another wall of bricks—the segment of the fence of their backyard, still standing sturdy.

"Okay, let us do this," Daniel pulled himself up, poked his head over the fence, and looked down. Below, an incredible overlook was feasting his eyes with the panoramic view of the half of San Maler. Then, a petrified bird caught his attention, rising inch by inch from the lower ground. He remembered his mouse friend he tossed in the air, releasing him into a better place. Perhaps the birds were the pets of the survivors below and offered this kind of funeral, tossing them above, delivering them into the heavens. His sight was fixed on the horizon with other petrified things, such as dead cats, dogs, and even a stallion, carried through the air, going into the vast expanse above. The ascension was beautiful. Out of words to describe the spectacle. Ask heaven what it perceived that no earthlings could actually understand. "The beasts are not made to suffer. They are the pure ones, free from guilt or sin, who deserve to live in the afterlife," he whispered as a warm breeze carried his words, a doleful message for the departed animals.

Tears tried to squeeze out of the slit of his eye, recalling the fond memories of the cute rodent. From nowhere, something emerged before him. The blood on his cheeks drained as if he had encountered a ghost. He breathed ruggedly, eyes alight with pure shock. Before his eyes, there was a man in the phase of decomposition. The belly of the corpse was hollowed, gobbled by earthworms, centipedes, and other detritivores. The flesh on its face was eaten. The orbital, nasal, and oral cavities had grown with mushrooms feeding on the remaining organic matter. Even the butterflies nibbled the torn flesh of its rotting arms dripping with sticky blood.

He was screaming inside, his voice box constricted after his naked eyes saw hundreds of carcasses of girls, boys, women, and men floating into the skies. The little spectacular adventure turned into the worst nightmare. His eyes surrendered, trying their best to impede the flow of his tears. "No!" he croaked. He exerted more effort to open his vocal cords, "No!" His terrified voice escaped as he looked at a baby's corpse, naked, almost skinless, or meatless. Its skull and bones were exposed vividly. The sight was stomach-churning. He couldn't swallow. His abdomen contracted to try to stave off nausea. He remembered Luna. "No, don't go! Please, don't go," he mumbled as globules of his tears went after the corpses into the path of demise.

———————

Abraham spun his head to the window as if something had seized his attention. His ears received soft murmurs coming from the outside. Maybe the wind carried the little boy's words to warn him. The old man reached for the windowsill to check what was disturbing him. He looked to the right and saw nothing. Then, he craned his neck to see the skies and saw the floating corpses.

Daniel continued muttering incoherent words. "Please... baby... help... not... go... leave... not... please... never... sorry..."

Abraham picked up a faint voice and shifted his irises to the left. "Daniel," he whispered. His jaw dropped, seeing the kid at the very edge of the cliff lingering over the brick fence.

Horror drowned the poor kid, losing his grasp of reality. He was slackening his grip on the fence. One by one, his fingers were slipping, wanting to give in and join the ascent. He was catching his breath as if having an asthma attack.

"Daniel!" Abraham called the attention of the boy, "Daniel!"

The boy heard someone calling him from behind.

"That's dangerous, Daniel. Come down!"

The boy shook his head, grasped for reality, and grappled for the fag ends of hope. His fingers squeezed the crumbling fence, scrapping the bricks. He fluttered his eyelashes. Afterward, he descended from the fence and landed his soles on the dirt. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what happened!" he said while sliding along the old building façade.

"Don't do that again. Promise me," the old man said, his corneas hazed with concern.

Daniel kicked his feet below, boosted himself up, and grabbed the windowsill. "I'm sorry. I was just curious—by the shadows—and when I went outside, I was intrigued by the floating animals, a floating pet cemetery. And—" he choked. His eyes were laced with shock and bleakness.

Abraham stared at the boy that refused to succumb to his fears. The boy went on with his alibi. "And—more cadavers sprouted before my eyes and—" he choked for the second time, "There was a decaying baby... I want to help the poor infant. I want to—save the baby!"

"Okay," Abraham said softly, a voice of assurance, "Easy now."

Daniel did not finish his sentence. He slowly unclasped his pale lips, "Or perhaps, I want to join them too," he whispered, his eyes misty and vacant.

"Don't say that. Don't think any of that," Abraham coughed, "Look at me. I will never leave you. I will stay by your side."

The boy hunched, head bent downward, gazing at the parched soil, ashamed of another attempt to end his life.

"You've seen death enough." The old man stretched his arms apart, "Come here."

Then they shared a big old hug.

"Perhaps, you need to hear another story."

The boy nodded, and the old man coughed up mucus.

Daniel drew away from Abraham, seated on the opposite windowsill, and leaned against his room's sliding window. "This is a good spot," he smiled, dangling his lazy legs and tapping his webbed fingers.

Abraham turned his eyes up and to the left, the attitude of thinking. At that particular moment, he found himself devoid of any stories to share. His headaches worsened. But he squeezed the juice of his brain just to come up with a story. He coughed.

"Grandpa, are you all right?" Daniel tentatively asked.

"I am all right," he covered his mouth with a handkerchief and cracked another blustering sputter. He tasted something bitter in his mouth.

"Don't forget to take your cough medicine," the boy reminded him.

Abraham nodded and slowly peeled off the cottony hankie on his mouth, marred with splotches of blood. The blood did not give him a jolt because he knew his days were waning. He slid the hankie into his pocket and took a gander at the poor boy outside. "Sorry, kid. I am still knitting a story," he honestly said. His gaze narrowed into a squint when he spotted Daniel's fingers tangled with cobwebs—an instant inspiration. He pulled out a story from it. The corners of his lips turned up, showing an expression that at least, and at last, he had a story to tell.

