Braden wakes with a start, staring at the ceiling. The darkness of the room conceals him, a cocoon in this bastion of safety. For a moment he just lays there, refusing to get up, or move---as if the day might just pass him by; forget him completely if he lay still enough. A tension has formed in his throat. After a few minutes the tension becomes too much. Braden slides his feet out of bed, sitting up. The lump that had formed in his throat now slides down his body to rest in his stomach. Braden rubs his eyes, standing up. He quickly dresses, pulling on his boots before exiting his bedroom---careful not to make a sound, so as not to wake his family. their house is small---consisting of two bedrooms and a main living area, where the kitchen: dining table, and couch are located. Braden always finds the space suffocating, he spends as much time as possible anywhere else but here. The door creaks slightly as he opens it. Braden slips out into the morning.

The sun has not yet cast its first light onto the ground. The rain barrels have been placed outside in anticipation of the storm. Braden walks by the silver light of the moon, his boots squishing and sliding in the mud. The village is quiet as he passes through it, toward his destination. He always feels more at peace in the darkness---the quiet of the night gives him time to think. Too much thinking can also be a bad thing... Braden wonders what'll happen if he's chosen. If they call his name from the platform will his parents cry? Will his sister, Kayla cry? Or will they be too shocked to do anything? Would their last memories of him be of Braden walking up those steps to the stage in front of everyone in the village, so they can parade him around like some sort of winner. The thought disgusts Braden. He pushes it down. He can't afford to think like that. He's sixteen, His name will be in the drawing four times this year. The odds aren't great.

The run-down fence marking the end of the village stretches out before him as he approaches. A lopsided sign on the fence reads---Restricted Area. Keep Out---as a rather half-hearted warning. In the dim light it's hard to see, but Braden has been through the gap in the fence so many times he could find it with his eyes closed. In one clean motion, he pulls the loose bit of fence aside, bends down, and slips through as if he's practiced this hundreds of times.

The smell of wet soil, foliage, and pine fills his nostrils. The birds haven't begun their morning songs yet. Braden likes being awake before the birds---it gives him a sense of stillness. Once he enters the woods he lets instinct take over. Braden knows this area like the back of his hand. He's been sneaking out here since he was young. This place always felt more like home, than home did. If his house back in the village makes him feel claustrophobic, then this place was the opposite of that. He's never felt more free than in this forest. every time he comes here he contemplates never leaving, but something always draws him back. Maybe it's Kayla---Braden knows he could never abandon her. It's probably not his parents---his mom always seems more concerned for Kayla than himself. Sometimes it feels like she forgets he exists, though she'll never admit it. Still, Braden's glad his mother is so attentive to Kayla; at least Kayla gets her needs met. Braden's always cared more for Kayla than himself. He's always giving up his meals to make sure she gets enough to eat. Braden's Dad is very withdrawn from the dynamic. He works long hours in the lumber yard. At home he mostly sits around working on wood carvings that he'll sometimes be able to trade for food. When Braden was a kid his dad used to be so much more full of life, he'd take Braden into the woods far beyond the fence. Braden used to watch his dad's eyes sparkle as he talked about all the trees---his dad loves trees. Now he just works in that mill all day. Braden resents his dad for becoming so distant. Braden swears to himself he'll never do that to the people he cares about. A voice shakes him from his rumination.

"There you are, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show." The voice belongs to his best friend Skyla. She's standing in a very well hidden treehouse, about twenty feet off the ground. In the faint moonlight breaching the leafy canopy above, Her pale skin appears to give a faint glow.

"Hey, sky. Sorry, I got--lost in thought.

"That's so not like you at all," Sky rolls her eyes from above him.

"Don't mock me, or I'll--come up there and make you regret it," Braden begins climbing, but Sky blocks the top of the ladder.

"What's the password?" A sarcastic smile was beginning to tug at her rosy lips.

"I built this treehouse! why do I need a password to enter it?"

Because I've taken up management here. How do I know you're not an imposter? Or worse, the real you!" Sky's face contorts in mock shock.

"Very funny. Are we done yet?" But Sky's not backing down. That's one of the things Braden likes about her, she's stubborn. Come to think of it, it's also one of the things he dislikes about her."

"Tell me something only you could know. So I know you're not an imposter." She narrows her eyes. He likes when she does her pretend-serious face; he thinks it's cute.

"We carved our names on the railing up there one night, while we were watching the sunset," He tells her. A look of surprise fills her blue eyes at the mention, then it was gone. Did he imagine it?

"I suppose that'll do." She steps back from the ledge, offering her hand to him. Braden takes it gratefully. Now that he's standing next to her he can see how tired she looks. there's a twig and a couple leaves sticking out of her dark-blond hair. Braden picks them out, but she seems not to notice. all the play in her appearance had drained away.

"How long have you been here for?" Braden asks her.

"I couldn't sleep last night". She says, pausing before continuing. "What if my brother or your sister gets chosen?" The question cuts through the tension like a katana, slicing right through the heart of it. The one thought he'd been too afraid to engage with. They faced the draft since they were thirteen, that's nothing new, but now their siblings are thirteen. Braden feels the pit in his stomach convulse to a sickening crescendo. Sky meets his eyes. Braden can already see the tears forming. He feels his own eyes moisten. Once the sobbing starts it doesn't stop. They find themselves clutching each other desperately---tighter, tighter---as if the wind might blow them away if they don't hold on. Reality recedes as if they are the only two people who exist, standing on air with nothing beneath them, or around them. In this moment they are one. How long they stay in that treehouse holding each other is a mystery. Reality begins to expand again. Braden becomes aware of the floor boards beneath him, then the gray light flooding in from above. The birds chirp with conviction. A gentle wind blows past them. They pull away to arms length, studying each other's faces. Then something unexpected happens: Sky bursts out laughing, Braden joins in---they collapse, heaving on the floor in a giggling frenzy. Maybe it's just the chemical release, a moment of one-pointedness. Because In spite of the weight they carry, they are just two sixteen year olds. Braden knows no matter what the day brings, the two of them will always have this moment to remember.