Escape

Elara: “Mom? Mom, are you there?”

Mother: “...Elara? Oh my God—Elara? Where are you?”

Elara: “Shh, keep your voice down. I don’t have long. They’ll notice.”

Mother: “Who? Who will notice? Where are you? Tell me!”

Elara: “The soldiers. I—ran. I slipped out when they were changing shifts. I don’t know how far I got. I just—”

Mother: “You escaped? My baby, you escaped?”

Elara: “Stop calling me that. I’m not a baby anymore. I’ve seen things. I’ve—done things.”

Mother: “You’re thirteen. You’re still my child.”

Elara: “Thirteen in years. Thirty in my head. That’s what it feels like.”

Mother: “Elara… what did they do to you?”

Elara: “They trained us. Made us carry guns bigger than our arms. Made us march until our feet bled. If you cried, you were food for the dogs.”

Mother: “Oh God.”

Elara: “Don’t say God. God didn’t help.”

Mother: “Then I’ll help. Tell me where you are. I’ll come now.”

Elara: “I don’t know where I am! It’s dark. Trees everywhere. Smells like smoke. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely hold this radio.”

Mother: “Listen. Listen to me. Find the moon. Tell me where it sits in the sky.”

Elara: “I can’t—wait. It’s to the left of me. Low, orange. Like it’s bleeding.”

Mother: “Then you’re near the river. If you keep walking with the moon at your left, you’ll hit water. Do you hear me? Water.”

Elara: “What if they catch me before I get there?”

Mother: “Then you run faster. You crawl. You bite if you have to. But don’t you stop.”

Elara: “Mom… what if I don’t make it?”

Mother: “Don’t you dare say that.”

Elara: “No, listen. Just—just let me say it. If I don’t make it, will you still… remember me?”

Mother: “Elara. If I live to a hundred, if my bones turn to dust, I will still remember you. Every freckle on your nose. Every time you laughed so hard you hiccupped. I will remember.”

Elara: “I don’t laugh anymore.”

Mother: “You will again. With me. You’ll laugh again.”

Elara: “They said you gave me up. Signed me away. Said you didn’t want me.”

Mother: “Lies. They tore you from me. I clawed one of their faces. My nails still had blood under them for weeks. Do you understand? I would’ve killed to keep you.”

Elara: “I wanted to believe that. But sometimes, when it was dark, I thought maybe you didn’t come because you didn’t care.”

Mother: “I searched every camp. Every checkpoint. I slept in the cold, begging for scraps, just chasing shadows of you. I never stopped. Not once.”

Elara: “Then don’t let go of me now. Please. Don’t let me be alone out here.”

Mother: “I won’t. Keep talking to me. Just keep talking.”

Elara: “My legs hurt. My shoes are torn. There’s blood. I don’t even know if it’s mine anymore.”

Mother: “Step by step. Don’t look at the whole road. Just one step, then another. That’s all.”

Elara: “Mom?”

Mother: “Yes, baby?”

Elara: “If they find me, I don’t want them to take me back. I can’t do it again. I’d rather—”

Mother: “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

Elara: “You don’t know what it was like.”

Mother: “Then tell me. Tell me so I can carry it too.”

Elara: “They made us kneel in the dirt. They picked one kid to… to make an example. And then they handed me the stick. Said if I didn’t do it, they’d kill him and me both. I didn’t want to. I swear. But he begged me to. He said it would hurt less if it was me.”

Mother: “Oh, Elara…”

Elara: “I still see his face when I close my eyes. I feel his bones in my hands. I can’t wash it off.”

Mother: “It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.”

Elara: “Then why do I feel like a monster?”

Mother: “Because they wanted you to. That’s how they win. But you’re not a monster. You’re my daughter. You’re a child they tried to break.”

Elara: “Am I still yours? After everything I did?”

Mother: “Always. Nothing you do, nothing they make you do, will ever cut that cord.”

Elara: “I want to believe that.”

Mother: “Then believe me. Look—close your eyes. Picture my hands. Picture me holding you. Feel that. Not them.”

Elara: “...I can almost feel it.”

Mother: “Good. Hold on to it. Where’s the moon now?”

Elara: “Higher. More to the right. Wait—I hear water. I think—I think I found it.”

Mother: “The river? Yes! Follow it downstream. I’ll meet you where the bridge used to be.”

Elara: “The broken bridge?”

Mother: “Yes. I’ll be there. I’ll wait all night if I have to.”

Elara: “What if I’m too slow?”

Mother: “Then I’ll still be waiting. I’ll never leave that spot until I see you.”

Elara: “Mom?”

Mother: “Yes?”

Elara: “If I make it… will things ever feel normal again?”

Mother: “No. Not normal. But safe. And loved. That’s enough.”

Elara: “Okay. I’ll try. Just don’t stop talking until I get there.”

Mother: “Then I’ll talk until my throat bleeds. I’ll talk the stars down if I have to. Just keep walking, Elara. Just keep walking to me.”

Elara: “The water’s louder now. I can smell it. Muddy, sharp. My feet keep slipping.”

