Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

didn’t know or care to know, sat a twig-framed girl with tan skin. Her diamond blue eyes, now lonely and vulnerable, had once been full of life and light. When her father first saw them he had named her Galadriel. She never read the books that contained her namesake, despite her father’s insistence, and she hated her full name so much that she went by Gally.

With her elbows firmly tucked into her sides, it suddenly occurred to her that she had made herself as small as possible, and she wasn’t certain whether she wanted it that way or not. As the wide stranger next to her encroached upon her personal space yet again, she considered an attempt to re-institute the habit of reading books, if only for the sense of escapism. A pang of loss echoed within her; the memory of being curled up in bed while her father read aloud to her—which used to be such a happy thought—suddenly burned her.

Attempting to recover, Gally straightened her black skirt and sat up. She tried to stifle the sudden urge to cry. Due to how unreal her current situation felt, she was mildly successful. He’d been on assignment for so long, and the distant promise of his eventual return was so deeply embedded within her, she couldn’t erase the feeling that he’d be back soon. This made the whole trip feel as if she was sitting in someone else’s dream.

The people around her spoke over or through her, as if she wasn’t there. She heard the crisp sound of conversation over the hum of the vehicle, dashed with occasional sniffling or nose-blowing. Though most conversations were barely audible, she didn’t hear any of the people speak of her father. Some of them spoke of government policies— about which they knew nothing—or banal and unrelated things, as if this wasn’t happening.

Her lip wanted to curl, but she restrained it and let her upturned nose speak of her obvious discomfort. She adjusted herself once again and sat up straight, as a proud reminder to everyone, including herself, that she existed, and that she was at this funeral, in this moment, without him.

The craft came to a stop, and she realized that she didn’t actually want to get out. She had just gotten comfortable, not just physically, but emotionally. She wasn’t ready to leave with the others, and it showed in how many people exited before she stepped out. Her black high heels sank slowly into the thick, green man-made grass. The rectangular field was full of military personnel, caskets, families, and flowers. As busy as it all looked, it was silent. Not that she had time to notice that, as she was quickly swept up in the crowd of mourners.

Gally was one reluctant fish in a fast-moving school. She looked at the names on the caskets as she passed them. Piece by piece, the large mob eventually fluttered into different, smaller groups, and Gally found herself walking alone. The feelings of loss and loneliness were amplified now that she was separated, and she wondered if she should confront those feelings. Wanting to do no such thing, she walked faster, checking each casket. The only good part about the crowd dispersing was that it was easier to see the names.

Her last name was so familiar yet so strange when she finally found it engraved upon the edge of her father’s dark chrome coffin: Ramone. It stood on a small platform with a folded Human Government flag and flowers. Next to it sat her father’s picture: the same overused picture from when he’d enlisted. In it, he was young and not how she remembered him. As Gally winced at it, she wondered how much thought was actually put into these things. Before she could finish the wince, a figure caught her eye.

Also dressed in black, there stood a woman with unnaturally tan skin and a figure that was skinny once, but no longer. Her face was aged by years of hard times, despite the heavy makeup’s best efforts. The woman softened to see her daughter and opened her arms. “Oh, honey.” She went in for a deep and long hug.

Gally wasn’t particularly thrilled to see her mother, even less so to be hugged by her. But she eventually reciprocated the hug, folding upward. After a short time, Gally patted her mother on the back: a signal to let go, which came quickly. Two words slowly fell from her mouth, as if even they didn’t want to be there. “Hey, Ma.” When she stepped back, Gally fixed her hair and refused to make eye contact. “I don’t know if they told you, but uh,” she looked to the casket as she searched for the words. “He’s not in there.”

Her mother stared at her, as if re-establishing eye contact was just a matter of patience. “I know,” she replied, softly. She was a relatively young mother—barely nineteen years senior to her thirty-year-old daughter—but she looked much older. After a brief pause, her mom pried. “How’ve you been?”

Gally perked up her shoulders and gave a brief nod while speaking a bit too quickly. “I’m good.” She ran a hand along the casket. “I’m good. Work’s been good, and, uh—” she lost the words, finally looking her mother in the eye with a weak smile. “Good.”

Her mother smiled patiently, and shook her head, still not moving her eyes from her daughter’s face. “I meant, are you okay?” Her voice was insistent and gentle.

Gally blinked and looked away. “This is stupid, isn’t it?” She looked around, motioning to the casket. “I mean; he’s not even here. I don’t even know why you came.” She flapped her hands up. “You two haven’t been together since, what?” In truth, Gally had lost track of how long her parents had been divorced; she’d always rounded up in her head and wasn’t certain if her number was accurate. She hadn’t meant to be hurtful, only honest.

But her mother looked hurt nonetheless, something that had