The Lilac People

by Milo Todd

Bertie did not know how to address the body in his arms. “Black triangle,” he managed to get out before his voice broke off. He vowed years ago that he would not cry about things like these anymore. Crying spent energy needed to do labor, to eat and to live, and these were things he could not change, no matter how much he blamed himself for them. But to not cry was a silly promise. “We have to help.” “Oh, Bertie,” she breathed, the pair of them once again letting their natures slip while indoors, for it felt impossible to stop calling each other by their real names entirely. “We don’t even know what type of black triangle.” He did not want to tell her this was a face he recognized. “Tell me no and I’ll put it back.” “You know I can’t say no.” “Neither can I.” She held herself a moment before letting her arms drop. She wore the same face she had the night they had fled, the face she wore every time they heard bad news on the radio, or worse news on the radio, or news that was good for everybody but them.