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Collection day
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2025-05-06 05:09:31“Stop, please!
You can’t—don’t! Noooo!”
I screamed, thrashing wildly as I jolted awake, drenched in sweat. My heart slammed against my chest like it was trying to escape. My breath came in short, panicked gasps.
Before I could even catch my breath, Selena burst into the room. Her eyes were wide with worry, her silk nightgown barely clinging to her shoulders.
“I heard you from my room,” she whispered, rushing to my side. She didn’t need to ask what had happened—my trembling body and haunted eyes told her everything. She wrapped her arms around me tightly, holding me close like she was trying to shield me from a world that had long stopped being safe.
“It’s just a dream,” she whispered into my hair. “It’s over now. Just a bad dream.”
But I knew it wasn’t. Not really.
Morning crept in slowly, casting golden light over the small village of Setvastl. The sky, once painted in twilight blues, was now awash with an eerie calmness—as though the heavens themselves knew what today was.
Today wasn’t ordinary.
Today was Collection Day.
In Setvastl, this day marked sorrow and fear. It was a tradition wrapped in lies, passed down through generations. They said our young ones—those eighteen and older—were being conscripted into the military. They said it was for the "greater good." But if it were truly noble, why were we never allowed to see them again? Why did we never receive letters, photos, or even a whisper of where they went?
No military base. No honor. No return.
We were taught not to ask. But I always asked—quietly, in my head, when no one could hear.
After breakfast, the streets emptied like a ghost town. Curtains were drawn. Doors locked. No one wanted to witness it—not again.
Then, we heard it.
A low, thunderous hum filled the sky. The aircraft landed with a hiss and a roar. The word “UKRAINE” was printed in massive black letters along its side.
Dozens of armed men marched out in precision, splitting into teams and heading toward the homes like it was routine. Each returned with one or two youths. No one screamed. No one fought.
They had learned it was useless.
From behind our faded curtains, I watched with wide eyes, my fingers clinging to the broken window frame. The cold edge of the glass bit into my palm, but I didn’t care.
Then I saw him.
My heart dropped.
Jareth.
No. Not him. Please, not him.
Something inside me snapped. I ran.
Out the door. Down the steps. Through the dust and silence. My bare feet slammed against the ground, pain shooting up my legs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
“Jareth!” I cried, my voice breaking.
He turned. Our eyes met. And everything around us disappeared.
I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist as if I could anchor him to the earth and stop the world from pulling him away.
“Please,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
His eyes—those soft, ocean-grey eyes—were filled with something I couldn’t place. Was it guilt? Sorrow? Or worse—acceptance?
Before he could answer, a soldier shoved me back roughly. I stumbled and fell, scraping my elbow, but my eyes never left Jareth.
They were dragging him now.
With each step he took, memories came flooding back—his laughter when I tripped over my shoelaces, the way he always said my hair looked like a sunflower field, how he once whispered, “I think I’d marry you someday.”
And then, just as they reached the ramp of the aircraft, he turned one last time.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come back for you.”
Those words pierced through the storm inside me like sunlight through clouds. I clutched my chest as if trying to hold his promise close to my heart.
Tears blurred my vision as the ship closed, sealing him away—maybe forever.
“You idiot,” I whispered to no one. “Always knowing the right words to say.”
That day broke me.
But if only I had known…
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