Mother: “Stay close to the bank, don’t step too deep. The current’s strong this season.”

Elara: “I can’t see much. The moon’s behind clouds.”

Mother: “Feel with your hands if you have to. Just keep the river on your right. Downstream. You remember the bridge?”

Elara: “Yes… the one we used to throw stones from. You said the fish could hear our wishes.”

Mother: “That’s the one. I’m waiting there. Just follow the sound.”

Elara: “My chest hurts. Like something’s pressing on it. I don’t know if it’s fear or running.”

Mother: “Both. But you keep going. Breathe with me, Elara. In. Out. In. Out.”

Elara: “If they catch me, they’ll drag me back. They’ll make me pay for running.”

Mother: “They won’t catch you. I won’t let them. You’re almost free. Just a little farther.”

Elara: “I want to believe that.”

Mother: “Then listen. Do you remember the river song? The one I sang when you were small?”

Elara: “The one about the water carrying us?”

Mother: “Yes. ‘The river flows, it knows the way, it carries us home at the end of the day.’”

Elara: “Stop—don’t sing. My throat’s already tight.”

Mother: “Then let it be tight. Let it hurt. But keep moving with the words in your head. Every step, the river carries you closer to me.”

Elara: “...‘Carries us home at the end of the day.’”

Mother: “That’s right. Say it again.”

Elara: “‘Carries us home at the end of the day.’”

Mother: “Good girl. Keep saying it with each step.”

Elara: “Carries us home… carries us home…”

Mother: “I can see the river from here. I’m standing by the broken bridge. There’s a lantern. Do you see it?”

Elara: “Wait—yes! A little flicker through the trees. Is that you?”

Mother: “It’s me. Run to it, Elara. Don’t stop now.”

Elara: “I’m trying, but my legs—”

Mother: “Run. One last time. Run like when you were small and you chased the geese in the yard. Run to me.”

Elara: “Mom… I’m scared.”

Mother: “Then let the fear push you forward. I’m right here.”

Elara: “I can see the bridge! It’s closer. My feet won’t stop.”

Mother: “Yes! Come on, Elara, come to me!”

Elara: “I—Mom! I see you! The lantern—your face—”

Mother: “Elara! My baby! Come, come—”

Elara: “I’m here—I’m—”

Mother: “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Oh God, I’ve got you.”

Elara: “Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”

Mother: “Never. Never again. The river carried you home.”

Elara: “…Home. Yeah. Home.”

Elara: “Mom—your arms—I thought I’d never feel them again.”

Mother: “I’ve got you. You’re shaking all over.”

Elara: “I can’t stop. My legs won’t listen, my chest hurts—”

Mother: “Let it out. Cry, scream, whatever you need. You’re safe now.”

Elara: “I’m not safe! They’ll hear this. They’ll trace the signal. I shouldn’t have kept the radio on this long—”

Mother: “Then give it here. I’ll take care of it.”

Elara: “No—I’ll do it.”

Mother: “Elara—”

Elara: “If I don’t… it’ll feel like I’m still theirs.”

Mother: “Then do it, love. End it.”

Elara: “Here… I… I can’t—my hands are shaking—wait—”

Mother: “Breathe. Take the rock. Smash it hard.”

Elara: “Okay. One. Two—” [sharp crack] “It’s broken. Wires everywhere. It’s dead.”

Mother: “Good. Good girl. They can’t reach you now.”

Elara: “My hands are bleeding. The glass cut me.”

Mother: “Let me see. Oh, sweetheart—”

Elara: “No. Leave it. I deserve it.”

Mother: “Don’t you dare say that. These hands aren’t guilty. They’re just tired. Wounded. But they’re mine. They’re my Elara’s hands.”

Elara: “Why do you still want me? After what I’ve done? After what they made me do?”

Mother: “Because you’re still you. Bruised, scared, but still you. And I love every broken piece.”

Elara: “I tried to be strong, but it’s like… everything’s spilling out now. I can’t hold it in anymore.”

Mother: “Then don’t. Let it spill. Let it flood. I’ll hold you through it.”

Elara: “Mom—I can’t breathe—I can’t—”

Mother: “Listen. Hear the river. Feel my hand on your back. In… out… in… out. Match me. Like when you were a baby.”

Elara: “I remember… your song. ‘The river flows, it knows the way…’”

Mother: “That’s it. ‘It carries us home at the end of the day.’”

Elara: “…‘Carries us home at the end of the day.’”

Mother: “You’re home, Elara. Right here. No soldiers. No orders. Just us.”

Elara: “What if they find us?”

Mother: “Then we’ll run together. And I’ll never let go of your hand.”

Elara: “Promise?”

Mother: “On my life. On the river. On every star above us.”

Elara: “I’m so tired. Can we… just stay here a little? Just sit by the water?”

Mother: “Yes. We’ll sit. We’ll rest. And when you’re ready, we’ll walk. One step at a time.”

Elara: “Mom?”

Mother: “Yes, love?”

Elara: “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Mother: “Never. I’d tear down the whole world before I lost you again.”

Elara: “...I believe you.”