He began. "In the middle of a battlefield, there was a lone tree, without foliage, but there was a cocoon—a spider's cocoon attached inside a hole in the trunk. Maybe the carved opening was home for birds before the war began. They must have been flown and left for good, for staying was dangerous. Nevertheless, the abandoned hollow was a sanctuary for the unborn spiders. The sun sneaked a look over the horizon, and the eggs rolled the velvety insides of the cocoon. One at a time, the eggs hatched, and one after another, the bullets ricocheted off the soldiers' sleeves. The soldiers fired their arms, threw explosives, and unleashed suffocating gases. The hatchlings heard the exchange of shots. Their appendages trembled. They were too afraid to come out. Among the crowd, a brave young spider spoke up."

Abraham pinched his Adam's apple, altering his pitch to resemble that of a chipmunk's. "Fellow spiderlings," he swallowed, "I am Uno, the first egg of our mother and the first to hatch out of the five hundred spider eggs. Remember what our mother said when we were floating inside our shells. Recall her sweet dying voice amid the same bedlam, the never-ending battle outside that killed her."

Daniel sprawled and angled an ear to the fore.

Abraham went on. "Remember her dying story, her dying wish. She said that don't think of all the misery and don't think that we were alone in this world but of the beauty that remains—love and hope," he released a wheezing cough, "I remember she told us to get away from this tree because the troops are advancing to this very spot as the war is getting worse. If we stay here, we will be trapped and breathe our last breath."

Daniel was crestfallen when he heard the misfortune of the spiders. He reacted with pity, "Oh, no—"

"East, our mother said. We must catch the wind from the west to travel east. That's our destination."

The boy interrupted, "How will they do that?"

The old man smiled, "We balloon!"

"Balloon?" Daniel raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Where will they get a balloon in the middle of nowhere?"

"Someone in the crowd spouted off. Her name was Cuarenta, the fortieth egg, and the fortieth hatchling. She said that she was afraid and she wanted to stay. Also, she added that it was their instinct to balloon after hatching. Still, it was too risky to do it right away, especially the kind of situation happening outside," Abraham paused, "And half of the five hundred spiderlings nodded in unanimity. Unexpectedly, a nearby explosion rattled the tree."

"Oh, no—"

The old man cleared his pipes and switched his speaking voice to Uno. "Mother told us that we would live if we believed we could. I, too, am scared but look at my eyes alight with her stories—to see beyond, to reach the beyond, the haven she promised us. It is a place without screaming, pain, and bloodshed. I want to go there. I want to live!"

Abraham felt dizzy but continued his story, leaning against the window frame. He went on, "Uno's speech inspired all the spiderlings. They toughened their faces up and looked up at him. Single file, they marched out and saw their mother, cold, deformed, and petrified, lying motionless by the cocoon. They climbed across the trunk, across the highest bough, and to the tip of the topmost twig. Doubt clouded their minds, but they believed they'd reach the promised land. The spiderlings produced threads of silk from their abdominal spinnerets. The gusts of wind blowing from the west caught the threads, letting their feet off the twig, and they... ballooned—carried them up—and—away! Everyone was out of breath, drifting through the air, leaving the tree that cradled them for days. Below, the trenches got smaller and smaller, and the soldiers looked like they'd been through the wringer. The battlefield was gory, but the lone tree continued to endure the chaos. And the spiders said their goodbyes to the woody plant and thanked their mother for her wisdom. They floated up to an altitude of several thousand meters and traveled hundreds of miles with the virtue of hope resonating in their prayers. Their courage and hope didn't fail them because, at last, all their sacrifices paid off. They landed on a meadow with other motley insects. New friends, welcoming them, and offering them a fresh new start."

Daniel showed his pearly white teeth. "Again, that was beautiful. Thank you, Abraham," he said, cheeks tinted rosy.

"Hope itself is life," Abraham added, smiling back at Daniel.

"Well, I have an idea," he sucked in a lungful of air, "That direction," he pointed his finger to the long straight street in front of their house. "I will travel in that direction," he finally said.

Abraham furrowed his brows, "I told you a story to be hopeful, not to escape from trouble."

Daniel blushed. "I know, but I tasted enough death from this house. Besides, I didn't have the chance to walk the streets for quite some time now... for over a year. Maybe, along the way, I'll meet somebody—a new friend like the spiders did."

Abraham choked on his idea, yet he saw the boy's eyes twinkling with joy and hope. "Oh, Daniel," he scratched the tip of his nose, "You impish boy. I think that... yes, it will possibly help you to be livelier again. And as you said, maybe you could meet someone out there, hopefully, a friend."

"I remember Nurse Samuel told me that I must try to go outside, and now I want to do it," he paused while Abraham was beaming at him. "Wait, are you not forbidding me to go out?" his question rang with astonishment.

"No. In fact, I am supporting your little adventure," he winked an eye.

Daniel took the old man's arthritic hands and held them. "Thank you, Grandpa," he said, putting them down immediately.

"Wait," Abraham rolled his sleeves up, "Have this with you."

"A bracelet?"

"Samuel made it for me," he donned the personalized bracelet adorned with colorful wooden beads on the lad's pale wrist. "This will remind you that Samuel and I will be by your side. Always."

"Oh, It's... adorable," Daniel kissed his wrinkly forehead. "Thank you. I will bring Mr. Lens, Lady Mondragon, and Cube too. I'll be back before dusk and tell you my story. I promise."

"All right," he inhaled, "I'm going to rest now, and when you arrive, expect another bedtime story."

Daniel nodded and rushed to go inside the house.

Abraham smiled, then barked a series of blustering coughs. He wheezed.