The Grace Year

by Kim Liggett

As far as I can tell, we all have hearts. We all have brains. There are only a few differences I can see, and most men seem to think with that part anyway.

All they do is drink ale, sling out vulgarities, and occasionally get into a brawl over one of the girls, but curiously, there’s no talk of our “dangerous magic.” In fact, the only time magic comes up is when it’s convenient for them.

But I won’t be a broken bird. Not for anyone.

I used to wonder how the women could turn a blind eye to things in the county, things that were happening right in front of them, but some truths are so horrifying that you can’t even admit them to yourself.

“We hurt each other because it’s the only way we’re permitted to show our anger. When our choices are taken from us, the fire builds within. Sometimes I feel like we might burn down the world to cindery bits, with our love, our rage, and everything in between.”

It’s easy to think of your life as being meaningless out here, a tiny forgotten imprint that can easily be washed away by the next passing storm, but instead of making me feel small, it gives everything more purpose, more meaning. I’m no more or less important than a small seedling trying to burst through the soil. We all play a part on this earth. And however small, I intend to play mine.

The things we do to girls. Whether we put them on pedestals only to tear them down, or use them for parts and holes, we’re all complicit in this. But everything touches everything else, and I have to believe that some good will come out of all this destruction.