— There was a single moment when the quiet of the farm was broken. The moonlight filtered through the spotless curtains and caressed my pale skin. Fingers moved lively against the needle while the pieces of fabric intertwined with each other, as I sewed next to the window of my bedroom, whose breathtaking view was part of the backyard of my parents’ house, beyond the wheat fields, which stretched just past the woods, where no one ever went. Some sunflowers filled the surrounding space, rising imperiously into the air and blooming as if touched by the early morning sun. I breathed calmly. The soft music from the record player filled my ears and clouded my senses, making me forget about the long day. My back grew heavier, my eyes began to feel tired. I closed my eyelids and let myself be lulled by the sound of the twigs from the tree rattling relentlessly against the window in a gentle wind, allowing myself a moment of rest. My knees were always too dirty, the clothes that stopped at white fabric skirts, small embroidered tank tops, and hats that covered my hair.

"Alright… let's go to bed now." I said more to myself than to the cat, who purred at my ankles and rubbed its orange head against my soft skin. I reached out and stroked its head gently while rising from the wooden chair. Its creak filled the room lit only by a few candles, as I removed the record from the player and, in tired movements, closed the curtains. And then, a rustle in the middle of the fields.Then ambiguous noises. The animals screaming in the middle of the night. Clickers. I turned with my back. I descended the stairs to the lower floor rapidly. Shivers ran down my spine as I stepped into the darkness of the living room. Dad had already gone to bed. The coffee had spilled on the wooden table, partially falling onto the oak, and a few drops had soaked my slippers. I heard gunshots. I went out onto the porch of the house, and fear gripped me. Something moved again, and I was tempted to go back inside, my knees threatening to make me fall.

"Shit…" I recognized that voice even in a faint whisper. And then I saw her there. Scarlet liquid beading along her right side and running up onto a thigh. Her tank top dirty with soil, her jeans worn down. Her breath was labored, her hands trying to apply pressure where it hurt the most.

"Ellie!" I was certain she had heard the agitation in my voice as I knelt to approach her. Her forehead was beaded with sweat even though the wound was shallow. Probably an attack from some clicker. Agitation framed her face as she sat up on the dirt, looking at me tired.

"Go back inside. It’s not safe here." She tried to say more. Her lips trembled, but I bent down to wrap my arms around her waist. Then I gathered my strength and lifted her from the ground to bring her inside. She dragged herself like a lifeless body, her head resting on my shoulder and the courage to tell me it wasn’t serious. Idiot. She could have passed that excuse off to anyone, but not to me. I had known Ellie since her arrival in Jackson, years ago. Always too frivolous, rebellious. I was strictly forbidden to stay near her, but when the sun burned my skin and I worked with my fingers dirty from the soil, I felt her watching me over my shoulders. Sweet eyes, a smile that didn’t reach her lips. That being incredibly silent when I needed answers. We spent hours together, until the sun set. And between a fleeting kiss on the cheek, she left me alone in the solitude of the night, and we would see each other again the next day. And she was always more beautiful. When she worked for Dad, I couldn’t help noticing the muscles of her back flexing against the checkered blouse; the jeans clinging to her like a second skin. Then she would rise from the ground and turn toward me. Sweaty forehead, the water bottle spilling over her, soaking her, and the hurry with which her lips sought something to cling to. She had always been there, even when she tried to be invisible. But I saw her. I saw her even when she wasn't there.